Fifth Sunday of Lent: Called to Trust in God’s Timing With Patience and Faith

Sunday, 22 March 2026.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned this year, it’s that life rarely follows the script we write for it. At the start Lent I had these grand plans for all the fasting and almsgiving I’d be doing, and then… well, life happens.

Recently, I’ve hit a wall. I’m struggling with fasting from the things I gave up for Lent, which I know, is the whole point. I’ve shoppped and bought the dresses and the shoes I wasn’t supposed to buy, and every single day my fingers itch to reinstall Instagram and Tiktok on my phone. I honestly think at this point it’s just sheer stubbornness getting me through.

This fifth Sunday of Lent (we’re almost there), the Gospel gives us the story of Lazarus, and it’s exactly the spiritual check-in I needed.

We’ve all been Martha or Mary. You offer up a prayer, you try to be good, and then you wait. And wait. Jesus stays where He is for two or three more days. In our world of instant gratification and high-speed everything, that delay almost feels personal. Like Martha and Mary, we think, “Lord, if You had been here, this wouldn’t have happened.” We’ve all know how crushing it feels when a resolution fails, a relationship seems lost, or a person we poured our heart into just doesn’t seem to care.

But friends, Jesus isn’t a distant observer; He’s the friend who weeps with us before He performs the miracle. In today’s Gospel, He teaches us that our grief and our frustrations aren’t impediments to our faith, rather they’re the very places where He meets us.

My favourite part of this story isn’t the grand finale; it’s the very real human frustration leading up to it. Martha and Mary have always warmed my heart, the way they loved their dear friend Jesus and trusted that he was their long-awaited Saviour. And when their brother was sick and dying they did everything right. They sent word to Jesus, then they waited. They trusted. And then? Their brother died anyway.

I also love that when Lazarus walks out of the tomb, he’s still tangled in the linen strips. He’s tripping over his own burial cloths.

Isn’t this just so relatable? We’ve all had those moments of spiritual breakthrough, only to find that we still carry the old “clothes” of our past, our habits and tendencies that aren’t always so easily shed. But the lesson is that Jesus doesn’t expect us to walk out of that tomb perfectly polished and ready for a photoshoot, He just wants us to move into the light, towards Him.

Moving into the final two weeks of Lent I need to work on my patience, and stop the moaning suffering mentality of the Pharisees, as I pause to think about four simple words that I pray every day: thy will be done.

In your time Lord, not mine.