In a few of my spare moments, I’ve been watching “Jonathan and Jesus” on Amazon prime. It follows Jonathan Roumie, the actor who plays Jesus on The Chosen. It is quite an enlightening glimpse into his world and how portraying Jesus affects him. In one of the episodes, a friend of his addresses one story in Jesus’ life that will be part of The Chosen, but hadn’t been filmed yet. He asks Jonathan, “When Jesus was about to raise Lazarus from the dead, why did Jesus weep?”

His friend was referencing John 11, verse 35. Shortest verse in the Bible. Jesus’ friend, Lazarus, was sick. His sisters, also Jesus’ friends, had sent for him, asking Jesus to come heal him. Instead of rushing to his aid, Jesus stayed where he was two more days. Then he came. In the interim, Lazarus had died and was placed in a tomb. He had been entombed for four days. Decay had set in (as his sister, Mary, tried to remind Jesus when Jesus told them to take away the stone: “Lord, there will be an odor.”) If you read the whole chapter, you see Jesus’ intention in all of it. He intentionally waited to come until Lazarus had been dead and decaying in his grave. He intentionally came back to a dangerous area, where people were seeking to arrest him. He has these intentional conversations with Lazarus’ sisters, Mary and Martha. It is very evident that Jesus is on a mission, and Jesus’ mission is the glory of God (11:40).

So why did Jesus weep? As you read the narrative, you see that Jesus is deeply troubled, moved in his spirit, as he sees the people weeping for Lazarus. There are many sermons on this section of Scripture, and I don’t mean to write another one or summarize the various perspectives on what it means that Jesus was deeply moved and troubled. I appreciate Jonathan Roumie’s answer to his friend’s question. Surprisingly to me, his friend’s question bothered me. It hit me differently than it has before. His friend was honestly asking, “So, if Jesus knew he was going to fix it, if Jesus knew that he was about to raise Lazarus from the dead and everything would be okay, why did he weep? Why not respond to all the friends and family weeping over the loss of Lazarus with something like, ‘Hey man, it’ll be okay. I’m here now. It’s all good,’ or some other reassuring statement more fitted to 1st century Jewish culture?”

His question bothered me because it represents something very pervasive in Christian culture today. Something I’ve been told, directly or indirectly from so many sources that it’s hard to pinpoint. Something I’ve believed for years and am now unlearning. It feels like it’s the air we Christians breathe, and since it’s air, we don’t often take the time to analyze it. We just breathe it and go on. But this valley God plunged me into with my mom’s cancer and intense suffering has given me new eyes. I don’t see things the way I used to. I’m still figuring out this new vision, and as I am, this pervasive belief in Christian culture says something like this: “When grief or tragedy or death or devastation strike, sure, it’s okay to cry, but not too much. You should be rejoicing. You should be celebrating, because Jesus wins at the end of it all. Jesus resurrects. Jesus is victorious! Too much expression of grief or sorrow isn’t okay, because it shows a weak faith.”

I hear the honest inquiry: “Why did Jesus weep?” Why did he weep, when he was going to make it all right again? Why on earth would Jesus grieve when there was a massive victory over death as Lazarus rose from the dead, and celebration minutes away? I also hear the implied message from my experience: Why cry when you know Jesus will make it better? Why weep since we know the end of the story?

Well, if we strictly look at this passage in John, we see that our perfect Savior wept profusely when he knew the end of the story. Reading some commentaries leaves me understanding that the word “wept” roughly translates “to burst into tears”, also implying strong anger. Francis Schaeffer says in The God Who Was There,

“Let us go to the tomb of Lazarus. As Jesus stood there, He not only wept, but He was angry. The exegesis of the Greek of the passages of John 11:33 and 38 is clear. Jesus, standing in front of the tomb of Lazarus, was angry at death and at the abnormality of the world—the destruction and distress caused by sin.

There are many other instances of weeping and lamenting in the Bible. I learned from Dark Waters, Deep Mercy by Mark Vroegop that 1/3 of the psalms (Israel’s songbook) are songs of lament. Compare that to what you hear on mainstream Christian radio or your worship service. Do you hear at least 1 out of every 3 songs crying out to God in utter honesty about personal pain, injustice, wondering where he is and why he isn’t acting, asking him to move and deliver? Then rehearsing who he is, even when you don’t feel it? Or sometimes, just ending with a complaint? Those songs from Israel were meant to train God’s people up. We need modeling on how to rejoice, celebrate, worship, lament, and grieve. The Psalms do it all. We tend to do it in part.

