Without reliving it, or giving too many details, I had the unfortunate experience of discovering a friend's body after he took his own life. It was ugly. I can't remember a lot of details about the entire experience, but the image of that man has been difficult to leave my eyes. I couldn't sleep because the darkness of my bedroom provided the perfect canvas for the image to resurface. And if I was lucky enough to fall asleep, it was broken sleep, littered with horrific nightmares where I would rediscover the scene, often with different people as the victim. I lay down to bed at night with a light on, because the dark frightens me. I can't stand the door to my closet open, and I turn the light on and crane my neck to peep inside before I'll walk in. I don't really eat much. Everything makes me cry. And I've had two panic attacks. Like I said, it's been a nightmare. And all of this anxiety has caused me a great deal of anger.
Yesterday was the memorial service. I thought I would fall apart. I thought the kind words that people would speak would only fuel the rage I felt inside for someone who had selfishly thrust me into depression with him, and caused me to carry this unthinkable burden. I thought that I would be overcome with emotion, grieving for his three young daughters and the family and friends he left behind. But the truth is that I was completely spent. I felt nothing. Maybe less than nothing. An emotional vacuum. I didn't cry. I didn't even feel all that angry. Blank. Until I hugged the neck of the widow. And we both cried.
Jesus wept.
John 11:35
The shortest passage of The Bible. But it carries a huge impact. Two short words. But think about the message: Jesus, the Son of God, a man who could turn water into wine, give the dead breath, and save all of humanity with his blood, he wept.
Let's get some context. I'm going to shorthand this, because we could be here all day breaking down this whole event. Mary was the girl from the Bible who poured perfumed oil on Jesus' feet, then used her hair to wash his feet. And her brother, Lazarus, was the one who lay dying. Jesus was called to go see him. Scripture says that Mary and Martha sent word to Jesus, "Lord, the one you love is sick." (John 11:3) Obviously, Jesus had a very close relationship to Lazarus. And being that Jesus is fully God as well as fully man, he understand that Lazarus would die. After his death, Jesus headed to the town where Lazarus was now buried. The Bible says, "When Jesus saw [Mary] weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled." (John 11:33) In this exact moment, seeing the pain and grief in Mary, Jesus had the power to snap his fingers and raise Lazarus to life. He could end all suffering in a matter of milliseconds. But he didn't. Instead, Jesus wept.
Jesus showed a very human side there. He was sympathetic and empathetic. He gave us all an example of love. He didn't just know how Mary was hurting; he hurt, too. He invested fully in her emotion and felt it with her. He carried the weight of the grief with his friend. What an amazing act of love and compassion!
So often we feel the need to fix stuff. We hear of someone's grief or their struggle, and we instantly begin to offer solutions. That can be helpful. But so can just holding someone in their pain and acknowledging that this season they are walking through is painful, difficult, stressful, and uncomfortable. In those moments where we stop trying to raise the dead, and stop trying to make all things new again, we have opportunities to gain trust, to strengthen relationships, and to love one another the way Jesus did - with grace, poise, and dignity. His actions that day spoke volumes. He said to Mary and to the world, "If anyone ever understood the pain of death, the feelings of loss, and the ugliness of sin, it was me. And you can lean on me during any and all of it. I understand it all." And what a gift that is!
After Jesus wept, he did raise Lazarus to life. I would encourage everyone to read from John 11 to get the whole story, because it is a beautiful and amazing story of love, compassion, grace, and mercy. But, spoiler alert: I will just tell you that Jesus knew what he was doing the whole time. He knew Lazarus had died. He knew Mary was hurting. He knew Mary needed comfort. And he knew that he would raise Lazarus from the dead to glorify the one who sent him. But even still, he took the time to comfort a friend.
Let's bring this all full circle. See, I know that God will help ease my nightmares, and give me the gift of restful sleep again. I know God will allow me to walk past the closet without an increase in heart rate. I know that God will help the three daughters move through their stages of grief and teach them to love and trust again. I know that God will provide healing for the widow. I know that it is so. But God is not ready to raise us right now. He's still holding us all, weeping with us. And when the time is right, we will be released from our tombs so that we may be able to glorify the God of the universe. And after all, that's the reason Jesus raised Lazarus at all - so that all who were there may know that it was on God's authority that Jesus performed the miracle in the first place. John 11:42 says that Jesus did this "for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me." It was for the glory of God.
And I know that the first step in releasing the anger I was holding onto for having been pulled into this ugly situation is to realize that I've got Jesus weeping with me. He knows it hurts. It hurts him too. And our Heavenly Father is not the author of this. When we are grieving and aching, He is, too. Because this was not the plan He had for any of us, either. So thrust your grief and your hurt and your heartache on the one who is big enough, strong enough, and compassionate enough to take it all on. Let Him weep with you, and for you. And then, friends, be willing to be the physical manifestation of that to someone else. Be Jesus to a friend who may not feel his presence. Be those loving arms that say, "I understand that you are hurting. I can't give you a miracle right now, but I can love you through it." Sometimes, it's the best thing you can do. Sometimes, it's the only thing you can do. But it speaks volumes. And it sounds an awful lot like my Jesus.
I thought about hugging that widow yesterday. If I could've snapped my fingers and gone back in time a week, I would have changed every single thing about it. What my eyes beheld wouldn't have been seen. It wouldn't have happened. We would all be sitting in our homes enjoying a typical Sunday afternoon. I would've been watching football on TV, my kids would've been playing it in the yard, and we would be talking about the morning's sermon. Normal. Average. Boring. And yes, I would choose that every time over what happened last Sunday. But I know that God works all things for good to them that love Him (Romans 8:28). And He will use this experience in all of our lives to help us a) understand loss; b) learn how to mourn; and the one that has left the biggest impression on me: c) learn to weep like Jesus. So, without many words, I put my arms around her. And I wept. She wept. We didn't know what to say to each other, but I felt the Father speak loud and clear to my heart: your time will come, like Lazarus, and you will be released from the tomb.
Be Jesus to someone who is hurting. Sometimes a miracle isn't what their heart really needs. Sometimes they just need to know someone acknowledges their pain. And then they can heal, become stronger, and grow closer to the Father... for His glory.
