Untie Him and Let Him Go: Fifth Sunday of Lent, Year A — Prayer of the Faithful

Quick Reference

Date: 22 March 2026
Season: Fifth Sunday of Lent, Year A
Readings: Ezekiel 37:12–14 | Psalm 130 | Romans 8:8–11 | John 11:1–45
Response: Reader: Lord, hear us. / All: Lord, graciously hear us.

Celebrant Introduction

We stand today at the threshold of Holy Week — one Sunday away from the city gates, the upper room, the garden, the cross. Before we enter that week, we pause at a tomb. We bring with us everyone we know who is sealed inside one — the forgotten, the grieving, the imprisoned, the ones who have stopped waiting. We bring the Church, and we bring ourselves. Trusting that the God who wept at Lazarus’ tomb hears us from whatever depth we cry, let us pray.

Intercessions

For the Church — That she recover her nerve. That she become again a community that expects miracles — not as spectacle, but as the ordinary work of the Spirit moving through ordinary people in ordinary places. That she not mistake respectability for holiness, or silence for peace. Lord, hear us. / Lord, graciously hear us.

For those who lead — For those who govern nations and communities, who hold power over the imprisoned and the forgotten: may they remember that power is given to unbind, not to seal. For all who stand at the tombs of the poor and the marginalised and have the authority to roll away the stone — may they use it. Lord, hear us. / Lord, graciously hear us.

For those in nursing homes and care facilities — For the elderly who have not been visited. For those who have grown used to waiting and have stopped expecting anyone to come. For those whose names are known to God and have been quietly forgotten by the rest of us. Lord, hear us. / Lord, graciously hear us.

For those in prison — Not only punished, but rejected. Not only separated, but written off. For those who carry the weight of what they have done and the additional weight of being treated as though that is all they are. As Jesus in Holy Week becomes the prisoner, is tried, condemned, and executed — may the Church stand with those for whom the justice system is a sealed tomb, not a path to freedom. Lord, hear us. / Lord, graciously hear us.

For all who cannot stop grieving — For those for whom the second anniversary is harder than the first, and the third harder still. For those grieving not only people but the loss of what they believed, what they hoped for, what they once were. For those who have laid down dreams and identities and futures and are still standing at the grave. May they meet the God who does not stand at a safe distance from grief but enters it, is shaken by it, weeps in it. Lord, hear us. / Lord, graciously hear us.

For those who have stopped waiting — For those in whom hope has not dramatically collapsed but quietly, imperceptibly sealed itself shut. For those who no longer pray certain prayers because they have stopped believing those prayers reach anywhere. For the places in all of us — unnamed, unvisited — where the stone was rolled across so long ago we have forgotten there was ever an opening. Lord, hear us. / Lord, graciously hear us.

For the grace to stay — For ourselves: that we do not look away from grief that is not ours. That we do not offer explanations where presence is what’s needed. That when someone we love is sealed in a dark place we have the courage to go there and stand with them — not to fix, not to instruct, but to weep alongside. And when the moment comes to unbind — that we use our hands. Lord, hear us. / Lord, graciously hear us.

For our families and communities — For those we love who are carrying things we cannot see. For the sealed places in our households, the conversations that have not happened, the grief that has not been named. May our homes be places where stones can be moved. Lord, hear us. / Lord, graciously hear us.

For the departed — We pray today from the depths, as the psalm teaches us — from the place where we did not expect to be heard, toward the God who hears anyway. We remember those who have died, especially those whose deaths left us wooden with grief, those whose anniversaries return and find us still standing at the grave. May they rise. May they be unbound. May they go free. Lord, hear us. / Lord, graciously hear us.

Celebrant Conclusion

God of Ezekiel, God of the psalm, God who stood at a sealed tomb and wept and then shouted — receive what we have brought you. The forgotten, the imprisoned, the grieving, the ones who stopped waiting, and ourselves, with our quiet sealed places and our wooden prayers. As Holy Week begins, walk with us into everything it asks of us. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Practical Notes

Tone: Unhurried. These intercessions are longer than average — they need space. A reader who rushes them will lose the congregation. Each one should feel like it lands before moving to the response.

The response: Lord, graciously hear us — not a formula but a genuine plea. If the community can be invited to mean it rather than recite it, these intercessions will do their work.

Adaptability: For smaller communities or shorter liturgies, the intercessions for the Church, for those who have stopped waiting, and for the departed form a minimal complete set. The others may be added as the community’s context warrants.

Holy Week proximity: The intercession for prisoners deliberately connects to Holy Week’s arc — Jesus tried, condemned, executed. If your community has a particular connection to prison ministry or restorative justice work, this intercession may be expanded or personalised.

Seasonal continuity: This is the last Prayer of the Faithful before Palm Sunday. The celebrant conclusion deliberately opens toward Holy Week rather than closing the season. Next Sunday the tone shifts entirely.

Go into depth

God Unhides His Tears: An in-depth introduction to the spirit of the Last Sunday Before Holy Week

The Sealed Place: This post traces the arc of sealing our creative impulse through all four readings, with rabbinic commentary on sheol and the dry bones, and the Greek behind Jesus’ seismic agitation at the grave.

The Tomb Door: A Stillness for the Last Sunday Before Holy Week
Almost no words. A short image-stream. And the silence that becomes the practice.