This year we’re collaborating with writers across the Augustine Collective, a network of student-led Christian journals, to bring you a series of short devotional articles during this season of Lent, the 40-day period prior to Easter. Find this series also published by Cornell’s Claritas and UC Berkeley’s TAUG.
Our first great accomplishment upon entering the world is to cry.
A newborn’s tears are no cause for concern, but for celebration and relief—a sign that the fragile transition into life has begun.
Through those early moments of life, crying is one of the only ways a child can respond to the world. A toddler cries when it is hungry, when it is uncomfortable, when it feels alone, and sometimes simply because it does not yet understand what it is experiencing. Its tears are simply an honest expression of physiological need.
As life unfolds, the reasons for tears slowly change. The cries of infancy are simple, but the griefs of adulthood grow deeper and more complicated as suffering proliferates alongside us, and we accumulate experiences of loss, disappointment, regret, and longing. We develop a silent expectation that maturity means learning how to manage our grief quietly and carry our sorrows with composure.
But the Gospel of John remarkably reminds us that even Jesus wept. [1]
Outside of Lazarus’ tomb in Bethany, Jesus stands, sharing in the sorrow of Mary and the mourners over her brother’s death. He weeps as He confronts the devastating fracture that death has carved into the fabric of creation.
Yet in moments like this, we may doubt God’s compassion. Like Martha, who may have been frustrated that Jesus had not come earlier to heal Lazarus, we may be tempted to question God’s sovereignty.
Jesus knows that the resurrection is only moments away, fully aware that Lazarus will soon walk out of the grave alive again. And yet, before the miracle occurs, He still weeps.
Jesus’ tears and agony profoundly remind us that God does not observe human suffering from a distance. Instead, through the incarnation, He steps into it fully, experiencing the emotional and spiritual weight of life in a broken world. In the Garden of Gethsemane on the night before His crucifixion, Jesus trembles and falls to the ground in prayer, wrestling with the anguish of the suffering that awaits Him while entrusting Himself to the will of the Father. [2]
Because Christ has entered fully into our suffering, we do not need to approach Him with shame or hesitation. We don’t need to suppress our grief, but can bring it honestly before God. Just as Paul writes that “suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope” [3], we can be assured that God is quietly at work even in the trials that seem most difficult to bear.
“Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord! O Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my pleas for mercy!” [4]
Our Good Shepherd desires to hear His sheep’s cries. He listens for our voices, draws near to us when we are distressed, and never abandons us in our need. And though we kick and wail and try to leave His embrace, our Father holds us tightly in His arms, present with us in our turmoil. He never forsakes us. And little by little, we are graciously given a glimpse into His unconditional love for us, a love that meets us in our sorrow and patiently leads us toward hope.
Christina is a sophomore studying Neurobiology and Behavior. She loves national parks, calligraphy and pogo sticks.
Sources
[1] John 11:28-37 (ESV)
[2] Matthew 26:36-39
[3] Romans 5:3-4 (ESV)
[4] Psalm 130:1-2 (ESV)
Image: Wesley Tingey/Unsplash
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