Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep. Romans 12:15
Have you ever found yourself lost for words when you’ve been trying to help someone? Perhaps they were in a seriously distressing situation, and you just couldn’t think of anything to say.
You felt you had failed. Perhaps you felt guilty: What’s wrong with me? Why couldn’t I find any words?
Probably most of us have been there at some point in our lives. If so, I think the beautiful, simple verse above is worth digesting; it reminds us that there are times when there just aren’t any words anyone can say – no, not even the wisest, maturest, most Christlike, most Spirit-filled person you can imagine. Times when just being there is the vital thing.
The key word is that tiny “with”. It doesn’t necessarily mean being physically close to someone; if that’s not possible, you can be “with” someone via a letter or an email or a phone call. But it suggests sharing their sorrow in whatever way we can. “I’m with you” can mean “I’m on your side,” “I’m there for you”.
One of the most humbling things about being a minister is when people say to you, perhaps as the dust settles after a tragedy, “I just want to thank you for everything you did.” You feel like replying, “But I didn’t actually do anything! I was just, well, around.” And if you do attempt to say something like that, back comes the reply, “Never mind – it meant a lot to us…”
Two memories spring to mind…
First, I’m sitting in the home of a dying man. Everyone knows that he is dying, and the neighbours – bless ‘em! – have popped in to express their sympathy. This is very good of them, of course; what else are neighbours for?
But they haven’t grasped that they don’t actually have to say anything at all beyond the usual few sympathetic words. So out come the clichés: “Don’t worry, old chap, we’ll soon have you up and running about again…”; “Keep looking on the bright side – it’s amazing what they can do these days…”
And I’m wishing (Lord, forgive me!) that I could strangle them on the spot. Sorry, I don’t mean to be unkind, because I know they mean well. But all they’re doing is filling the room with unreality, with falseness; putting it bluntly, with lies. And what can be the good of that?
Second, a friend is going through a crisis in his life. In desperation he rings a friend who lives some thirty or so miles away and pours out his heart. The friend says “Hang on – I’m coming round” and puts the phone down. He jumps in his car and does just that, arriving within the hour.
My friend’s response was very striking: “It wasn’t anything he said… it was the fact he was prepared to go to that trouble for me…” (On another day, of course, it might not have been practically possible; but I’m sure that even then he would have had time to listen for a few minutes, and just that might have made all the difference.)
When we look at Jesus, we understandably focus mainly on either his deeds or his words. And quite right too!
But have we ever stopped to think about his tears? The Son of God himself knew what it was to “weep with those who weep”. He did so as he came to the tomb of Lazarus (John 11), grieving not mainly because his friend had died, but because of the hopelessness and despair of Mary, Martha and the neighbours. “Jesus wept” (verse 35).
Can you see him?
He mourned as he looked over the doomed city of Jerusalem, knowing the suffering which its people were going to endure: “As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it” (Luke 19:41).
Can you see him?
The Writer to the Hebrews tells us (Hebrews 5:7) that during his earthly life he “offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears...” Loud cries and tears!
Can you see him? Can you hear him?
Tears are part of the very nature of the God who is made known to us in Jesus: “I weep, as Jazer weeps, for the vines of Sibmah. Heshbon and Elealeh, I drench you with tears,” he says (Isaiah 16:9). And we probably think: Jazer? Sibmah? Heshbon? Elealeh? Who on earth are they? But that’s the whole point – people of no importance to us today, and quite likely of little importance in their own day; yet they draw forth the tears of our compassionate God.
So… You have nothing to say to that suffering friend? So be it. Perhaps “I just wanted you to know how sorry I am, and that I’m around for you if you need me” is all that’s needed. Just being there for them.
(So long, of course, as you mean it…)
Loving Father, thank you for the tears of Jesus. Please give me grace, when there are no words, to weep with those who weep. Amen.
Have you ever found yourself lost for words when you’ve been trying to help someone? Perhaps they were in a seriously distressing situation, and you just couldn’t think of anything to say.
You felt you had failed. Perhaps you felt guilty: What’s wrong with me? Why couldn’t I find any words?
Probably most of us have been there at some point in our lives. If so, I think the beautiful, simple verse above is worth digesting; it reminds us that there are times when there just aren’t any words anyone can say – no, not even the wisest, maturest, most Christlike, most Spirit-filled person you can imagine. Times when just being there is the vital thing.
The key word is that tiny “with”. It doesn’t necessarily mean being physically close to someone; if that’s not possible, you can be “with” someone via a letter or an email or a phone call. But it suggests sharing their sorrow in whatever way we can. “I’m with you” can mean “I’m on your side,” “I’m there for you”.
One of the most humbling things about being a minister is when people say to you, perhaps as the dust settles after a tragedy, “I just want to thank you for everything you did.” You feel like replying, “But I didn’t actually do anything! I was just, well, around.” And if you do attempt to say something like that, back comes the reply, “Never mind – it meant a lot to us…”
Two memories spring to mind…
First, I’m sitting in the home of a dying man. Everyone knows that he is dying, and the neighbours – bless ‘em! – have popped in to express their sympathy. This is very good of them, of course; what else are neighbours for?
But they haven’t grasped that they don’t actually have to say anything at all beyond the usual few sympathetic words. So out come the clichés: “Don’t worry, old chap, we’ll soon have you up and running about again…”; “Keep looking on the bright side – it’s amazing what they can do these days…”
And I’m wishing (Lord, forgive me!) that I could strangle them on the spot. Sorry, I don’t mean to be unkind, because I know they mean well. But all they’re doing is filling the room with unreality, with falseness; putting it bluntly, with lies. And what can be the good of that?
Second, a friend is going through a crisis in his life. In desperation he rings a friend who lives some thirty or so miles away and pours out his heart. The friend says “Hang on – I’m coming round” and puts the phone down. He jumps in his car and does just that, arriving within the hour.
My friend’s response was very striking: “It wasn’t anything he said… it was the fact he was prepared to go to that trouble for me…” (On another day, of course, it might not have been practically possible; but I’m sure that even then he would have had time to listen for a few minutes, and just that might have made all the difference.)
When we look at Jesus, we understandably focus mainly on either his deeds or his words. And quite right too!
But have we ever stopped to think about his tears? The Son of God himself knew what it was to “weep with those who weep”. He did so as he came to the tomb of Lazarus (John 11), grieving not mainly because his friend had died, but because of the hopelessness and despair of Mary, Martha and the neighbours. “Jesus wept” (verse 35).
Can you see him?
He mourned as he looked over the doomed city of Jerusalem, knowing the suffering which its people were going to endure: “As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it” (Luke 19:41).
Can you see him?
The Writer to the Hebrews tells us (Hebrews 5:7) that during his earthly life he “offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears...” Loud cries and tears!
Can you see him? Can you hear him?
Tears are part of the very nature of the God who is made known to us in Jesus: “I weep, as Jazer weeps, for the vines of Sibmah. Heshbon and Elealeh, I drench you with tears,” he says (Isaiah 16:9). And we probably think: Jazer? Sibmah? Heshbon? Elealeh? Who on earth are they? But that’s the whole point – people of no importance to us today, and quite likely of little importance in their own day; yet they draw forth the tears of our compassionate God.
So… You have nothing to say to that suffering friend? So be it. Perhaps “I just wanted you to know how sorry I am, and that I’m around for you if you need me” is all that’s needed. Just being there for them.
(So long, of course, as you mean it…)
Loving Father, thank you for the tears of Jesus. Please give me grace, when there are no words, to weep with those who weep. Amen.
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