The Gospel Of Saint John, Chapter 11 | Jesus Wept | Death And Resurrection Of Lazarus | KJV
The account of Lazarus’s death and resurrection in John 11:1-45 is profound and moving. Central to the story is the shortest verse in the Bible: ‘Jesus wept’ (John 11:35).
At first glance, ‘Jesus wept’ appears to be a simple statement of human emotion. It shows Jesus expressing sorrow and empathy, sharing in the grief of Lazarus’s sisters, Mary and Martha, and the mourning community. The moment reveals profound humanity of Jesus. Despite Jesus’ divine knowledge that he would raise Lazarus from the dead, Jesus yet experiences fully human emotions. Jesus is not distant or detached but is intimately connected with the suffering of those he loves.
The verse also underscores the reality of death’s impact, even for the Son of God. Although Jesus knows that death is not the final word and that he has power over it, Jesus still mourns. This weeping is not only for Lazarus but for the brokenness of the world that death represents. It reflects sorrow that God feels over the pain and suffering that humanity endures as a result of sin and death.
The verse ‘Jesus wept’ highlights compassion of Jesus. Jesus’ tears are an expression of his deep love for Lazarus and Lazarus’ family. In the act of weeping, Jesus demonstrates that God’s response to human suffering is not indifference or cold logic, but rather profound empathy and compassion. The God of the universe is not immune to our pain but enters into it with us.
Theologically, this moment is also significant because it foreshadows the passion of Christ. Just as Jesus wept over Lazarus, Jesus would later weep in Gethsemane over the soon-to-be agony of the Cross. Jesus’ tears in John 11 anticipate the suffering he will endure to conquer death once and for all. In weeping for Lazarus, Jesus reveals such depth of his commitment to overcome death and bring life.
In this reading of Saint Cyril of Jerusalem, we encounter a vision of the Church both radiant and robust—at once the Bride of Christ, the mother of believers, the spiritual city of Jerusalem, and the instrument of eternal life. This rich ecclesial portrait, drawn from the fourth century, is relevant today, offering insights not only into the Church’s theological foundations but also into the spiritual identity of her members [ … ]
‘Death,’ says His Grace, ‘throws it all apart. For we are not as we should be. Faith requires our adjustment to God’s truth. God’s triumph in a very real sense requires in us the loss of our everything. Which, as with Mary at the other end of Jesus’s life, is God’s truth.’ The Gospel reading is of John 11: 1-45, which is a long passage, and His Grace’s homiletic theme commences in textual wilderness. Our brokenness – in this place – a family home. Our faith, our doubt, our death… The irruption – death, doubt, fear – within our precious scenes and our most intimate places. Our domesticity. His Grace speaks from the chair, as is a bishop’s prerogative, and says: ‘So much is obscure in the Gospels. We’re always reaching through them. We’re never there. Really, we never are. Our knowledge, our understanding, of the Gospels is never complete, and with each reading comes a new revelation. There are always new riches there. Just as there are between all of us, between myself and you. The Gospels are living texts. This is a part of the conversation we have with our own Christianity. It is a part of who we are in our relationship with Jesus. We are in this sense always on the brink. ‘So yes, there is plenty that doesn’t seem to make sense. As one of the order of bishops, we would be lying if we said that weren’t the case. They are not easy texts to encounter, if by that word we may signify something more than a superficial glancing off against, but rather a profound search for the word of God. The Gospels are written by people who had their own ideas, and often didn’t know what had really happened. Luke is quite explicit on this point. His is an investigation, from the explicitly claimed point of view of an historian, rather than that of a first-hand witness, who attempts, so he says, to set out an orderly account, out of the chaos, the sheer muddle, that has been handed down to him. It is possible to imagine Luke researching and composing his account after many years, when there has arisen a desire to know what exactly happened, and this implies a certain call to faith and certain demands of historicity, to historical exactitude. So in these different ways, the people of the first years of Christian faith are in the dark. There is also a decisive need to define the life of Jesus. And people didn’t get Jesus. The whole meaning of Christianity is only now beginning to take root throughout the composition. So much needs to be evangelized. The light shines almost in tentative fashion like that first star, which drew the wise men from the east to our Lord’s cradle. ‘John’s is widely held to be a very late Gospel. There are others who say that John’s Gospel might have been the first to acquire its true shape, because it most fully expresses Jesus, as we know him to be, as members of the Catholic Church. We don’t really know when any of this is being written, but we get a feel in John of a Gospel refined over many years, through a community. So there’s a lot going on there that I’d like you to think about. ‘What I would like to suggest to you is that, while within the Gospels we are often confronted with clues, guesswork, stories that have been handed down through so many people, and so in this sense we might find ourselves to be in the wilderness, this is the very desolate space itself to which we must give ourselves in order to experience Christ’s full redemption in our lives. I suggest it is for God’s glory that we do so. ‘As we become aware of ourselves, in this seminary, we find ourselves in a very secure, comfortable setting, and there are signs of Easter everywhere. Within the very fabric of these buildings, our Lord is risen; our Lord lives. But now this is our Lenten journey, where death enters, where death breaks us. We are to ride into Jerusalem in triumph, and then we are to be utterly broken, all hope gone, our hope extinguished. And really, I suggest to you, it is only by inhabiting this thought, as if we don’t know Easter is there, that our new life can follow, just when we have given up all hope, when every promise that Jesus made to us seems to have been cancelled. ‘And here now we have the story of Lazarus. I should like to suggest to you that we have a very powerful call now. In our very comfortable space, our domesticity, with all this comfort, where so very little might seem to happen each day, so it might seem to you, there is a disturbance within all of this comfort, and that is a disturbance within ourselves, and that is our call to Jesus. I think it is correct to say that our most comfortable places break in the light of Jesus from the inside, in order that we may take the necessary steps to be with Jesus. ‘Faith is not comfortable. I think that we can all receive the message of the rolling away of the rock from the tomb of Lazarus to say something of vital importance to ourselves concerning our openness to God’s love. The rock we roll away can come in all sorts of guises, but we know when we are blocked, and I firmly believe if we are truthful then we know where those blocks might be. ‘Next Sunday, which will be Palm Sunday, we process as it were to Jerusalem, to begin our Holy Week. Now as I speak to you we are on the brink. Even now, I suggest it might be very good for all of us to lay aside what we think we know, to fall apart a little, and so […]
Lent is a time of reflection and preparation for Easter, when Christians celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ. It is a time to focus on one’s faith and to draw closer to God. Many people find that the discipline and sacrifice of Lent helps them to grow spiritually and to develop a deeper relationship with God [ … ]
