The resurrection and reanimation of a four-day-dead, shrink-wrapped, stinking Lazarus marks one of Jesus’ most profound and power-proving miracles. Point-blank proof.
But that’s not what moves me most about this story.
“Lord, if you had been here . . .”
Half-choked words from the grief-tightened throats of His closest friends. Mary’s tears—tears that cannot stop their streaming.
I can see her. Hear her. Have been her.
If you’ve ever lost someone, something, or some part of yourself, precious and soul-shaping, you know Mary’s pain and maybe even her response.
“Lord, if you had been here . . .”
And here’s what knocks me to my knees.
“Jesus saw her weeping, and He saw how the people with her were weeping also. His heart was touched, and He was deeply moved . . . Jesus wept.”
Compassion: a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering. (Definition, courtesy of Dictionary.com)
Confronted by the suffering, Jesus does not distance himself from it nor does He get defensive.
He does not chide them for not rejoicing that Lazarus’ suffering was over or that he would rise again at the resurrection some fine day.
He weeps.
He looks at the broken hearts around Him, the helplessness this deep loss has made them feel, and He is moved. Even troubled.
He weeps. And I see my God is not a god who cannot empathize with me in my sorrow, my suffering, or even my anger.
He weeps. And I see He is not above experiencing the depth of my devastation alongside me.
When I weep, He weeps with me.
It’s soul-swaying stuff.
He may be King of Kings and Lord of Lords, but He is also El Roi, our God who sees and is moved to deep compassion. This is the Jesus I see and am drawn to deeply love. Glorious and strong, yet familiar with and willing to endure great suffering, I’m honestly undone by His desire to alleviate ours.
“He took on Himself our troubles and carried our sorrows.” Isaiah 53:4
Look at Him. Isn’t He beautiful?
You know, I can admire all that is lovely about Jesus, but it’s His compassion that gets me every time.
Like His grace, the Lord’s compassion is meant to be snuggled up into, like the comfiest robe or warmest blanket. And I’m drawn to it, so I do. I let Him wrap me up in it and feel its comforting weight upon me, like a hug I get to walk around in.
Compassion.
Then, snuggled all up in it, I look around at the sad and shivering and realize it’s for more than just me. The compassion I’m wrapped in is meant for others too. He wants me, He wants all of us, to look like Him in this world. He wants us to imitate Him, to “Go, and do likewise,” to draw near rather than distance ourselves from the devastation of others. To weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who rejoice. To share the compassion of Christ.
We may not have our Lazaruses resurrected or our losses restored this side of eternity like Mary and Martha did. And we’re certainly no great shakes at resurrecting anyone else’s anything or anybody. But weeping and wrapping, that we can do.
How better to demonstrate the great love and deep compassion of our God to a watching, wondering, wandering, weeping world?
Photo Credit: Vinod Velayudhan – Crying
