Unbind Him

“Unbind Him and Let Him Go”

The crowd gasped. What they saw could not be explained, only believed.

Lazarus stood there blinking in the daylight of mercy, wrapped head to toe in the fabric of his own funeral.

He was alive—but still bound.

And Jesus said, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

I love that detail. Jesus did what no man could—He gave life. Then He turned to the people and said, Now you do what you can—set him free.

That’s the partnership of grace and discipleship.

God gives life; the church helps remove the grave clothes.

He speaks resurrection; we speak release.

He brings you out; we help you live free.

Every revival must go beyond the shout of “Come forth” to the ministry of “Unbind him.”

That means restoring those who’ve been wounded, forgiving those who failed, embracing those who smell like the tomb they just left.

Because revival isn’t measured by how loud we sing, but by how lovingly we unbind.

---

The Voice That Still Calls

The miracle in Bethany didn’t end with Lazarus; it continues in every heart that hears that same voice today.

The grave may look different—a habit, a bitterness, a fear—but the voice is the same.

Still gentle, still strong, still calling:

> “Come forth.”

He doesn’t wait for us to clean ourselves up first.

He calls while the stone is still in place.

He calls while the smell of death still hangs in the air.

He calls because His word creates what it commands.

Maybe that’s you this morning.

Maybe you’ve been wrapped up in disappointment or exhaustion.

You’re showing up in church but feeling like the life has leaked out.

Listen—He’s still calling your name.

And when He calls, no stone can stay rolled, no past can stay sealed, no darkness can stay dark.

The same Jesus who shouted in Bethany still speaks in Wildomar, in Riverside, in Temecula, in every place where someone whispers, “Lord, I’m tired of this tomb.”

---

A Personal Resurrection

Every revival begins when somebody decides, “I don’t belong in this grave anymore.”

It’s when the Spirit stirs something deep and says, “You were made for life, not for layers of linen.”

We often think revival is thunder and spotlight.

Sometimes it’s just a whisper in the heart: “Come forth.”

You feel the pull, the warmth, the remembering of who you were before the stone rolled over your joy.

That’s the same power that raised Lazarus working in you right now (Eph. 1:19–20).

When Jesus stood at that tomb, He wasn’t performing a show; He was previewing the cross.

Within days, He Himself would enter a tomb—and walk out again.

Bethany was a rehearsal for Calvary’s victory.

He raised Lazarus with a word.

He raised Himself with His own life.

And because He lives, we too shall live.

---

Why He Calls by Name

If you’ve noticed, God’s revivals are always personal.

He didn’t say “Mankind, come forth.”

He said “Lazarus.”

Because salvation isn’t mass-produced.

Grace always comes with a name tag.

He called Abram out of Ur,

Moses out of Midian,

Zacchaeus out of a tree,

Mary out of despair,

and you out of whatever cave you crawled into when life got too hard.

You’re not a file number in heaven’s database; you’re a name spoken on the lips of the Son of God.

And the sound of that name, spoken by Him, is enough to undo every knot the devil ever tied.

---

The Testimony After the Tomb

Scripture says in John 12 that crowds came to see Jesus and Lazarus, whom He had raised from the dead.

People wanted proof that life could come from loss.

Lazarus didn’t have to preach long sermons; he was the sermon.

Every believer is meant to live like that—

a walking witness that grace works,

that God still brings beauty from burial,

that darkness doesn’t get the last line.

Your story may have tombstones in it, but if Jesus is in the narrative, those stones become altars of praise.

Revival isn’t pretending we’ve never been dead; it’s proclaiming that death didn’t stick.

---

Faith That Keeps Singing

That’s where the hymn “Until Then” finds us—between the miracle that was and the miracle that’s coming.

We live in the waiting time.

We bury loved ones and weep; we face setbacks and sigh; yet we keep singing.

Because we know something the world forgets:

The voice that once said “Lazarus” will one day drop the name.

He will simply say, “Come forth,” and every grave will answer.

John 5:28–29 (ESV):

> “An hour is coming when all who are in the tombs will hear His voice and come out—those who have done good to the resurrection of life, and those who have done evil to the resurrection of judgment.”