The sermon preached by Fr. Ernie on March 26, 2023.

Jesus Wept

by Ernest Boyer

Until I was eleven, my family and I attended a church in Upland California, some 30 miles east of LA, called the Brethren in Christ. The Brethren in Christ is a small denomination. It began in Switzerland about 400 hundred years ago. Then, around the year 1700, most of its members relocated to Pennsylvania to escape persecution. My ancestors were part of that immigration, so my family’s ties to the church go way back. In the late 1940’s a group of those from Pennsylvania and Ohio all moved to southern California. In 1952 my parents joined them. They had been married just over a year and already had a small son — me.  

I remember the church well. It was a large, modern structure with a high, soaring ceiling. In that, it was similar to our structure here at St. Stephen’s. It seated over 300 people, and most Sundays it was packed. People sat shoulder to shoulder. Most were young families so there were many children, probably at least 75, maybe as many as a 100. Before the regular worship everyone — including the adults — went to Sunday school. Then there was a break when everyone stood around and talked. This was followed by church itself.

The thing is, with so many children those services could get pretty noisy. Not that I noticed at the time. Probably because I was part of the problem. As a result, though, somewhere about the time I turned six the congregation started something new, a thing they called “junior church.” This was a worship service intended just for kids. Junior Church took place after Sunday School, at the same time as the adult service, but in a separate building — one far enough away that the noise didn’t carry. It was run by a man named Mr. White, who served as the Children’s Pastor. He did a pretty good job, too. He managed to keep some 40-50 kids, ranging in age from 5 to 12, more or less occupied for over an hour. This was no easy task. He did this by keeping things moving and getting us directly involved.

For example, at one point in every service anyone who had memorized a bible verse in the past week was invited to come forward to recite what they had learned. This church put a great emphasis on the bible, and memorizing verses was strongly encouraged. Every child who was able to repeat a verse was given a little gold star to stick on the back of their hand. These little stars were highly prized. We all wanted one, so week after week children would jump up from their seats to recite a verse from memory. Or at least the good children would — the diligent ones — the kids who had actually taken time during the week to try to commit a bible verse to memory. These were almost always girls. This meant that week after week we boys would sit grimly by as the girls around us would leap to their feet, their pleated Sunday skirts bouncing along with them as they skipped to the front of the church to recite their verses and win their prize, often holding up their hands with its gold star in place for the envious boys around them to gawk at. A few even managed not to smirk as they did this.

Then one week Mr. White made a mistake. He happened to mention the shortest verse in the bible. That verse is at the center of today’s gospel, and it is just two words long. It’s this: “Jesus wept.” That’s all. Hearing that his friend Lazarus had died, the bible then says, “Jesus wept.” That’s the entire verse. Two words.

The next week when the call came for memorized verses, nearly the entire room went forward, and for the first time the boys actually outnumbered the girls. The girls went first of course. They had huddled together at the front of the row. They each rattled off their verses and got their star. Then came the first boy.

         “And you have a verse too, young man?” Mr. White asked, clearly delighted to see so many children taking part, and so many boys in particular.

         The boy nodded.

         And what is it?” Mr. White asked.

         “Jesus wept,” the boy said.

         “Ah, the shortest verse in the bible,” Mr. White said, pleased. “You were obviously listening last week.” He gave the boy a gold star. Then he turned to the next boy who recited his verse — also “Jesus wept.” He got a gold star too. But by the time the 12th boy had recited the same verse, Mr. White’s enthusiasm had cooled to the point that he gave out the gold star with a pronounced frown on his face. He did manage to give out gold stars to all those who followed too, but by the time it was over he had made a new rule: from then on every verse had to be at least four words long, he announced.

         I find it interesting then, that in today’s translation, the verse has been extended to four words. It now reads, “Jesus began to weep.” I can tell you that the original Greek does not justify this change. “Jesus wept” is really the best translation. It makes me wonder whether one of those boys in Junior Church grew up to be a bible translator and is getting back at Mr. White.

