Lazarus Come Out: Living the Authentic Self

The Catholic Church proclaims a Gospel of visibility - calling people into the light. Neurodivergent disciples, gender-diverse Christians, and racially marginalised communities are not incidental but integral to the Church’s witness and authentic identity.

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The story of Lazarus in John chapter 11 is not only about resurrection but about release. Jesus calls Lazarus out of the tomb, strips away the grave clothes, and restores him to authentic life. John tells us that Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days — a detail that matters. In Jewish understanding, the soul was believed to hover near the body for three days; the fourth day symbolised finality, hopelessness, and the point at which restoration seemed impossible. Yet Jesus arrives precisely at that moment. He listens, He weeps, He commands the stone to be rolled away, and He calls Lazarus by name. This is not a distant miracle; it is a deeply personal one.

The roles of Martha and Mary also shape this moment. Martha meets Jesus with theology and dialogue; Mary meets Him with tears and presence. Both are received. Both are honoured. Both reveal that discipleship is not uniform. Their different responses remind us that the journey from death to life — from concealment to visibility — is not the same for everyone. The Church, like the household at Bethany, is called to hold space for different personalities, different stories, and different ways of coming to Christ.

In every age the Catholic Church reflects on its catholic and apostolic identity in this same spirit and seeks to strip away anything that does not lead people to Christ. Today the challenge remains the same: to call all people out of tombs of invisibility, shame, and exclusion into authentic discipleship. Catholicity does not mean uniformity but universality and inclusivity. The Church is richly female and male, young and old, LGBTQI+, differently abled, neurodiverse, and more. When the Church embraces difference as gift, rather than tolerates it as burden, she becomes salt and light for all the nations.

Baptism is the foundation of authentic belonging. By “one baptism for the remission of sins” (Ephesians 4:5), we are equally members of Christ’s body — whether Pope, priest, or lay disciple. The theology of baptism reminds us that the Church is not a hotel for saints but “a field hospital for sinners.”¹ This equality is the soil in which various gifts can flourish, echoing St Paul’s reminder: “there is one Spirit but diverse gifts” (1 Corinthians 12:4). From baptismal equality flows the recognition that hidden needs and unseen identities are equally part of the Church’s witness.

St Paul himself, often thought to have epilepsy, exemplifies how God chooses what is weak — in the eyes of the world at least — to shame the strong (1 Corinthians 1:27). Neurodivergence and unseen disabilities provoke the Church to realign its language and practice with that of Jesus, cultivating humility. In this way the discovery of other gifts helps her to see the world anew from fresh angles and perspectives.

In the American Christian drama series ‘The Chosen’, which depicts the life and ministry of Jesus, the portrayal of the twelve disciples is intentionally multi-layered, adding reality to their individual personalities and journeys in faith. Matthew the tax collector turned disciple is portrayed as autistic, with particular skills in accountancy and observational accuracy. Jesus asks him to record everything He says for future generations. To see a disciple represented in Scripture in this way without guilt or shame is liberating. For many, it is as if Lazarus has again been called out of the tomb. Visibility becomes an antidote to the poison of exclusion.

The story of the Ethiopian eunuch (Acts 8:26–40) also embodies this same inclusion: Philip does not demand change in identity but offers baptism and commissioning. This story resonates deeply with those navigating questions of gender. In one Bible study group I participate in, a member diagnosed with gender dysphoria shared how discovering the eunuch’s story transformed their life. They saw Philip affirming the eunuch, not demanding a bizarre or unnatural change in identity, but offering a loving embrace, baptism into the Church, and commissioning as a missional disciple. That testimony was a reminder that the Gospel is actually Good News. It affirms that each disciple is “fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:14), “worth more than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:31), and “bought at a price” (1 Corinthians 6:20). Safe in that knowledge, each person can trust that God has a plan and direction for their life, sometimes as unforeseen as Lazarus’ call to a new life out of the tomb.

