Passage: John 11:1-44

One of my favorite verses in the Bible is also the easiest verse to memorize. It is also probably one of the more cliche favorite verses one could have

John 11:35: “Jesus wept”. Beyond the poetic nature of the short sentence, these two words have profound impact in the concrete context of the story, Jesus then going to raise Lazarus from the dead. It also provides important application and impact in our walk as believers today. 

There are many vital truths to pull from this passage of scripture: He is the resurrection and the life, he holds dominion over even death itself, etc. But I want to point out the obvious: Jesus wept. 

“Lord, the one whom you love is ill” (11:3). It is dangerous to go beyond what the text says. The text says Jesus sees the illness as a way for God to glorify the son (11:4). But something within my human nature, and the following context clues, make me wonder if the news settled into the gut of Jesus. Did it feel like a rock, waiting? Did a frigid wind swirl within his blood? Did he mourn his friend before he died? 

There is something powerful to be witnessed when we partner Jesus’ response here to his response when beholds Lazarus’ death. If Jesus knew the illness would glorify the Son of God, if he proclaimed to be the resurrection and the life, then he knew Lazarus would be dead. And that he would be raised up. 

So why did Jesus weep? 

Jesus understands our pain. Jesus hears our cries. Jesus catches our tears. He spills those tears with us. 

Why did Jesus weep? He wept because the “one whom [he] loved [was] ill.” The one whom he loved. Think of your dearest friend. Picture you knowing when they will die, how they will die, if it hurts them or if they simply laid to rest and will never awake. Picture you know they will raise again. Would you not cry? Would you not grieve? I can bet you would. I know Jesus did. 

Why did Jesus weep? He wept because when he saw Mary and the other Jews weeping he was “deeply moved in his spirit and greatly troubled” (11:33). Again picture your friend’s beloved brother passing away. Would you not cry? Would you not grieve their pain? I can bet you would. I know Jesus did. 

And there is profound news for us: he weeps for us, too.

In John 15:15 Jesus tells us, “No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.” When we hear the Father’s words, we are friends of Jesus. You are a friend of God. Think, then, of what being a true friend entails. Now envision that friend but with inability to do wrong. 

God is mighty, strong, courageous, jealous, zealous, righteously angry, slow to anger, kind, merciful, peaceful, abounding in steadfast love. 

This is who we call Father, this is who we call friend. This, the creator of the universe, bigger than anyone or anything, of whom death is under submission, this is who weeps with us in our pain. 

Jesus not only felt the pain of losing his own friend, but he saw Mary and Martha lose a brother. He saw others lose a friend in Lazarus’ death. Jesus sees and feels the pain we carry. 

But this isn’t just some made up story. This is real life. Jesus sees your pain, he bears your pain with you. He sees mine, he bore mine. Many know this, many don’t, but there was a point, a mere four years ago, when I wanted and attempted to end my life. I was tired of the pain, tired of my own sin, tired of searching without finding. I was tired and alone and numb. Yet everything hurt. And it was there, as my tires jutted up against the side of a bridge threatening to break through the small railing, I felt the Lord call out to me. I heard the comfort in his voice. But I also heard the pain. 

As I cried and screamed, I felt the Lord envelop me, I knew he saw my pain and I knew he cried with me. 

Our God is not cold and impersonal. He is warm and right here and waiting. Our God hears our cries. Our God celebrates our wins. Our God sits with us in the waiting. 

This story does not end at verse 35 with, “Jesus wept.” Jesus does not sit in the grief. Instead he goes to the tomb, asks Martha to move the stone. Hesitant at first, Martha does so at the Lord’s assertion. With the tomb open Jesus calls to Lazarus and he rises from the dead. He then says something so simple, Lazarus is bound with cloth from burial, yet so eternally significant: “Unbind him, and let him go” (11:44). 

Unbind this man, Jesus tells death itself, let him go. 

Did Jesus not do the same for us?

Upon the cross, did Jesus not claim dominion over death? Did he not crush the enemy’s head? In both this story and upon the cross we see the glory of God made manifest in the Work of Jesus so that we would see who he is, what he has done, and what we are to do. 

Again, this isn’t fiction. This is real life. Jesus calls out to your depression, anxiety, OCD, PTSD, the abuse you’ve faced, the abuse you currently face, the pain you have, the pain you’ve caused, the death you’ve seen, the thoughts, the lust, the passions, the sins you will never tell another living soul– upon the cross Jesus calls out to all who cause harm and says “Unbind her, my daughter, my friend, let her go” he says, “Unbind him, my son, my friend, let him go.” Upon the cross Jesus declares, through visceral and eternal and personal pain, “UNBIND THEM, AND LET THEM GO.” 

This is real life.