There is a lot of really hard stuff going on in the world right now. I suppose that much of it has always been there, but now, because of how fast we communicate via the internet and social media, and how readily available all the world’s news is to us, we are more aware of all that is happening.
We’re aware of wars happening, in which too many innocent lives are shattered.
We’re aware of the impending climate catastrophe, and how each year brings storms and droughts that are more severe than we’ve ever seen.
We’re aware of the truly difficult circumstances many people face. The other day I watched a film called The Kings of the World, about a group of boys in Colombia who have been marginalized and excluded from humanity. The movie is fiction, but I could tell that it reflects the real (and tragic) experiences of far too many marginalized people in many parts of the world.
We’re aware of rights being taken away from people because of their race, or their sexual orientation, or their gender identity, and the tragic consequences this brings not only for the immediate victims of such actions, but also, the tragic consequences for a country that supposedly stands for liberty and justice for all.
We’re aware that younger generations are now facing a much more difficult path due to how corporations and politicians have shaped our economy. We immediately bail out banks, but we cut aid to the poor, denying health coverage, and we refuse to cancel the debts of those struggling to pay off student loans. If you’re born into wealth, the economy’s great; but for everyone else, things just keep getting harder and harder.
Some of these things, we’re aware of through the information media; and some of them, we experience personally.
And it’s tough.
We trudge on, we do our best, but inside, we just want to curl up in a corner and cry.
And, yes, we need hope; but hope is shallow and weak if it does not first acknowledge the despair that is so prevalent.
So maybe the folks who put together the lectionary knew what they were doing when they scheduled today’s reading from John on this 5th Sunday in Lent, the Sunday before Palm Sunday and two weeks before Easter. Because here, in today’s scripture:
Jesus weeps.
And yes, he does then raise Lazarus back to life.
But first, he weeps.
I recently heard Nadia Bolz-Weber, who is an author and the founding pastor of House for all Sinners and Saints in Denver, say that, right now, she needs stories of Jesus seeing and being moved by human grief, because the grief over the suffering of her friends, her family, and the whole world—the grief because all that’s happening—sits so heavy upon her.
I know that a lot of us try to put on a pretty face, to hide the suffering and the grief and the struggle. I know, because pastors do that, too.
We put on that mask and try to pretend that everything is OK. After all, our faith tells us that, in the end, everything will work out for good; and I truly do believe that.
But right now, in this moment, a lot of things aren’t so good.
Each of us carries a load, and we’re expected to keep up the pace as we carry it, but for many, that load just keeps getting heavier and heavier. We try not to let the strain show, but the truth is, we’re wearing ourselves out.
Like many people today, Mary and Martha were carrying a heavy load. They lived with the oppression of a patriarchal society, the oppression of Rome, and the economic oppression of a world where the wealthy elite rigged the economy in their favor, making life a difficult struggle for everyone else.
On top of that, now, their brother Lazarus was dead.
For Mary and Martha, there is no mention of husbands, so if Mary and Martha were unmarried, it’s likely that Lazarus, their brother, was their protector, their provider, the one who could speak for them and manage their affairs.
So, they grieved for their brother Lazarus, because they did love him; but they also grieved for themselves, because now life would get so much harder for them, since they now had no male family member to act on their behalf.
When Jesus arrived, Lazarus had been dead for four days, and Martha and Mary were consumed by grief.
It’s significant to note what Jesus did not do when he arrived. Jesus did not try to make light of their suffering. He didn’t try to explain away Lazarus’s death by saying to Martha and Mary, “It’s all part of God’s plan,” or, “God must have needed Lazarus more than you.”
Jesus did say to Martha, “Your brother will rise again.” I think in saying that, he was engaging with Martha where she was at.
He didn’t say those words to Mary. He didn’t really say much to Mary at all.
He had a nice conversation with Martha, but not with Mary. He didn’t even respond to Mary’s question—even though it was the same question Martha had asked him.
This was Jesus meeting each person where they were at. Jesus knew that, while Martha maybe wanted a response, Mary didn’t. She just wanted his presence. She just wanted him to acknowledge how intense her grief was. She just needed him to be with her, to make space (or hold space) for her grieving.
And Jesus felt the same grief Mary felt. That’s what compassion is, to feel the grief, the sorrow, the suffering of another. Jesus felt her grief, because it was his grief, too.
And Jesus wept with Mary. He made space for her grief by grieving with her. He didn’t jump to hope without letting grief have its moment.
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A source of great fascination for me is the nature and character of Jesus. What was Jesus like? What was he really like?
So, a Jesus who weeps is something that grabs my attention. What does it say about Jesus’ nature and character, that he weeps? And, is the way I preach and teach about Jesus (the way that I present Jesus) consistent with that?
I think about the fact that many of the religious leaders in his day were offended by the things Jesus said and did; and many religious leaders today are likewise offended.
Whereas the religious leaders in Jesus’ time tried to get rid of him, today’s religious leaders remake Jesus into something he’s not. They change Jesus—they present a version of Jesus whose nature and character aren’t the same as the Jesus we read about in the gospels. In their preaching they present a Jesus who thinks and acts like they do.
They change Jesus into something he’s not, instead of changing their own ways of thinking and acting to be more like Jesus.
As a religious leader myself, I want to do what I can to avoid this temptation.
So: A Jesus who weeps. (I need to sit with that awhile.) A Jesus who is overcome by emotion and sadness. A Jesus who is greatly disturbed by what’s going on.
Does that challenge your idea of what Jesus is like?
Apparently, the sorrows of this world matter so much to Jesus that he allows them to affect him. He’s even, dare I say, overcome by emotion, here in this story, and at other times in scripture.
Maybe wrapping my head around this is a challenge for me because I’m so good at not letting my emotions overwhelm me. I keep my emotions under control, or at least, hidden away, out of public view. That is, after all, the American way.
What can we learn from Jesus, and the way he weeps over Lazarus, the way he weeps with Mary, the way his soul is greatly disturbed by the events taking place?
It’s a lot to think about, and there is more than one answer. For me, though, I take comfort in knowing that, when I’m sad, Jesus shares my sadness. When I’m troubled, Jesus is troubled, too. When I’m feeling like the state of the world is hopeless, Jesus is also saddened by the state of the world…
And before Jesus offers any easy solutions or verbal encouragement, Jesus is going to share my sadness and my trouble and is going to hold space for my despair.
Like Nadia Bolz-Weber said, that’s the Jesus we need, because the weight of all we’re going through these days sits so heavy upon us.
But Nadia-Bolz Weber also points out that Jesus does also give us something else we need: stories of resurrection and hope.
The struggles of this present moment are real, but so too is the victory that life will have over death, and the victory that love will have over hate, and the victory that affirmation will have over rejection.
We’re living in a “fifth-Sunday-of-Lent” time. We see where we’re headed: Holy Week. Good Friday. Death on a cross.
But beyond that, there is Easter.There is resurrection. And nothing is going to stop resurrection from coming.
And if that’s hard for you to see, then just look around. The trees are budding and the flowers are starting to bloom. Nature itself is being recreated all around us, as it does every spring. God hasn’t given up on the world, and God hasn’t given up on you.
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