Even God Weeps!
Year A – Lent – 5th Sunday
John 11:1–45: “Lazarus, come out!”
The Gospel of the fifth (and final) Sunday of Lent features Lazarus as its central figure, following the Samaritan woman and the man born blind from the previous Sundays. It is the third baptismal catechesis, centred on life, after those on water and light.
The passage recounts the raising of Lazarus of Bethany, brother of Martha and Mary and a friend of Jesus. It is the seventh “sign” in the Gospel of John, the greatest one, marking the transition between the first and the second part of his Gospel. Passover is now near, and we are invited to contemplate this sign as a foreshadowing of Jesus’ death and resurrection.
I would like to dwell on one particular aspect: Jesus’ weeping.
The cost of friendship
This page of the Gospel reveals the deep humanity of Jesus. A man like us, he had friends and nurtured friendships. The house of Lazarus, Martha and Mary, in the village of Bethany on the outskirts of Jerusalem, was for him – one who had no fixed abode – an oasis of peace and rest. There he felt at home, part of a family.
“Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.” Precisely for this reason, when Lazarus fell ill, the sisters sent word to him: “Lord, the one you love is ill.” Yet Jesus did not hurry. He set out only two days later. He did not go to heal, but to raise: “Lazarus, our friend, has fallen asleep; but I am going there to wake him.”
The apostles reminded him of the danger: in Judea they were seeking to kill him. Jesus could have healed his friend from a distance, as he did with the official’s son in Capernaum (John 4:46–54). But friendship requires physical closeness. And so Jesus risked his life for Lazarus. Indeed, this decision would prove fatal for him.
The encounter with Martha first, and then with Mary, is deeply moving. Both of them, gently and with sorrow, reproach Jesus for his delay: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” Before Martha, Jesus manages to restrain his emotion, but when he sees Mary weeping, he is deeply moved.
Before his friend’s tomb, he bursts into tears, weeping openly, so that those present exclaim: “See how he loved him!” These are tears of love and sorrow, but not of resignation. In them there is also a protest against death, this reality so foreign to God’s plan (Wisdom 2:24). And immediately afterwards, still marked by his tears, Jesus cries out in a loud voice: “Lazarus, come out!” The Greek verb used here by John (kraugazein) means to cry out or shout and is very rare, used only a few times in the Bible.
A community of brothers and sisters
But this account is not only about Jesus and Lazarus. It is also about us. It is striking that it speaks of brothers and sisters, not of a family in the strict sense. It is as if the Gospel wishes to broaden our perspective: this is the image of the Christian community, where we are all brothers and sisters.
Lazarus represents each one of us in our fragility, especially in the face of suffering and death. How often have we too felt as the psalmist says: “You have put me in the lowest pit, in the darkest depths!” (Psalm 88:7). The Lord does not remain indifferent to this reality. He understands even our reactions of rebellion and anger. These are feelings he himself experienced.
Martha and Mary are also us, when we share in the pain of others, when we weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15). We have called upon the Lord… and what does he do? He comes and weeps with us. Here is an unimaginable newness: even God weeps with us!
If Scripture speaks of bowls that collect the prayers of the saints (Revelation 5:8), we may imagine that God also gathers our tears. None is lost: “Put my tears in your bottle; are they not recorded in your book?” (Psalm 56).
In the Bible, a river of tears
Weeping abounds in Holy Scripture. A river of tears runs through it. Its source springs from the eyes of our first parents, Adam and Eve, often depicted weeping in paintings after being expelled from paradise. It is a stream that grows and swells into a mighty river in the Psalms.
The Messiah was expected to dry up this river (Isaiah 25:8). Yet Jesus does not fulfil this expectation. Rather, he turns weeping into a beatitude. He, a man like us, also weeps and feeds this river (Hebrews 5:7), yet directs it towards the heart of the Father. “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain” (Revelation 21:4).
In conclusion
Perhaps God became man also in order to be able to weep with us. As David Maria Turoldo writes: “But you had no tears / whereas to us it was given / to weep. / Was this perhaps what drew you among us?”
And perhaps this Gospel invites us to change the way we think about God: no longer the God of easy miracles, but a God who sobs with us (don Angelo Casati).
“We can no longer say, when suffering grips us: ‘Lord, if you had been here…’. For now he is always here: he does not need to ‘come’, because he has never gone away and has never ceased to remain here – as he promised – ‘every day’. He has never stopped loving us, he is weeping with us, he has already begun to raise us” (Bishop Francesco Lambiasi).
Fr Manuel João Pereira Correia, MCCJ
Fr. Manuel João, comboni missionary
Sunday Reflection
from the womb of my whale, ALS
Our cross is the pulpit of the Word
