I sit in the narrative of Mary and Martha. In between stinks. Unexpected circumstances punch in the gut, making exhaling feel impossible. Who can fix this broken body? The shattered vision of what was anticipated?
Four days. But who is keeping track of time when grief hits? Days and nights morph together figuratively and literally. No appetite. Because what on earth can possibly satisfy in the face of loss?
Yet Jesus approaches, later than expected but he comes. To comfort, to resurrect. But first, to weep.
The smallest verse in the Bible speaks volumes. Jesus wept. (John 11:34-35)
He sits in the anguish of what surrounds him. It is believed that the source of his grief is his anger at death. He feels the pain of the flesh. He hears the wails of the mourners and laments that their current connection to Lazarus is broken.
Those four days from an earthly perspective did not feel filled with the “good” once declared by God over all things created. Or the promise of abundant life Jesus promised to those willing to come along side him.
Weeping recognizes that things might not always be fixed the way we expect on this side of Heaven. That doesn’t mean we stop calling for him, hoping for his healing here, and witnessing miracles in numerous ways. He is still working through all creation to make things right.
Jesus isn’t contained to his throne watching from a distance. He enters into our suffering. And while we wait, while we question all the things, we welcome his peace. His presence. His promises: “I am, right now, Resurrection and Life.” (John 11:25).
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