Come forth

Lazarus did not rise on his own.

He rose because a voice—the Voice—called him.

“Come forth,” Jesus said.

And even though death still clung to his limbs,

even though the grave clothes wrapped him tight, even though his mind must have swirled in confusion, he moved.

He staggered forward—bound, bewildered, but breathing.

He didn’t wait to understand.

He didn’t wait to feel strong.

He moved because the voice of Life had spoken.

And perhaps that’s you now.

Maybe the tomb feels like home—

familiar, dark, still.

Maybe the ache has become your rhythm.

Maybe the silence has become your song.

Maybe the grave clothes—shame, fear, grief—have become your second skin.

But still, the voice calls.

Come forth.

Not because you’re ready.

Not because it all makes sense.

But because He is calling.

And where His voice is,

there is resurrection.

So take one step.

Even if your feet drag.

Even if your heart trembles.

Even if the light burns your eyes after so long in the dark.

Move toward the sound of healing.

Toward the whisper of hope.

Toward the breath that fills dry lungs again.

The tomb is not your home.

The grave is not your end.

There is life in His voice.

There is freedom in His call.

And if you’ll move—just move—

even wrapped in sorrow,

even weary from the wait—

you will find Him waiting,

ready to unwrap what death tried to bind,

ready to restore what you thought was lost.

Come forth, beloved.

The stone is rolled away.

And He is calling you by name.