The Tomb and the Trail

There are few things more reliable than our son Leland’s reluctance to hike. He’s a city kid through and through—he likes escalators, Wi-Fi, and knowing exactly how far the doughnut place is. So when I suggest a hike, I know what’s coming: the groan, the side-eye, and a heartfelt plea for why civilization was invented in the first place. But we go anyway.

And even though he may never admit it, every time we finish, something has shifted. His posture is different. His mood is lighter. He doesn’t say, “Thanks, I needed that.” But I know he did. Which brings me to Lazarus.

This Sunday’s Gospel gives us Jesus at the tomb, crying out: “Lazarus, come out!” It’s a stunning moment—not just because Lazarus is raised, but because he moves. He hears that call and, still wrapped in burial cloths, steps into the light.

That’s what stewardship feels like sometimes. It’s not always comfortable. It often requires more than we planned. But something happens when we move—when we give, when we show up, when we support this parish in ways both seen and unseen. Life stirs. Community breathes again.

God doesn’t promise that giving will be easy. But God does promise that it brings life—not just to others, but to us. You don’t have to love the hike. You just have to trust that it leads somewhere good.

And maybe this week, you’re the one who needs to call out. Invite your friends, your family—those whose faith feels buried or broken. Your voice might be the one they need to hear. Bring them to St. Monica. New life awaits.