Sermon: Passion Sunday

Preacher:

Chris Hollingshurst

Date:

Sunday 22nd March 2026

Venue:

Guildford Cathedral

Service:

9.45 Cathedral Eucharist

Prayer…

I admit that I am not particularly well-versed in paintings or other works of art.  I am absolutely no art critic! My attention is far more likely to be grabbed by an arresting song or a captivating piece of music than it is by a framed canvas or a sculpted statue. 

So I had low expectations when following a local clergy meeting ten days ago, I and others were given a preview of the exhibition ‘From Darkness to Light’, currently open to the public at St Mary’s Church, Guildford.

I thought I’d just take a quick look, but I was caught completely by surprise by one particular picture in the exhibition: John O’Reilly’s painting of The Raising of Lazarus. 

Like Caravaggio’s more famous work of the same title, O’Reilly’s painting focusses on the actual moment of resurrection. O’Reilly has Jesus, dressed in modern clothing and bathed in white light, standing before Lazarus’ newly-opened tomb.

Lazarus’ naked body, surrounded by darkness, is orange, suggesting that it is being warmed up by the power of God. The curvature of its bodily raising conforms to the bodily shape of Jesus standing before him. The swirling movement in the centre of the picture suggests that death is being swept, literally sucked, out of Lazarus and his tomb to make space for an influx of radiant resurrection power.

O’Reilly has included onlookers in the background who, like me as I was looking at the picture in St Mary’s, appear completely transfixed by the movement, the symmetry, and the dazzling transformation. Human darkness and death are overwhelmed by divine light and resurrection.

Now if only Lazarus hadn’t died, if only Jesus had arrived earlier, then there would be no need for such an intervention.

Of course. But there was a need. And given that there was, I wonder what was at the heart of this event?

The theologian Ben Quash is among those who have written about the raising of Lazarus as a scene of calling.  What we see, he says, ‘is a call by God to an individual to leave darkness behind and enter the light.’

How appropriate, he says, ‘that Lazarus’s story is told in John’s Gospel, a gospel so deeply pervaded by the great conflict of light and dark, [indeed] the gospel that starts off by declaring that Christ is Light.’ 

Professor Quash says that St John ‘depicts Jesus’ incarnation as a sort of provocation, which prompts the children of light and the children of darkness to reveal themselves’. They do this by their response - of either ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

As her ‘yes’ response to the paintings currently on show at St Mary’s, the poet, Alwyn Marriage (who worships in the parish) has written verses for each of the twenty-five works in the exhibition.

This is the poem she has written for The Raising of Lazarus. It is all about this scene of calling and is entitled ‘The Summons’. I’ll read it to you.

 

Do you remember those mornings long ago

when Martha used to come to wake you,

shake you if you refused to rise?

Then she’d stand outside your door calling:

Lazarus, come out; there’s work to be done.

 

Sometimes you’d shut your ears to her,

turn in the bed, wrapping bedclothes

more tightly round your nakedness,

long to be left to enjoy your sleep, safe

from a world of work and war and want.

 

So when, having passed through sickness,

pain and death you lay at peace in your silent

tomb, relieved that nothing more could reach,

could harm you, was it pleasure or not to hear

your friend’s imperious call, Lazarus, come out!

We see something similar happening in this morning’s first reading. Unlike Lazarus, Ezekiel is not dead, although most of his nation’s armies lie dead on the battlefield in the valley of the dry bones. Yet, in the face of seeming disaster, God tasks him with predicting - even provoking - the revival, the resurrection, of the nation as a whole.

Now, if only the battle had gone a different way, if only the army had not been beaten, if only the people had remained determined and faithful, then there would be no need for such an intervention.

Of course. But there was such a need. And given that there was, I wonder what was at the heart of this event?

That’s right – a summons, a calling. It’s as if God is provoking him with the impossible and yet saying ‘Ezekiel, come out; there’s work to be done.’

Ezekiel’s ‘yes’ means that through God’s power the promised new life is demonstrated, and the impossible becomes possible. ‘I shall put my Spirit in you. You shall live.’

What about us? Well, we can all dwell on our ‘if onlys’ all day long if we want to, but what matters most is hearing the summons – the call – of God and responding, and with a ‘yes’ rather than with a ‘no’. 

Perhaps I can be personal just for a moment? When I first started coming to this Cathedral, I had no idea that I would be moving to minister here. As many of you know, I was unwell, not able to minister in my parish, and needing an influx of resurrection light into the darkness I was inhabiting at the time.

Over time, I heard the summons ‘Chris, come out; there’s work to be done’.  I did, and there was. So I returned not as a member of the congregation but as part of the clergy team.  

Although my work here is done now, I will always be grateful for the resurrection of God’s ministry in me brought about by being here, by being amongst you.

Now there is a fresh summons: once again I have heard ‘Chris, come out; there’s work to be done’ – and so I need to say ‘yes’.

If that’s me, what about you? What is the summons – dare I say, the provocation - of Christ to this Cathedral at this time?

What in our life here needs still to be raised and conformed to the shape of the Christ who stands in our midst? What is there that yet needs to be transformed with resurrection light by our friend’s imperious call?

Today, wherever each of us comes from, dare we ask ourselves: where are the areas of aridity – the little valleys of dry bones – in our souls? Is there, this morning, a call by God to anyone here ‘to leave darkness behind and enter the light’? 

If there is such a call to some of you (and I pray that there is), it will doubtless feel challenging. But as always, there is little we can do in and of ourselves.

For this Christian life is not so much about what we do, it’s more about who the Lord is in the world and in our lives. We simply need to take the first step, which is to say ‘yes’.

The season of Passiontide which begins today is the perfect time to look at the example of Jesus and to say ‘yes’, either for the first time or for the umpteenth time.  For God is working his purpose out, in each of our lives, in this place, and in the places I will shortly be ministering in.

Whoever we are, Christ has always been with us, Christ is with is us now, and Christ goes before us. It’s true of our continuing journey through Lent to Holy Week and Easter, and it’s true every day. 

In an echo of Ezekiel’s ‘I shall put my Spirit in you. You shall live!’, St Paul wrote these words [which we heard earlier]:

“… if Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.”

So this morning, please trust God’s promises. Be those who say ‘yes’ by choosing to ‘leave darkness behind and enter the light’. Above all, be encouraged, stay faithful and, until we meet again, may God bless you all.

Amen.