Sunday, February 2, 2020

Jesus wept.

Lazarus was suddenly sick. Shockingly gone. His sisters were suspended by grief. Disoriented, despairing. 

Then God. The Messiah entered into their pain. Not as one above it all, but as their friend, hating death and its sting right there with them. Jesus wept. 

Yes, He knew the resurrection miracle He would work. But that would come later. The comfort He brought to Mary and to Martha was Himself. The ministry of presence. The consolation of eternity. The grave-defying miracle would be for everyone else who needed proof of who He really was. God in the flesh.  

But for the sisters devastated by grief, Jesus’ comfort came before the miracle. They were consoled before it, without it. Because the comfort He brings isn’t the miracle. 

The comfort Jesus brings is that He “simply” enters into our grief with us as someone who has felt it.  As one who has tasted death.  And as the One who defeated it.  Yet who still weeps over the pain it wields in our hearts. 

Jesus wept.