This is why the language of “coming out” — though modern — can be used faithfully here. Lazarus is summoned from a place of darkness into visibility; from silence into speech; from being hidden to being seen. His “coming out” is not about identity politics but about God’s desire for every person to live in the light without fear. The Church’s task is not to place new grave clothes on people, but to help remove them.

Contemporary theological scholarship increasingly underscores that diversity is not a peripheral concern but central to the very identity and future of the Church. Dr Elissa Roper’s work on synodality and authenticity emphasises how voices from the margins are essential to moulding ecclesiology, reminding us that the Church’s mission cannot be faithfully pursued without listening to those who have historically been ignored or silenced.²

I also recall hearing psychiatrist and Anglican minister Dr Charlie Bell speak passionately at Westminster Abbey about LGBTQI+ inclusion in the Church. His words were so direct and truthful that some listeners literally walked out of the service. When a disgruntled person challenged a canon afterwards, they were told: “Prophetic words have always been spoken from this pulpit.” Jesus Himself delivered hard teachings that the Pharisees were unable to handle. Prophetic truth is often uncomfortable, but it is precisely in that discomfort that the Spirit calls the Church to renewal.

Andrew Kanagaratnam’s studies on racial diversity within the Church of England further expose the dangers of expecting assimilation into dominant norms.⁴ His work calls the Church to repent of its complicity in institutional racism and to embrace difference as a gift rather than a threat. This is echoed in initiatives such as those of Trinity College Bristol’s Racial Justice Unit, which seek to increase diversity among theological educators.⁵ By ensuring that a plurality of voices shapes future Christian leadership, such initiatives embed diversity into the very structures of theological formation. In the Catholic Church, Southwark Archdiocese has set up a Commission for Promoting Racial and Cultural Inclusion. Nationally, the Catholic Church celebrates Racial Justice Sunday each year to focus on the need to oppose racism, and to pursue racial justice with renewed vigour in our homes, schools, parishes and wider communities.

Taken together, these scholarly contributions, initiatives, and lived testimonies enrich the pastoral vignettes offered here. They show that the experiences of neurodivergent disciples, gender-diverse Christians, and racially marginalised communities are not incidental but integral to the Church’s witness. Scholarship and prophetic witness alike become part of the Lazarus story: calling the Church out of the tomb into the light of authentic catholicity.

If Lazarus teaches us anything, it is that God refuses to leave people in places the community has grown comfortable ignoring. The Church proclaims a Gospel of visibility, yet too often we have wrapped people in grave clothes of silence, caution, or conditional welcome. Catholicity is not a slogan but a summons: a call to recognise Christ in those we have not yet learned to see. The Spirit is already ahead of us, calling people into the light. When the Church stands at the tomb and echoes Christ’s voice rather than remains among those who preferred Lazarus hidden, then the Gospel truly becomes Good News for our world.

James Gordon Reid Haveloch-Jones is a British educator, mentor, and author of The Gold Standard: Coaching for Excellence. Available to buy here:
www.amazon.co.uk/Gold-Standard-Coaching-Excellence/dp/B0FLS7C6R4/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0

His work spans elite institutions and grassroots outreach, blending ceremonial experience — from Westminster Abbey to global musical venues — with transformative coaching. Discover more at www.jamesgordonreid.co.uk and www.premierchristianity.com/james-gordon-reid-haveloch-jones/2988.bio featured in www.royalholloway.ac.uk/about-us/our-alumni/for-alumni/alumni-news/introducing-the-gold-standard-a-new-book-by-a-royal-holloway-alumnus/

1.         Pope Francis, interview with La Civiltà Cattolica, September 2013.
2.         Roper, Elissia. Synodality and Authenticity: Contemporary Ecclesiology and Diverse Voices. 2020.
3.         Bell, Charlie. Queer Holiness: The Gift of LGBT People to the Church. London: DLT, 2022.
4.         Kanagaratnam, Andrew. Race, Diversity, and the Church of England: Towards Genuine Inclusion.
Oxford Centre for Ecclesiology, 2020.
5.         Trinity College Bristol, “Racial Justice Unit: Diversity in Theological Education,” 2023.