Today's reading gives us another testimony to the triumph of the Kingdom that Jesus brought into the world. In every age and among all peoples without exception, death's triumph over life has been perceived as something unjust and contrary to what ought to be. Attempts to regard death like a Stoic or a natural philosopher, viewing it with philosophical calm and accepting it as something regular and inevitable, and therefore normal, have generally failed. At the moment of coming face to face with death, it still inspires only horror and revulsion. Other feelings connected with the causes and circumstances of a death are often mixed with these, of course, but those feelings have nothing to do with death itself: their source is precisely those causes and circumstances, not the fact of dying.

The Bible explains this attitude toward death: death entered the world as a consequence of the Fall. It is part of the world's evil, which must inevitably disappear once the world, transformed by God's power, becomes part of the Kingdom. By weeping when He sees those who mourn (vv. 32-36), Jesus confirms that death is not an imagined tragedy of human life but a real one.

This, of course, is not the end: resurrection, Judgment, and the Kingdom lie ahead. In Gospel times every believing Jew knew about the resurrection (vv. 23-24), yet death still remained a state contrary to human nature; it contradicted God's design for human beings and their destiny. The Kingdom therefore proves incompatible with death.

It is no accident that Jesus says He Himself is the resurrection (vv. 25-26): He bears the fullness of the Kingdom within Himself, and death retreats before the Kingdom. Of course, a return to one's former life, not yet transformed by God's power, in the former world, which has not yet become part of the Kingdom, can hardly be considered the end of the journey. This is not yet the resurrection that believing Jews awaited. But death and the Kingdom are incompatible, and so even someone not yet fully transformed finds in the Kingdom the fullness of life available to him.

No one can contain more life than he is able to contain, but in touching the fullness of God's life, each person receives the measure of life available to him. Lazarus had not yet reached complete transformation, but he was entirely capable of living the life that every healthy person lives in our still not fully transformed world. He receives the fullness possible for him as he comes out into God's light from the tomb in which he was buried (vv. 38-44). Then everyone could see plainly that the Kingdom had truly entered the world and, with it, so had the resurrection that until then was thought to lie only in the future.

One might think that so vivid a demonstration would have melted and converted every heart, but apparently nothing of the kind happened. Some truly came to believe (vv. 45-46), while others became even more firmly opposed to Christ and the Kingdom. But the evidence was too plain, and those who rejected the Kingdom were left with no choice, in the logic of their persistent rejection, but to conclude that they had to rid themselves of the One who brought the Kingdom into the world (vv. 47-53). Thus rejection of the Kingdom leads the Savior of the world, sent by God, to the cross.

"Today Bethany, rejoicing in the rising of Lazarus, foretells the Resurrection of Christ the Giver of Life..." It is often said that there is, so to speak, this "artistry" in the Gospel: spokesman-figures like John the Baptist, and paired events such as the raising of Lazarus, meant to set off the main event; in other words, everything follows the laws of literary texts. But this is deeply wrong. It can be seen fully only with the eyes of the heart, but still let us try to notice some very concrete details. Christ rose on the third day. The Lord raised Lazarus on the fourth.

Why is the fourth day mentioned? It turns out that there is a reason quite concretely conditioned by culture. Let us turn to David Stern's book, "Jewish New Testament Commentary," p. 269: "Before medicine learned to distinguish coma from death, people were sometimes mistakenly buried alive. Jewish burial customs tried to rule out every possibility of such a terrible mistake. According to a post-Talmudic tractate compiled in the eighth century (by the Jewish calendar, our note), 'we go out to the cemetery and check the dead for three days, and we do not fear being suspected of walking in the ways of the Amorites (that is, in superstitious rites). Once a buried man was checked and found to be alive; he lived another 25 years and then died. Another such man lived, and five children were born to him before he died' (Semachot 8:1)."

And the fact that four days had passed means something very simple: the time for the prescribed ritual checking had already expired. Lazarus was truly dead. Whether the Lord could have been in Bethany before that time or not, whether He deliberately waited or not, is not a question for our mind. That is how it was. There is not a trace here of artistry, symbolism of numbers, coincidences, multiples, and so on, the kind always found in "mystagogical" literature. There is only the living fabric of life.

The Savior's reaction to the news of Lazarus's illness and death shows well what the Way is. But not only the Way with a capital letter, the Way of the Messiah; every spiritual path of an ordinary person is subject to the same laws. And the first condition of the way is the quality of life. Of existence. Of being. The Savior's words about Lazarus's illness, which is "not unto death, but for the glory of God," at first glance seem strange at the very least: after all, Lazarus did die.

Of course, one could say: Jesus knew in advance that He would raise His dead friend. But that would be only part of the answer. The point is not that He knows the past and future in all fullness. The point is how He knows them. How He sees. And this, in turn, is determined precisely by that same quality of existence.

Where do we live: in the fallen world, where space, time, and chains of cause and effect are absolute reality? Or in the Kingdom, where all this is relative, where even causal links are reversible, and where the past can therefore become as if it had never existed at all? This determines the quality of our life. And the possibility of the way as well. Jesus stands on the Way from His very birth: after all, the fullness of His communion with His Heavenly Father was absolute from the very beginning of His Way. We ordinary people still need to set out on the way, if, of course, we want to reach that Kingdom which the Savior promises us and enter it.

But the very possibility of the way is connected with our spiritual state. It is this state that determines the quality of our life. And what we are able to see. The glory of God can be seen only from the Kingdom. If we have no relation to the Kingdom, all we will see is death. Christianity is the life of the Kingdom. But in our earthly life, life in a world where the Kingdom has not yet opened to the end and in fullness, abiding in the Kingdom becomes the way of the Kingdom. That very way on which, if one walks it to the end, one can see the glory of God. And meet Christ returning in glory.