William Bausch, a priest from the diocese of Trenton, N.J. tells this story in his book called: The Word in and Out of Season. "Like all good parents, Karen and her husband, when they found out they were pregnant again, did everything they could to prepare their 3 year old son Michael for the arrival of his sister. Night after night, they would gather Michael in their arms and he would sing to her the only song he knew: "You are my sunshine." He sings it to her day and night.

Labor begins, but complications set in. Finally, Michael's little sister is born, but she is in serious condition. She is rushed to the neonatal unit and clings tenuously to life. The doctors offer little hope and tell them to prepare for the worst. Michael keeps begging his parents to let him see his sister, "so I can sing to her." But regulations forbid any children in the ICU. Michael keeps nagging, and finally, during week two of the ICU, when it looks like the funeral is immanent, Karen makes up her mind, so that Michael could at least see his sister before she dies. She dresses him is oversized scrubs and begins to march him to his sisters bedside. The head nurse recognizes a child, and tells Karen to 'get him out of there." The maternal instinct rises, and with a steely glare, she tells her they are not leaving until Michael sings to his sister.

Michael gazes at her tiny sister, losing the battle to live, and in the clear voice of a three year old, begins to sing: "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray. Immediately, his sister responds. Her pulse rate becomes calm and steady. Keep on singing, Karen thinks. "You'll never know dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away." The baby's ragged breathing becomes a slow, smooth purr. Keep on singing! "The other night dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamt I held you in my arms..." And Michael's sister falls into a deep and healing sleep. Tears fall from the head nurse's eyes. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine... please don't take my sunshine away."

Funeral plans are scrapped and the next day, the very next day, Michael's sister is discharged from the hospital. In an article in Woman's Day magazine, they called it "the miracle of a brother's song." Karen called it a miracle of God's love. The medical staff just called it a miracle. We call it the story of Lazarus all over again." That love is stronger than death.

Why does Lazarus come out of the tomb? What is it about that call of Jesus that brings him forth? Isn't it what young Michael instinctively knew? That love is stronger than death? That love can call us to new life? That love alone has the power to set us free when we are bound up with the wrappings and habits of sin? "See how much He loved him," is the comment of those who see Jesus weep over Lazarus. And when Lazarus, even in the sleep of death, hears the voice of love calling him, he cannot but respond.

When love calls our name, we rise from wherever we are and live again. That's the promise of the Lazarus story. This week, how have you heard 'love calling your name?" When the Archbishop met with the priest of the Archdiocese on Tuesday, I heard the echo of that call. Though he is not the most eloquent speaker, what was heard in that room was the love which he had for us as priests. The calling of us together like that is unprecedented in my time as a priest. The speaking from the heart about the difficult days we've been struggling through. The invitation he gave us to renew our lives of self-emptying love through our commitment to celibacy, and to renew the bonds of charity and love among each other - were like the song that young Michael sang to his sister. And though I could never imagine the Archbishop singing, 'you are my sunshine' to us priests, the result was the same. The staggered pulses became even. The ragged breathing slowed down. The wrestling and struggling calmed down, and there was the beginning of the healing. For love is stronger than death. Love is stronger than death.

This week, the story of Lazarus gives us hope in all the places where we are entombed. For the same Jesus who stood before the tomb on Lazarus and bid him come forth, stands before us today. And just as there were two tasks that are given, one to Lazarus, and one to the community, there are two challenges for us. To Lazarus and to you and I - Jesus says- come forth from wherever death has a hold on you. To his community and to ours - untie him from the wrappings of death. Be the help and support we each need to not have sin/death be the last word. Whomever you can help untie, do so. From whatever place holds death, come forth. For today, we have one who sings even more amazingly than Michael did for his sister - one who is not the SUNshine, but our SON, shining for us with the promise of new life.