It’s to bad too, because, for me, that little verse goes to the very heart of this gospel. That’s because fear of death is just so much a part of life, and with those two words — “Jesus wept” — today’s gospel put’s that fact front and center. Confronted with the death of his friend, even Jesus wept.

Think about that. This is Jesus, after all —

o   Jesus, who our faith says is both fully human and fully divine,

o   Jesus, who is the son of God

Surly, Jesus must have already known that death is not the end. He must have known that it is only a transition, a passage from this reality to a fuller one. And yet he wept. Just as we do. His friend was dead and he felt the loss. Just as we do. He felt the separation. Just as we do. Most of all, he wanted him back. Just as we do.

There is no other verse in the bible that shows quite so clearly as this brief two-word verse does just how completely Jesus shares our lives with us. Not only that, there is no other verse in the bible that shows just how real death truly is for us either. That’s why Jesus wept. Because there is really nothing harder in this life than being confronted with the death of someone you love. Knowing that death is only a transition to something better helps, but it can’t change the fact that we always want the person back anyway. Even knowing that they are in a better place, we want this. Jesus wanted it too.

And so, in Jesus’ case, he actually did it. He actually brought his friend back. He raised Lazarus from the dead. But then, is that the message of this gospel? Is that what we are supposed to take away from this, that if we pray hard enough when our loved ones dies, Jesus will return them to life to us?

No, it’s not. In that sense, this gospel is tricky. It can appear to promise something that God simply does not offer us. God never promised us this, a complete vaccination from all grief. No, just the opposite. To follow him, he says, we must take up our cross too. We must accept that we will suffer also.  Wouldn’t be nice if the opposite were true? Wouldn’t it be nice if God could simply return a lost loved one back to us? But life simply does not work that way. It does not, because it cannot. How would such a thing play out, after all? The thing is, Lazarus did eventually die. Would we then ask God to keep bringing him back over and over again? What Jesus did was not a solution to the problem, then. It was just a case of him showing his humanity. It was the most poignant example we have of Jesus demonstrating just how much he is like us. He did this by giving in to his desire to simply remove his grief and bring his dear friend back. But that’s not really the answer. The truth is, sometimes we simply have no choice but to weep.  

I wasn’t one of the boys who went to the front of the church that day to recite the shortest Bible verse. I was just too shy. As a result, I never did get a gold star. And yet I’ve never forgotten that verse. I think of it often. That’s because in all the years since, I too have had occasions to weep. I too have lost people dear to me — some before their time — and I also wanted to bring them back. But I could not. Nor did I believe I could ask God to do so. Even so, it helped to know that Jesus wept. It helped to know that there was a reason why I was in so much pain. Even though I knew — as I in fact do — that this separation is not forever. And even though I was certain — as I in fact am — that even now I remain in some sense connected to those who went before me. Even with all this, I still missed them. The healing came later — in some cases much later —but it did come.

That’s what this gospel is really about. It’s about hope. Hope is the gift that God gives us for those times when, like Jesus, we have no choice but to weep. Hope says simply: this will not last. This is not forever. Love is forever. And in time that love will triumph. Maybe it will not come as soon as we would like, but it will come, and in the meantime, God is with us. God is holding us and loving us and, yes, God is weeping too, and whispering quiet words of comfort… and eventually those words will bring us peace— peace enough to carry us through until that time when all tears will be wiped away.

And such a time will come. Of that I have no doubt. It will be a time when all loss is cancelled, all pain erased — a time when every moment will be an instant of wonder and joy and connection. I’ve actually had occasions when I was given a glimpse of this time to come, and I can tell you, it took my breath away. I remember praying, “Dear God, if this is what death is like, take me there now. I never want this to end.”

It was not yet my time though. But that time will come for me, as it will for us all. And all I can say is that I am convinced it will be beautiful beyond belief. We’ll all be together again. We’ll all be united And we’ll all be so much more than we are now. And, oh! what a day that will be! What a day that will be!  AMEN.    

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