(An excerpt from “A Liturgy for Those Who Weep Without Knowing Why”)

Is it possible that you—in your sadness 
over Lazarus, in your grieving for 
Jerusalem, in your sorrow in the garden—
is it possible that you have sanctified
our weeping too? 

For the grief of God is no small thing,
and the weeping of God is not without effect.
The tears of Jesus preceded
a resurrection of the dead.

O Spirit of God,
is it then possible
that our tears might also be
that our tears might also be 
a kind of intercession? 

Shortly after we were married, Drew and I attended a faith-based conference together. At the end of an early morning session focused on Lament, we were invited to walk down an aisle to the front of the auditorium, where a large canvas featuring a black outline of Jesus’ face awaited us. First we were handed a small piece of fabric to tear, reminiscent of the Jewish custom of tearing one’s clothes as a sign of grief. Then, one by one, the facilitators handed us a paintbrush, dipped in watery gold paint. Pressing the tip of the paint brush under Jesus’ eyes, each of us impressed our own tear on the cheek of Jesus. As I watched my golden tear fall down his cheek, the love and humanity of Christ felt near and personal.

***

In the gospel accounts of Jesus’ life, we read of the Jesus who is a lover, a feaster, a prayer, a shouter, a healer, and a weeper. The full range of human expression was accessible to him, and no emotion was “too much” or too shameful to engage. The type of people Jesus is drawn to need healing, forgiveness, justice, freedom, equality, attention, touch, and even resurrection. He allows his heart to be broken on behalf of others. We know what breaks the heart of God because we see it clearly reflected through the life of his son, and one of the most beautiful expressions of the heart of God breaking with ours is Jesus’ response to the death of his beloved friend Lazarus shortly before his own death on the cross.

Upon arriving at the tomb of Lazarus, Jesus encounters Mary, who has run to him from her house and brought a crowd with her. He watches as she collapses at his feet in grief, weeping and asking why Jesus wasn’t there to save her brother. Then, Jesus resignedly hangs his head, sits with Mary in the dust, and accepts the reality of death here on earth.

Except he doesn’t.

Here’s what happens next:

When Jesus saw her weeping and saw the other people wailing with her, a deep anger welled up within him, and he was deeply troubled. (John 11:33)

When confronted with the sting of death, Jesus got angry. When I was young, I was taught that perhaps Jesus was angry at Mary’s lack of faith, because of course Jesus could save Lazarus—living or dead. Silly Mary—she should have just had more faith and patience. As an adult, this interpretation is highly suspect to me, because of what happened next. Instead of being angry that Mary and her posse were weeping, Jesus joins them.

Then Jesus wept. (vs. 35)

In the space between death and resurrection, Jesus wept.

After this, John describes Jesus as “still angry” as he approaches Lazarus’s tomb. And instead of gently whispering under his breath in a voice as meek as a dove the words that will raise Lazarus from the dead, Jesus gets loud.

Then Jesus looked up to heaven and said, “Father, thank you for hearing me. You always hear me, but I said it out loud for the sake of all these people standing here, so that they will believe you sent me.” Then Jesus shouted, “Lazarus, come out!” (vs. 41-43)

Jesus got angry, then wept, then got angry again, then prayed, then shouted those resurrecting words. Does this sound familiar to you? It does to me. It is how I felt when Drew and I lost his Mother to COPD. It is how I felt as my first marriage was ending. It is how I feel now when I watch loved ones suffer and when I hear about the senseless shootings of our Black and Asian brothers and sisters, as well as the countless other injustices that pervade our world. If you can relate, know this:

 You are not alone in your experience of grief.

This is how Jesus felt, too, in the space between death and resurrection.

We live in the space between death and resurrection. Yes, Jesus came and died and rose again—and his resurrection gives us hope. But we are still waiting for the promised redemption and renewal of all things, and in the waiting, we are weeping. This is not an anomaly, and we do not need to feel shame if we are not able to provide a reason for every tear that falls from our eyes. Our tears are blessed because God cried, too.

When God watched his beloved son die, the earth grew dark at noon, the ground quaked, and the temple veil was ripped from top to bottom. For so long I have narrowly viewed these phenomena as primarily symbolic (for example—the veil being torn symbolizes our full access to God).

But when I think of these events now, after having personally experienced the depths of grief, I wonder—

What if the tearing, the darkness, the quaking are expressions of God’s deep grief over the death of His beloved son?

In times of grief, don’t we often feel angry over our helplessness to prevent suffering? When the world around us feels dark as midnight, does not the very ground beneath us seem to shift and shake? Grief plunges us into darkness and brings us to our knees on unstable ground. When God tore the very fabric of the Holy of Holies from top to bottom, could it be that He was “tearing his clothes” in grief, too?

If the all-powerful God with resurrection in his hands grieves, how much more should we on behalf of the hurting and broken among us?

The past two weeks, I have hoped to communicate that grief can be godly, good, and holy. Lament and tears on behalf of the broken, the hurting, the persecuted can be an open door that leads us deeper into the heart of God. But our grief is truly impoverished if we do not remember this key truth:

Because of Jesus’ resurrection, we grieve with Hope.

And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and was raised to life again, we also believe that when Jesus returns, God will bring back with him the believers who have died. (1 Thessalonians 4:13,14)

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. (1 Peter 1:3)

When we grieve, we grieve as people who have hope because our Savior both understands and cares for our sorrows. We have hope because we know the end of the story: one day, the dead will rise, and God will wipe every single tear from our eyes. We will live with him forever.

Hallelujah.

***

Then let our tears anoint these broken things,
and let our grief be as their consecration—
a preparation for their promised
redemption, our sorrow sealing them
for that day when you will take
the ache of all creation,
and turn it inside-out,
like the shedding of
an old gardener’s glove.

ALL: O Lord, if it please you, 
when your children weep 
and don’t know why, 
yet use our tears
to baptize what you love. 

Amen.

(From “A Liturgy for Those Who Weep Without Knowing Why”)