I’m learning that lamenting is Christ-like. I’m learning that strong emotions, particularly the grievous ones, are part of living like Jesus lived. I’m learning that we Christians have room to grow in becoming more like Jesus in how we grieve. I never saw that before or understood it until God threw me in the deep end of suffering. There is a lot to unlearn, and a lot to learn for the first time. For example, the “air I breathed” growing up taught me nothing about grieving. So when I was faced with it, I was at a loss. What should I do? I thought my strong feelings of anger and sadness were wrong. I thought that I should somehow be able to feel happy, and wondered what was wrong with me that I couldn’t. I couldn’t force myself to believe the platitudes that come my way. I felt very out of place with deep sorrow, because I couldn’t find many other people or examples of how to walk through it.

The trouble is when we don’t know how to lament, we don’t know how to deal with our pain. And as Jesus demonstrated, living in a sinful world means you will encounter deep pain. You will have the need to grieve. Jesus did. If we don’t learn how to lament, we stunt ourselves and the next generation. We miss part of growing into the image of God. We affect our witness to the watching world who is wondering how we Christians deal with the undeserved pain of simply being alive, and the unfairness of suffering (meaning the suffering we have not brought upon ourselves, but the suffering that exists because the world is broken). A friend of mine who knows this suffering world well, and has helped me begin learning how to lament, mentioned to me, “I think people can learn this without being thrown in the deep end. I think it’s possible.” I hope so. Many days into my mom’s cancer journey, I wish I had taken the time to humble myself and acknowledge that I had no idea how to suffer well, how to grieve, and how to lament. Granted, I remember grappling with this question of suffering since my early 20s, and reading Tim Keller’s Walking With God Through Pain and Suffering as I saw others in my life being hit with incredibly painful seasons, and wanting to help. Perhaps experience really is the best teacher. I don’t know.

Many of us simply want to be comfortable. That was my story, and sometimes still is. We worship the idol that keeps us feeling as great as we possibly can. Why disrupt it with learning how to grieve and lament when we don’t have to? Seems like a waste of time and energy.

It is a waste, if this life is all we have. If we’re living for us, for now, in the moment, why on earth put yourself through any more trouble or pain than you must? But if the Bible is true, if Jesus really was and is who he says he was and is, we need to pause and take a good look at him: the Suffering Servant. We need to learn what to do when tragedy strikes. We need to learn what Romans 8 tells Jesus’ followers to do: suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him. Feel our deep pain, bring it to the One who gets it, who suffered on our behalf, so we may also share in his glory. I believe that those who have tasted the deepest bitterness of this life are the ones who will rejoice in glory the most with Jesus in the next one. And those of us who may have believed in Jesus but worshiped comfort and sought to distract or numb ourselves from the suffering of being alive, will find ourselves with him but wishing we had done the good work of entering our suffering fully with Jesus. Often we hear we should love like Jesus. I agree. We also need to lament like Jesus.

I had never thought of my suffering as a kindness of God to me. Now I am beginning to see his kindness to me in my pain. Our human brains have a hard time comprehending this: a God who could stop the horrific season, but does not, in order to bring about something so much greater than we could ever have imagined. The cross being the primary example of God doing this (Jesus’ example of praying in the garden yet another gorgeously painful picture of how to lament). He wounds so that he may heal (Hosea 6:1).

We don’t understand. We may not understand the all-difficult question we ask in our pain of “Why?”. We don’t have to understand. Tim Keller flushes this out beautifully in Walking with God (mentioned above). Christianity is the only belief system I know of where the leader suffered at utmost cost to himself to save humanity and all of creation. If anyone gets it, he does. Now I’m going to tell a few things to myself, that I need to remember and you’re welcome to listen in!

Jesus gets your pain. He gets the grief. He won’t be overwhelmed by your anger, your fear, your questions, your doubts, your gut-wrenching weeping. No, indeed. He welcomes it. He counts your tears. He weeps with you. And one day, you’ll get to share in a greater joy that won’t even compare to the worst of sleepless nights and a wet pillow here. One day all those tears will be gone. So cry them now. Otherwise, what will he wipe away?