Holy tears

Oh, how the tears flowed! I was chopping up a large onion for future cooking projects. One of my cooking tricks is to divide the pieces into paper-lined muffin cups, freeze, then remove and toss the handy-sized portions into a freezer bag. That way, I only have to have a good cry from chemical irritation about one time out of five or six.

I’m not as clever in reducing the incidence of “spiritual tears.” I’m not talking about selfish, immature “I-didn’t-get-my-own-way” tears, but those poured out without shame before a holy God. There’s a reason a tissue box is next to the chair where I meet with God. It’s also why I can’t read the shortest verse in the Bible, “Jesus wept” (John 11:35) without pausing and tears welling up.

Bible teachers say Jesus wept because He knew the pain of His dear friends and how they were disappointed that He didn’t come earlier to heal Lazarus. He also wept because death, the result of Adam’s sin, had claimed Lazarus, as it had claimed millions before. He wept in full knowledge that He would soon face death. Already, the Jewish leaders were seeking His death. After the astonishing demonstration of His deity through Lazarus coming back to life, the pressure would increase. In fact, He had to essentially go undercover to a desert village (11:54) until just before Passover. That high Jewish celebration would be the week of His own death.

Fast-forward through the tears of His finals hours and death, the pained good-byes of those who loved Him. Come to the cave where friends put His body, where women have come to anoint His body according to customs. Mary Magdalene is highlighted in John’s account. She sees the stoned rolled back and can only think of body-snatching: “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!” (20:2). She runs in panic to the disciples. They race to the tomb and confirm her report. They leave, she stays, crying and crying. She’s so blinded by her tears that she doesn’t realize angels are there to give her an incredible hope. Like a broken recorder, she replays her lament, “They have taken my Lord away, and I don’t know where they have put him.” Then Christ appears. Same basic reply. She can’t see through her tears or understand through her emotions that He’s right there in front of her! Then the Voice: “Mary.”

That, she knew.

Probably more than we care to admit, there is a sobbing Mary Magdalene in all of us. We think the Lord is no longer there for us. We worry or give up. We go through the motions of a religion without the heart-burning recognition of the risen Jesus. Patiently He waits for us to dry our selfish, blinding “it-didn’t-happen-like-I-wanted-it” tears. The plan He had all along is so much better—if we’d only take off the blinders of our own preconceived ideas of what life should be.

Mary Magdalene finally got it right. She rushed to find the disciples and declared, “I have seen the Lord!” (20:18). Actually, that’s what often brings tears when I pray. It’s for others who haven’t yet “seen the Lord” through the eyes of faith. They don’t get past the tears of Friday, or the numbness of Saturday to declare, with everything in them, “He is risen! He is risen indeed.”

And I have to admit: When I join my congregation in that Easter morning declaration of His resurrection--well, tears come. Happy tears!