Readings:
Isaiah 25:6-9; Psalm 24; Revelation 21:1-6a; John 11:32-44
May I speak in the name of God; always creating, redeeming, and sanctifying. Amen.
Do you every had a “good cry?”
I’m such a crier. Kids’ movies are the worst, I always end up in tears. Call the Midwife? Floods of tears, every time!
It’s not the same for everyone, but I am one of those people who sometimes needs “a good cry,” and at the end of my good cry, the tears are dried and I feel more at peace. Tears, for me, are an essential part of my processing of distressing events, and part of my healing.
Tears are a theme this week, as we engage with the celebration of All Saints’ Day. In Isaiah and Revelation we are told that “tears will be wiped away,” and “be no more.” In John, though, we see many tears.
There are Mary’s tears, the tears of the people who had come to mourn with Mary and Martha, and of course, the tears of Jesus.
As I was reading it over and over during the week the themes of empathy and compassion’s role in action, and the power of love to overcome barriers, are what kept niggling at me.
Let’s look at Jesus’ emotional responses:
He is greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved (v.33);
Jesus weeps (v. 35);
Again, greatly disturbed (v. 38);
And he prays (v. 41).
And these were matched with specific barriers between him and Lazarus:
distance to the grave site,
a boulder blocking the way,
the stench of death,
death itself,
and Lazarus’s bindings.
I’m not imagining there is a specific like for like here, but I do notice that each moment of emotional response initiated some action of love. Jesus goes closer and closer to the centre of the cause of the grief.
He doesn’t shy away from it… he leans in.
Let’s see it in context:
vs. 33 When Jesus saw [Mary] weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep. (The Greek is simply “Jesus wept.”)
vs. 38 Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.”
That stench is no barrier to Jesus as it is to Martha (and likely to those who are following them). In fact, it is more of a barrier to them than the stone blocking the entrance. And we are reminded that Jesus knows his own intent in this act of his ministry, it is for the glory of God. We know this, he knows this, and still he is greatly disturbed. Then we get to the greatest barrier, that of death itself.
Jesus’ response to this is to pray. Although he says this particular prayer is for the benefit of those around him, to me that signifies that if he had simply called to Lazarus, that itself would have been prayer. He says: “I knew that you always hear me.” (v.47)
It is here that he has lent in as far as possible and now the table turns to what Lazarus will do.
I remember in my first student placement being told to make sure that I pointed out that Lazarus had to respond. (As in, we have to respond to Jesus.) And he did, if he didn’t respond there would be no resurrection.
Thinking about it this week, I wonder what kind of power any of us has to resist love such as this:
a beloved friend who is walking right up to the stench of us to call to us and let us know we’re loved.
When Lazarus appears, though, there is one final barrier. His bandages.
This just gets me.
How often do we continue to bind ourselves up, even in the face of love. We protect ourselves. But Jesus is saying, in the presence of perfect love, those bandages are not required. “Unbind him, and let him go.” (v. 44)
For me, the fact that Jesus weeps, allows my moments of grief to become holy, they are redeemed by him. The fact that Jesus weeps even when he knows what he is about to do, redeems our tears.
As Debbie Thomas says: “When Jesus weeps, he legitimizes human grief. His brokenness in the face of Mary’s sorrow negates all forms of Christian triumphalism that leave no room for lament. Yes, resurrection is around the corner, but in this story, the promise of joy doesn’t cancel out the essential work of grief.
“When Jesus cries, he assures Mary not only that her beloved brother is worth crying for, but also that she is worth crying with. Through his tears, Jesus calls all of us into the holy vocation of empathy.”[1]
So, the two themes that were niggling at me all week: empathy and compassion’s role in action, and the power of love to overcome barriers.
Having empathy for one another can sometimes take practice. But one of the things I know about it is that when we journey life’s challenging times together with love and compassion, there is almost nothing I wouldn’t do for the person who needs help.
While I was working as a hospital pastoral carer, I saw how people can respond to a free offering of loving listening. So often people are suspicious of what you want, but once they understand there are no strings attached, that the conversation is confidential, and simply a gift for them, sometimes, the walls come down; they show their fears, and griefs, and joys. Often, they’d have a “good cry,” and when they were finished, their tears dried, and they had some peace.
Finally, on All Saints’ Day, this story is used to remind us that we believe in life after death; that death is not the end, but merely an interruption.
A few years ago Emily asked me what happens when we die. It forced me to stop and reflect on what I believe.
I’ll tell you what I told her: “I don’t know what happens when we die, or where we go; What I do believe with all of my being is that we are received into perfect love.”
And I think this story exemplifies the lengths that Love will go to find us, and to free us.
Amen.
[1] https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/1999-when-jesus-weeps