The God Who Weeps

tears in a bottleI tend to bury my pain.  But this night, it leapt out of me, no longer willing to be ignored or rationalized away.  It had been minimized, pushed aside, and ignored long enough; in the fullness of time, she came.

I rarely have the courage to admit pain and deep longing to myself, so you can imagine my confusion.  All I could do was sit and weep, with my head bowed.  The silence of the room shouted forth a groaning, a groaning for restoration.

I’m not sure how much time passed, but I distinctly remember a soft weeping breaking the silence.  You see, Jesus was in the room with me.  And although most tears fall silently to the floor, each drop an accusation against a God who sees, mine were met with a soft cry.  The cries said I am with you.  I hear you.  And I weep too.

Ironically, the weeping came from a dear sister that, moments before, had shared news of life; my words were tainted with death.  Yet, her news of life was birthed out of death and so, she wept.

I saw Jesus so clearly in that moment.  Although he himself is life and has conquered death, he passed through death to get there.  He has willingly taken on the cloak of humanness, embracing the human condition.  Although he is perfectly equipped to answer our cries with truth propositions, he has chosen instead to enter into it.  My pain isn’t met with “all things work together for the good of those that love him!”  it is met with weeping.  He knows that I have come from the dust.  He has walked this road, and he grieves with longing for all things to be restored.

We are fragile earthen vessels, made from the dirt; yet there is one that breaks us, picks up the pieces and makes something new, something better, something more alive.  As you evaluate the broken pieces on the floor, see Jesus, the one whose tears of compassion and mercy heal us.

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