By Rev Paul Graham
Some days ago, I was trawling through the various postings and comments on Facebook when I came across something that made me stop scrolling and think. Somebody I don’t personally know had posted a comment alongside a news story about a politician. What struck me initially was the egregious way that this person referred to said politician. What was said wasn’t particularly party political, it betrayed no bias nor allegiance to blue, red, yellow, green or even purple; it just wasn’t kind or indeed fair.
However, as I mulled over whether to take this person to task and started composing a response that I ultimately didn’t post, I noticed that the comment was prefaced with “Jesus wept”, which set me thinking…
These two words, comprising the shortest verse in most English translations of the Bible (John 11:35, though Job 3:2 in the NIV is shorter: “He said”) is often inappropriately used as a term of exasperation, as was the case in the aforementioned comment. The verse is found in John’s gospel, while Jesus is standing among many mourners outside the tomb of his good friend Lazarus. Shortly after wiping away his tears, Jesus commands Lazarus to be returned to life and to his sisters, a great miracle carried out only a few days before Jesus’ own death and subsequent resurrection (more of that later…)
Commentators, keen as always to find reasons to publish their many works on these sorts of subjects, are divided as to why Jesus shows such a deeply human emotion as grief. For whom, they ask, is he grieving? Is he mourning his friend? In which case, did he not know that he would shortly be bringing him back to life? Alternatively, was he grieving for the lack of faith of those around him? For those who didn’t trust in his power and authority, even over death itself? Or was he grieving in sympathy, empathetically with those who were wailing and mourning around him? Or was the grief his own personal response to the foreshadowing of death that would shortly be his own experience on the cross, at the behest of the authorities?
Whatever the reason, and I suspect the answer lies somewhere along the spectrum of “all of the above and more”, the fact remains that Jesus wept. Jesus mourned for something that was lost, something that would never be the same again, even for something that had yet to happen.
Jesus is also recorded shedding tears over Jerusalem as he and his disciples make their fateful descent into the city on the day we now know as Palm Sunday. Luke’s gospel tells us that Jesus, having made his way through the outskirts of the city with crowds greeting his arrival like the avenging, triumphant hero that they assumed he would be, stops in sight of Jerusalem and weeps (Luke 19:41). This time, he goes on to explain his tears, expressing his deep regret at the wilful rejection by the authorities of his saving message of grace and redemption and the path to destruction onto which those same authorities have now set themselves and their citizens.
History records that Jerusalem was indeed destroyed by their Roman overlords in 70AD, following an attempted revolution by the population heartily sick of being governed by outsiders. So, Jesus’ tear-stained prediction came true.
And this is where we come in.
“Jesus wept” is a phrase that resonates today as much as it did back in those First Century days. Jesus is still weeping in the present: over those who seek destruction over construction; over those who see only death, not life; over those who refuse grace and love, choosing anger and bitterness; over those who believe others’ lies over his truth; over those who aren’t able to see beyond themselves to glimpse the bigger story of God’s involvement in all humanity.
Jesus continues to weep as it seems that in so many areas of life we are on a course towards destruction, whether within communities, across society or even of the whole planet that God has entrusted to us. Jesus weeps over my failings and your failings. He weeps over the language we use towards those we know and those we don’t, both in public and in private. He weeps over our ungracious attitudes towards those we disagree with. He weeps over our lack of neighbourliness towards each other and our failure to love God with anything approaching the level that he lavishes his love on us.
But he doesn’t leave it there. To portray Jesus as one with head bowed and tears wetting the ground around our feet is incomplete; some might say it’s nothing more than a “snowflake” image of God too absorbed with grief, too emotionally-charged for a deity.
And this is why we need to read on.
In John’s gospel, it is this same Jesus who commands the dead to walk and to breathe again, restoring Lazarus to his astounded and grateful family. This same Jesus who is then found kneeling amongst his disciples, showing the servant’s way to true greatness.
In Luke’s gospel, it is this same Jesus who continues the journey to Jerusalem, to make final attempts to teach and guide. This same Jesus who settled down to eat with his disciples, to be betrayed by one, denied by another and deserted by the rest. This same Jesus who was arrested, accused, beaten and flogged. This same Jesus who, with rough wooden beams chafing against his bloodied body, was finally crucified, wearing the cruellest of crowns.
This same Jesus who did all this for redeeming love, to prove that the Good Friday silence of fearful despair will be replaced by the cries of uncontrolled joy on Easter Sunday.
Jesus wept, but Jesus wasn’t immobilised by his grief. Jesus may continue to bow his head in grief, but he also continues to throw his arms out wide, his nail-scarred hands offering redemption and forgiveness to all who recognise that those tears are for them.
