In every trial, there is something—usually many things—for which to be grateful. I learned long ago that contentment and gratitude are fueled by focusing on what I have, not what I want. My heart bends toward thankfulness when I consider how much worse a situation could be rather than how much better. So, when the current crisis reared its ugly head during my son’s senior year of high school, my first reaction was to minimize its significance. For goodness sake, there are starving children across the globe, dying children in hospitals a few blocks away, and lonely children right down the street. My son has plenty to eat, a healthy body, and a happy home. It somehow felt wrong to express sorrow over the loss of “trivial” things like a golf tournament, Sr. Prom, or a graduation ceremony.
But then reality began to set in—the sober realization that there will be none of the long-awaited and hard-earned celebrations…at least not in the time and way we had all expected. No final golf season, no Sr. Parade, and no graduation parties. The sadness overwhelmed me, and at first, I felt guilty. After all, I have so much to be thankful for. And relatively speaking, ours are minor losses in comparison to the suffering of so many others. So, is it ok for me to be sad—to shed some tears over what would have been. When my calendar alerts me to what should be happening on this very day, can I take a moment to embrace my sorrow?
After wrestling with these questions, I think the answer is a resounding YES! And I think an event in the life of Jesus affirms this answer even though the circumstances were quite different. Jesus showed up at the home of his friends, Mary and Martha, after their brother Lazarus had died. Now, I dare not compare the impact of our present circumstances to a physical death, but my son—our sons—are suffering the death of many other things. They will not spend their final days of high school with their best friends—friends who will go their separate ways for college. They will not attend their final high school dance—and this is not just any dance—it’s their Sr. Prom. They will likely receive a diploma in the mail and not in the ceremony they’ve anticipated for a lifetime. And they can only offer virtual encouragement to one another, when handshakes and hugs would be such good medicine for their weary souls.
So, when Jesus arrived in Bethany, where Lazarus has been buried for several days, Mary and Martha were grieving his death. And the Scripture records an incredibly profound and powerful statement—“Jesus wept.” This is especially fascinating since Jesus knew that He was about to raise Lazarus from the dead in a matter of moments. Why be sad when the good stuff is coming? I’m sure there may be additional reasons, but I certainly believe His tears were in part because Jesus shared in the grief of His friends. Even though something wonderful would come from their suffering, Jesus felt the pain of their momentary loss.
Although this “death” we are experiencing with our boys is not physical, it is a painful loss nonetheless. And I believe that Jesus not only gives us permission to grieve, He shares in our pain. Yes, there are much bigger and more catastrophic events going on in the world; but the heart of our God is big enough to bear the weight of them all.
“Cast your cares on Him for He cares for you.” 1 Peter 5:7
John 11—Lazarus is raised from the dead