Questions God Asks Us, Part 9: Why Are You Crying?

 Friends, we’re now in part 9 of this 10 part sermon series that I put together based on a short study book titled Questions God Asks Us by pastor and author Trevor Hudson. In every chapter of this book, Hudson takes a question that the Divine poses to humans, either from the voice of our Creator in the OT or from the voice of Jesus in the NT, and then unpacks why that question is so important, what we can learn from it, and how we can faithfully respond.

Now you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, we’re almost done. These last two chapters revolve around Jesus’ last week, death, and resurrection. This morning’s question comes from John chapter 20, an Easter story. Mary Magdalene, one of the few people left who hasn’t abandoned Jesus, goes to the tomb to tend to Jesus’ body, to make sure her beloved friend has the most reverent burial she can possibly give him. When she gets to the tomb, she discovers, to her horror, what she assumes to be a cruel act of vandalism–someone pried it open and stole Jesus’ body. It’s already a terrible story–a poor, 33 year old man of color was abducted while praying, held on flimsy charges, given an unfair trial with no representation, and then executed by a tyrant in front of an angry mob. You really have to commend Mary’s incredible bravery. She stood next to Jesus through all of that, with nerves of steel. But this, her friend’s desecrated grave, is the thing that might break her.

When Jesus shows up in the story, Mary is sobbing in the garden, and she doesn’t recognize Jesus’ face or voice because she’s so traumatized. He asks her today’s question, “why are you crying?”

It’s not until he says her name that she realizes who he is. She is called by name. She connects by name. She lifts up by name. She tells stories with names. She remembers both who Jesus is and who she is because he gave her a name.

We find eternal life because Jesus opened up a portal in heaven for us. We find eternal life because God loves us that much. We also find eternal life because Jesus knows and loves us by name. We live forever in the stories and love and even tears that are shared when people who loved us say our name.

When you first hear today’s question–”why are you crying?”--your first assumption might be that the Divine doesn’t approve of tears. “Woman, why are you weeping?” may sound like another way for Jesus to say “Yo, earth to Mary, I’m literally standing right behind you.” And some of us, in this society that doesn’t handle feelings well, may have grown up being taught–Hey, stop that. Enough with the water works, no one wants to see that. Crying makes men look soft and effeminate. Crying makes women look crazy and overly emotional. Crying makes children sound loud and annoying. Here’s some tissues, clean that up.

Those sentiments are why it’s so crucial for all of us to see Jesus in action in this morning’s Gospel story. He’s on the road with his disciples when he hears word that his friend Lazarus is sick. Lazarus is the brother of Mary and Martha–the same ladies that butt heads over who does the housework. It’s exceedingly rare in the Gospels for Jesus to ever interact with the same people twice. Even his own mother dips out of the story early and doesn’t come back until his death. He really, really loves these siblings. And they must really love each other. The text doesn’t directly tell us anything about their birth order, but we can make a few guesses based on how they treat each other: orderly, type A, the work has to get done Martha is the eldest daughter, the glue of the family. Cool as a cucumber, let’s all get along, sit as Jesus’ feet Mary is the middle child. And Lazarus, who has two fiercely protective sisters, is the baby of the family. Please note that these are three grown adult siblings who live together. Y’all, I love my sisters. I don’t want to live with them. These guys have an unparalleled bond. And now, devastation has struck the home–Lazarus died.

Jesus makes his way to the home, and wants to visit Lazarus’ tomb right away. He deals with it when both Mary and Martha yell at him for not getting there sooner. They’re his friends, they’re allowed their feelings, he can take it. 

And then, depending on your translation, we get the shortest verse of the entire Bible, John 11: 35–Jesus wept. In case y’all don’t know the history, monks broke these stories down into chapters and verses. They could have easily grouped those two words into either the verse before or the verse after. They didn’t.

Jesus wept. A sentence. A verse. A theology. A revolution.

Men cry. God cries. Far from recoiling from our emotions, the Holy feels them too, and cries at our brother’s grave.

Why are you crying? Because Jesus did it first. Why are you crying? Because death is sad, and our grief deserves a moment. God loves Lazarus, and knew him by name.

The only reason why the Divine ever pulls us back in those sorrowful moments, where we’re weeping at the tomb, is because the Holy doesn’t want us to linger at the open grave for so long that we completely miss why the stone was rolled away. 

Mary Magdalene broke down. She was sad, she was angry, she was shell shocked, and she probably hadn’t slept since Jesus’ arrest on Thursday. She was so consumed with grief that she could only imagine one ending for the story, and one place Jesus could be. She was so entrenched in the madness of the last few days that she assumed the open tomb meant more sorrow, and another tragedy.

She needed the question because she needed to pause her crying just long enough to see something else with her eyes, just long enough to hear something else with her ears. 

First, Jesus gave her a moment of pause by asking her “why are you crying?”

When she still hadn’t figured it out, and she couldn’t process that Jesus was standing in front of her, Jesus shocked her back to awareness by calling her by her name.

“Mary.”

Remember a few weeks ago when the question was “what is your name?”

We have a relationship to God by name. We are affirmed and held by name. We are transformed by name. Mary hearing her name coming from Jesus’ vocal chords reminded her that her story wasn’t over yet. And she identified Jesus by the name only she called him–”Rabbouni.”

In the same way, Jesus interrupted the vigil at Mary and Martha’s house, asked for the tomb to be opened, and called his friend’s name: “Lazarus.”

When Lazarus heard his name, he came back to himself, back to this moment, and back to the communion of saints. His story wasn’t over yet, either.

Don’t get the wrong idea though. Death is a part of life. It’s raw, and real. The moral of the story isn’t that people don’t die. Lazarus was brought back to this side of the veil for a short time, to spend a little more time with his sisters, and to serve his neighbors. Then, we must assume, he died, as was laid to rest. Jesus rose from his grave, and eventually ascended into heaven.

The moral of these stories, on All Saints Day, is that bodies die, and go back to the earth. But love doesn’t die. Relationships don’t die. Family doesn’t die. Faith doesn’t die.

Why are you crying?

We cry when someone we love dies because Jesus did, too. We cry because their era of walking around in the body we recognized is over. Most importantly, we cry because our feelings, our connections, our love, is how we know we’re human. So was Jesus.

But to Jesus, the gap between earth and heaven doesn’t feel so big. He hopped over it on Easter so he could talk to Mary Magdalene one more time, and so he could tell his disciples what to do next. He showed Lazarus how to hop over once. But to Jesus, there’s one continuous chain of people, what we call the communion of saints, and it’s a chain of names that connects all of us here with everyone in heaven. It’s one chain. It’s Jesus, and Mary, and Martha, and Lazarus, and Mary Magdalene, and Judas, and Thomas, and Matthew, and Simon, and Andrew, and James, and John, and Thaddeus, and Peter. It’s also Natalie and Sean and Daniel and Lillian and Alexander and Barb on the piano and every name tag in the room and also the names of our loved ones we lift up.

Why are you crying? Because we love them.

Why is Jesus crying? Because he loves them too.

They live. They die. They hop over. They live. And, even if it’s in tears, we remember their names and we keep telling their stories.

Amen.