We wept when we learned that my wife, age 31, had cancer. More than wept – we wailed.
When my dear friend and brother in Christ, Brian, died of colon cancer at 42, leaving behind his beautiful family, I had no words.
When my sister lost her battle with stomach cancer at 51, the grief overwhelmed me. I led her memorial service — big mistake. Standing in front of our family and her friends, I completely lost it.
“Jesus wept” is dear to me because in the midst of sorrow, I need to know that Jesus’ heart breaks too. John 11 feels like a cryfest. Tears flow from every corner: Mary is weeping, Martha is pleading, their friends and neighbors are mourning. Lazarus has been dead for four days (John 11:17). That’s four days of absence and questions: Why didn’t Jesus come?
When he finally arrives, Martha meets him with a heart torn between pain and hope: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you” (John 11:21–22).
This moment of Jesus weeping is simple yet life-giving. It is the shortest verse in Scripture, but it holds some of the deepest theology. Here, we see the heart of our Savior in genuine sorrow, joining his friends in their grief (John 11:33–35).
Sometimes, we mistakenly believe that strong faith means suppressing sorrow. We fear tears might suggest weak trust and a lack of hope in Christ. Yet here stands Jesus – fully divine, fully aware of the miracle He was about to perform – openly weeping. His tears remind us that grief is not unspiritual. It’s deeply human. Jesus experienced it firsthand, giving us permission to mourn without shame.
Jesus doesn’t respond to Mary and Martha’s grief with stoicism or theological diatribes. Instead, he joins their sorrow. Jesus weeps because we weep. He is deeply moved by our pain (John 11:33). This reveals a beautiful truth: our God is not indifferent to our suffering. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).
But Jesus’ tears don’t just validate our grief; they point us toward everlasting hope. Even as Jesus wept, he knew Lazarus would soon rise (John 11:23, 43–44). Grief and hope coexist in the presence of Jesus. His sorrow was real, but so was his power to conquer death. He declares to Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25). Jesus does not eliminate sorrow. He invites us, in our sorrow, to rest in him, the One who conquers death and renews life.
This passage invites us into authentic moments with God. We do not have to approach prayer formally or hide behind religious bravado. Just like Jesus openly expressed sorrow, we too can bring our raw and honest emotions to God.
As the writer to the Hebrews put it, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:15–16).
Short prayers, desperate prayers – even prayers pleading for things we should not – whispered through tears, reach the heart of Jesus just as powerfully as lengthy ones. Sometimes, all we can do is place ourselves in a position to hear God respond in a gentle whisper because anything louder might overwhelm us completely.
If you find yourself struggling to pray in sorrow, let God’s whispers from his Word be your guide. Pray through the psalms of lament, passages where others have given voice to their deepest pain (e.g., Psalms 6, 13, 42, 51). God doesn’t require perfect prayers; he invites honest hearts. “Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us” (Psalm 62:8).
Jesus also calls us into deeper empathy with one another. Romans 12:15 instructs us to “weep with those who weep.” True discipleship means sharing each other’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). The greatest ministry we can offer is not fixing someone’s pain but simply sitting with them, being present, and sharing their tears.
I experienced this during the months spent sitting beside my wife in our new hospital home. Friends quietly sat alongside us, their tears, laughter, friendship, and even silence lifting our burdens as we longed for the miracle that would come in God’s timing. Just as Christ enters into our sorrow we are called to embody his compassion by entering the pain of others while offering the same comfort he first gave us (2 Corinthians 1:3–4).
Ultimately, Jesus’ tears remind us that our Savior not only shares our sorrow but has triumphed over it. Lazarus’s resurrection foreshadows Jesus’ own resurrection and ours too (1 Corinthians 15:20–22). Our tears today, though real and heavy, do not have the final say. They point forward to the day when Christ will wipe every tear from our eyes (Revelation 21:4). Lazarus’ resurrection foreshadows not only Jesus’ own resurrection but also ours.
As followers of Christ, we live in the tension of tears and triumph, grief and hope. “For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:17–18).
If you are grieving today remember this: Jesus weeps with you. He meets you in your tears and points you towards a future hope. Rest in his presence knowing your sorrow is understood and your future secure in the hands of the One who conquered death and calls you to life everlasting (John 16:33, 1 Thessalonians 4:13–14).
Travis Marsh serves as lead pastor of Canyon Creek Presbyterian Church in San Ramon, California.