Tears for the Living (Reflections on All Saints Day)

"Raising of Lazarus" Duccio, 14th century

Eddie was killed last week. He was forty-two years old, and his mom called him a big kid who never grew up. He was a part-time heavy metal roadie, a sometime chef, and full-time party animal. He and a buddy were riding on a motorcycle, and some idiot ran a light, struck them, and drove off. A hit-and-run.

I preached his grandmother’s funeral about a month ago, so the family asked me to say some words for Eddie. The trouble is, I can’t quite go to the usual scripture verse like “Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live (John 11:25)” because I don’t have a stinkin’ clue what Eddie believed. He was never baptized, and, as far as I know, never darkened the door of a church. So what do I say?

Fortunately, I’ve been looking at the scripture for this Sunday’s All Saints Day mass, John 11:32-44. This is the story of the raising of Lazarus. I’m not planning on raising Eddie from the dead, but I find that the beauty of our scriptures is so often in the tiny details the writers have sewn into the fabric of the narrative.

“When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, ‘Where have you laid him?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep.” (John 11:33-35)

Jesus began to weep. 

Is there another verse in scripture which tells us so much about our God?

But why is Jesus crying? Surely he knows, if anyone ever does, the oneness with the eternal God. He knows the soul is in God’s hands. He knows the mercy of the Father. And yet he weeps.

I don’t think he’s crying for Lazarus. Why would he shed tears for the friend he loved who is now at peace? No. He’s not weeping for the dead.

Jesus is weeping for the living, because grief is a contagion which infects all who love with open and generous hearts. We weep when others weep because we are powerless over their hurt. Not even Jesus can take another’s pain away—not that he’d even want to. Pain is the price of love, but it is always worth it.

That is how our God loves us—through our pain. He washed in the dirty bath water of our baptism, walked the long and hungry roads with us, wept with us at the loss of friends, and finally—on the cross—endured our helplessness, shame, physical deterioration, loneliness, and death.

This is what I have to tell Eddie’s friends and family: I believe in the Christ of Compassion. I believe that in their tears for Eddie and for one another they are coming near to the heart of God, of God who IS love. I believe that they have the chance through their sorrow to come to know this Jesus who weeps with them, and that they will find comfort in this love.

And I believe that Eddie is in God’s merciful hands. There is no need to weep for him. They can unbind him and let him go.

Peace be with you, my friends. Thanks for reading.

P.S. Just another thought about the assigned readings in the RCL for Sunday, November 1st: The Hebrew scripture lesson is from Isaiah 25. It speaks of the things God will do when God's people are finally delivered. It was probably written as comforting prophecy for Hebrew exiles in Babylon. The phrase I really love the best is verse 8b: "...and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth..." Isn't that the coolest thought? Our disgrace will be taken away! The guy who dropped the fly ball which lost the championship, the alcoholic and the junkie, the kid who never "made anything of himself," the bankrupt, the homeless woman, the victim of sexual abuse--all their disgrace will be taken away. We will be washed clean of every unkind word we thought or said. Our neglectfulness will be forgotten. Our sins will be forgiven. How blessed we are to live in that promise! (Updated 10/29)