JESUS WEPT, TOO

You want to tell them something and, for an instant, forget you can no longer call. Or you open a drawer, find a note and an ordinary day changes colour. Absence can arrive through details: a recipe made a certain way, a laugh you would recognise anywhere, a phrase you still hear in their voice.

As you try to live with all this, someone tells you to be strong. You may nod. But perhaps what you need is to sit down, lower your shoulders and simply say: I miss them. Without having to reassure the person listening.

There is a moment in the Gospel where we can pause with those words. John chapter 11 tells a story of friendship and grief. Jesus faces the death of Lazarus. And he weeps.

In Bethany there is a friend, before there is a miracle

Lazarus lives in Bethany with his sisters Martha and Mary. John makes clear that Jesus loves them. When Lazarus becomes ill, the sisters send word, trusting in that bond. By the time Jesus arrives, however, Lazarus has been in the tomb for four days. Many people have come to comfort the women.

Martha goes to meet Jesus; Mary follows later. Both tell him that their brother would not have died if he had been there. Mary weeps, as do the people with her. Jesus is deeply moved and troubled, and asks where Lazarus has been laid. Then John writes: “Jesus wept” (Jn 11:35).

The story will reach the sign of life restored. For now, it also asks us to look at a friendship wounded by separation. We can pause here without rushing to the next page.

Jesus knew. And still there are those tears

This is one of the passage’s most moving details: Jesus knows the sign he is about to perform, yet the suffering he encounters truly touches him. Hope does not make compassion unnecessary. His tears can help us recognise how deeply he cares about people, their relationships and what they are living through.

In his Angelus address of 26 March 2023, Pope Francis pauses over this moment. He reads Jesus’ tears as closeness to our suffering and the whole episode as a proclamation of life. It is an invitation to bring Christ what weighs on us, rather than shutting ourselves into a loneliness without openings.

Perhaps that is what we long to hear when we feel fragile: that someone truly cares, that our story deserves time, that we can tell it again if it is what fills our hearts today. Christian faith invites us to seek this welcome in Jesus, with the words we can find and those we cannot.

Martha and Mary speak with the hearts they have

The sisters’ words carry a difficult question, addressed to the very person in whom they had placed their trust. We may know that struggle too: praying deeply and facing an outcome we never wanted, wondering where God was, not knowing how to begin speaking to him again.

Martha continues the conversation and expresses her faith in Jesus. Grief, trust and searching coexist in their encounter. We can read the scene without requiring our feelings to fall into a perfect order: first settle the anger, then find an explanation, and only then pray again.

Sometimes prayer begins more simply: “Lord, today I am angry. I feel alone. I want to trust, but it is hard.” We can choose words like these without making them more elegant. If you have someone you trust with your faith, you can begin by sharing this difficulty.

Crying does not mean your faith has failed

In his catechesis of 12 February 2020, on the beatitude of those who mourn, Pope Francis recalls the connection between love and the pain of separation. He invites us to resist indifference and recognise the value of compassion. The pain of someone who loves deserves to be heard.

This can help us release a heavy thought: if I truly believed, I should be able to feel better. Trust in God does not put every emotion in order. You can find comfort in prayer and cry again that evening. You can feel relieved during a gathering and feel someone’s absence keenly when you get home.

Tears should not become a measure of love either. Some people cry often; others remain quiet, seek company or do not know what they want for a while. Beside someone who is suffering, we can let go of deciding how they ought to show it.

The person you love has a name, a voice, a story

When we miss someone, we miss them in particular ways: how they said our name, the advice they would have offered, their place in family photographs. Even the little habits that once made us smile or lose patience.

That is why being told too quickly to move on can hurt. It may sound like an invitation to put the person aside too. If you are beside someone grieving, ask whether they would like to share a memory. If they prefer to change the subject, follow them with the same care.

There can be tenderness in keeping a letter, making a dish you learnt together or sharing a photograph with a story. It may also not be the right time. None of these gestures is a test to pass. What matters is being free to choose, without pressure to remember or to stop remembering.

The sign of Lazarus opens a greater hope

Before the tomb, Jesus prays to the Father and calls: “Lazarus, come out!” (Jn 11:43). His friend comes out, still wrapped in burial cloths. Jesus asks those present to unbind him. In Christian interpretation, this sign points towards the life Jesus gives and prepares our gaze for Easter.

The Catechism distinguishes Lazarus’ return to earthly life from definitive resurrection. Christian hope concerns life with Christ and the resurrection of the whole person, including the body. How this will happen exceeds our imagination. This promise of faith does not authorise us to invent details about what a particular person might be doing in the afterlife.

We can hold this hope while recognising that an empty chair hurts today. When supporting someone, let them tell us whether they want to pray, hear a Gospel passage or remain silent. Even cherished words, offered in haste, may find no room.

Staying close: small gestures that become precious

The question almost always comes: what should I say? We can begin with something short and sincere: “I’m so sorry. I’m thinking of you. If you like, I can come by today.” We do not need a sentence that resolves what happened. We need to be willing to hear the answer.

Practical help is easier to accept when it is specific: bringing dinner, accompanying someone on an errand or doing an agreed task. Ask first. A no may simply mean something else is needed then, or that the person needs to be alone.

Remember the days afterwards too, when messages become less frequent. An unhurried call, a simple invitation or willingness to speak the person’s name again can matter. Leave room for ordinary topics as well. Someone grieving may want to discuss their pain or take a breath from it for an hour.

Let us avoid assigning God an explanation we do not know. Saying that he wanted a loss to teach a lesson can wound someone struggling to trust him. We can accompany a question without having an answer. If daily life becomes very difficult, we can help someone seek qualified support alongside any spiritual accompaniment.

Leaving a door open to joy too

You may laugh and immediately feel guilty. You may enjoy an afternoon and then wonder whether you are forgetting someone. These thoughts can be shared without shame. A moment of lightness does not erase the story you shared.

Perhaps, with time, you will be able to tell a story and smile. Perhaps that same story will make you cry another day. You can leave room for both. You do not have to decide once and for all which feeling your memory is allowed.

From a perspective of faith, entrusting ourselves to God can include this life that continues to ask for our presence: the people beside us, a friendship to care for, something beautiful to welcome. With the time and help we need.

A prayer, if words are difficult today

Jesus, today I pause here with you. You know the people I carry in my heart and how much I miss them. Receive what I can tell you and what remains silent.

I entrust those I love to you. Help me find someone with whom to share the struggle, and help me notice other people’s needs. Keep beautiful memories alive within me. When a moment of joy comes, help me receive it without fear.

Accompany my questions. Sustain my hope when it is small. Teach me to stay close to those who suffer, gently. Amen.

In Bethany, those who see Jesus weeping recognise his love: “See how he loved him!” (Jn 11:36). We can close the Gospel carrying this image: Jesus loving a particular person, allowing suffering to touch him and coming close. If you need to pause over those tears today, you can take your time.