Jesus Wept

A Lenten sermon by Jamie Howison on John 11:1-45

This is the third Sunday in a row in which we have before us a very long episode from the Gospel according to John. In order to do any real justice to these stories they simply can’t be shortened in any way, as all three stand as full, intact, and important stories in John’s account. All three stories—Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well, his healing of the man born blind, and this story of the raising of Lazarus—are also familiar to anyone who has spent much time in the church or reading the New Testament, which means it is all too easy to skip by some of the more fascinating details to get to the point… or the point we all imagine we know. But John is always more interesting and even elusive than that, such that every time I return to these stories in the preaching cycle, I always see something that I’d not entirely noticed before.

This story is no exception. What has really caught me this time through the story is the line, “though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was,” and then that verse that comes later in the story that says, “Jesus began to weep.”

Why did he stay there on the other side of the Jordan River for those two days while Lazarus was so gravely ill? Well, the simplest answer is there in the text: On receiving word that Lazarus was deathly ill, “Jesus said, ‘This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” And so then, those two days sitting tight right where they are follows.

And yet that seems somehow too cooly dispassionate, given that Jesus is said to love Lazarus, Mary, and Martha. And so N.T. Wright suggests that “From the rest of the story, we can tell [that for those two days] he was praying. He was wrestling with the Father’s will.” (Wright, John for Everyone) As the disciples themselves suggest, it is dangerous to go to Bethany, which was just two miles from Jerusalem, and Jerusalem was a place where he was liable to be killed for again being in that region. Jesus is fully aware of this, yet he also has this connection to Lazarus and his sisters, and he has a clear sense that for Lazarus even death will not have the last word. So yes, having made the decision to hold back for two days, he is still in a place where he needs to be sure—utterly sure—that his decisions and actions are completely in line with the will of God.

And, Bishop Wright continues,

And when [in verses 41-42] Jesus thanks the Father that he has heard his prayers, I think he’s referring to the prayers he prayed during those two strange, silent days in the wilderness across the Jordan. He was praying for Lazarus, but he was also praying for wisdom and guidance as to his own plans and movements. Somehow the two were bound together.

And then comes the point after those two days when Jesus speaks to the disciples with such clarity saying, “Lazarus is dead,” and they know that for all of their protests about the dangers that await back on the other side of the Jordan, Jesus is determined that they must go to Bethany. It is at this point that one of my favourite minor characters speaks up for the first time. “Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow-disciples, ‘Let us also go, that we may die with him.’” This is a hopeless cause, going nowhere, but we’re with him regardless. We’re his people, even if it means we die with him. A kind of Stoic figure is this Thomas.

So off they go, to be met out on the road by Martha, and then a little later by Mary. In his conversation with Martha, Jesus appears utterly at peace and very much in control—“I am the resurrection and the life”—but by the time Mary arrives with a retinue of mourners following along behind, we catch a glimpse of something else, perhaps even something deeper.

When Jesus saw Mary weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.

Those are strong phrases: greatly disturbed and deeply moved. He is not some dispassionate super-human figure floating above the more common human emotions, just preparing to perform a resuscitation of the dead body of Lazarus. He’s troubled, he’s moved by the sorrow he sees written across Mary’s face and faces of the others who have come to be with her. And what’s more,

Jesus said, ‘Where have you laid him?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, come and see.’ Jesus began to weep.

There’s that line, which in most translations is stated even more briefly: “Jesus wept” (KJV, NIV, RSV, etc). The Greek word used here is edakrusen, which is best translated as weeping or shedding tears. The Greek word used of Mary and the crowd of mourners is klaiousan, and while our English translations render that as weeping—Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping—it is probably more accurate to translate it as lamenting—Jesus saw Mary lamenting, and the people with her also lamenting. Lamenting, because they are grieving a death, a deep loss, and while as Jews they may believe in a final resurrection for the righteous at the end of time and history, in that moment they know that their beloved brother and friend is dead. That’s lament.

But Jesus wept, and it wasn’t play-acting. This was a real response to the pain and sorrow he is seeing all around him… and, I believe, to all that his dear friend Lazarus has faced in his own dying. He wept, but as the story moves forward we’ll see the tears resolve and a new beginning come into view. And yet still, Jesus wept.

Here N.T. Wright comments,

The Word, through whom the worlds were made, weeps like a baby at the grave of his friend. Only when we stop and ponder this will we fully understand the full mystery of John’s gospel. Only when we put away our high-and-dry pictures of who God is and replace them with pictures in which the Word who is God can cry with the world’s crying will we discover what the word “God” really means.

As John understands Jesus, there is no lack of clarity in his heart and mind as to the complete unity of Jesus’ mission with that of God the Father. Remember, in John’s telling, Jesus’ final words from the cross are “It is finished” or “it is accomplished,” which hold a very strong sense that this thing he had to do in the name of God and for the sake of the world has been done; has been accomplished.

But in John’s view, Jesus’ life and work and ministry are without any triumphalism or easy victory. He is instead “a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief,” walking with his dear friends Mary and Martha in their deepest grief over the death of a beloved brother, bearing it with them to the point of tears.

That compassion and those tears? I get that. I do, and in some ways it is that moment of Jesus weeping that reinforces yet again why I believe what I believe, and do what I do.

Those are such powerful tears. For all of the questions one might raise about other parts of this story—and it is never a bad thing to ask questions of the scriptures—it is Jesus’ tears that move me. They truly do.