In a talkative world, something that often goes misunderstood is that few words are needed to sufficiently send a message. Surely a lengthy blog post is an ironic and maybe even inappropriate forum to express such a notion, but there undoubtedly are times, especially for somebody as soft-spoken as I am, when an overflow of words is not necessary to adequately bring about a point, regardless of the profundity of said point. For instance, Joe Pesci, when accepting his Oscar for his performance in the movie Goodfellas, stepped up to the microphone and said to the enormous crowd in front of him and to the countless viewers at home, "It's my privilege. Thank you," and walked away without a second thought. He said all that needed to be said in that moment and nothing more, but, on the one hand, perhaps Pesci only couldn't go more than five words without saying something that couldn't be displayed on national television, so maybe that's a bad example of this idea. Consider this, then: a children's author was once bet fifty dollars by a friend to compose a children's book using no more than fifty unique words. That author, named Theodore Geisel (better known as Dr. Suess), accepted that challenge, and the result was what has come to be known as Green Eggs and Ham. Even though Dr. Suess never claimed his winnings from his friend, the success of the book surely made up for it. Similarly, there was once a challenge between writers of the early 1900s, the most famous of which was Ernest Hemingway. The story of this challenge tells that Hemingway once bet a table of his peers at a lunch ten dollars each that he could compose an entire story in only six words. Once his companions agreed to his terms, he continued to grab a napkin from the table, upon which he wrote, "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." After the napkin was passed around the table, Hemingway collected his winnings from each member of the party.
All three of these stories certainly support the notion that even only a few words can speak just as well as (if not better than) paragraphs. Pesci got his brief point across while evading unnecessary (and probably unwanted) pleasantries and formalities. Dr. Suess created something historically creative while utilizing the beauty of simplicity. Hemingway spoke to the innermost emotions of all people capable of demonstrating empathy using only what was necessary and letting the human heart fill in the rest. These instances demonstrate how unneeded words are in certain scenarios, and this is the principle upon which I want to fixate for a while. On that note, let me transition (maybe a little awkwardly) from Joe Pesci, Dr. Suess, and Ernest Hemingway to the author of the Gospel of John.
John 11:35 is famous, frankly, only for being the shortest verse in our Bible. That's all that most people know about it, but certainly people cannot be blamed for not being able to expand upon a verse that only reads, "Jesus wept." It's hard to reach profound conclusions from a mere two words (three words in the original Greek). However, as was true with Joe Pesci, Dr. Suess, and Ernest Hemingway, these few words pack a punch stronger than what may appear on the surface.
For those of you unfamiliar with the passage, John 11 is the famous story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. Verse 35 tells of Jesus approaching the tomb of his dear friend and, after encountering the deceased's mourning sisters and colleagues, weeping amid the gloomy circumstances out of love for those affected. That's basically it. Again, there's not really that much going on in this particular verse, but hang with me. Jesus' actions in this one verse reveal so much about his innermost being as God and as a human, and it models how we should strive to behave as godly humans.
To examine what this verse reveals about Jesus' character, one must ask two questions. Firstly, one must ask why Jesus wept. It's clear, though, that Jesus wept because of his love for the other characters of this narrative; he was heartbroken because he experienced the pain and suffering of those dear to him along with them. Even though he consciously reigned supreme over the situation and had a plan of healing in mind and under control, he still bothered to take the time to observe the imminent heartbreak in that moment in communion with those co-witnessing it. Secondly, one must ask what Jesus didn't do. I understand that there are essentially an infinite number of possible answers to this question, so consider instead what Jesus didn't do that you, I, or anybody we know would've done. For instance, Jesus didn't point the blame elsewhere and defend himself against those who pleaded, "If you had been here, [Lazarus] would not have died" (v. 21, 32). He didn't immediately search for a solution to the present problem, even though he, the almighty God of the universe, certainly had the resources to do so. He also didn't remove himself from the moment and impersonalize the situation by taking the principles at play at that particular moment and applying them to all issues of similar nature throughout the world, thus creating an unnecessary (and probably unwanted) political statement through an event that required nothing more than his compassion. For instance, Jesus didn't come to Bethany, Lazarus' home, to use the effects of Lazarus' sickness as fuel to start a movement against the inadequacies of the medicine of that time, using the hashtag #PrayForBethany. One should notice that Jesus didn't even respond with words, and John similarly recorded the event as simply and bluntly as Jesus lived it; both Jesus and John understood that the situation did not require a speech.
Moreover, one has to conclude that this kind of mindset has to be God's nature still today. Hence, to fully know God, it is imperative to know that even to this day, he responds to pain by weeping. Our sufferings truly do break the heart of God, and if that doesn't communicate to you the incarnational, compassionate, humble nature of our God, then you sadly misunderstand the magnitude of the Gospel. God doesn't weep out of pity; he weeps because he became a human and thus experiences our sufferings alongside us. Just as Jesus wept for his friends whom he loved and who experienced the death of their loved one, Jesus now weeps with us, his friends whom he loves, when we undergo the troubles of life. Jesus wept, and now we can know for certain that we have ultimate communion with our God of love. That should bring us hope.
Just as it brings us hope, though, it should present us with the responsibility to do likewise, as is true with much of Jesus' ministry. We should observe Jesus weeping and similarly strive to weep for what makes him weep. We should respond to the pain of others by mourning with the mourners not because we feel sorry for those in a worse condition than ours but rather because we, too, truly feel the heartbreak that has consumed them. Just as the divine descended from on high to join in the suffering of humanity, we ought to humiliate ourselves to co-experience the pain of others before frantically attempting to right all of this world's wrongs, for fixing what we see as broken without first sharing in the brokenness is truly one of the most impersonal, selfish deeds we, as Christians, can perform to the world in which we live. When we first jump to a solution without observing and absorbing the problem, all we do is point fingers and voice our unnecessary (and probably unwanted) opinions at the expense of those in need of nothing more than compassion. Jesus wept, and we should weep with him.
Like I said, John packed a pretty big punch with just these few words. The simplicity of Jesus' actions in this single moment has so many connotations and implications for a world in pain and in need of compassion. For instance, since it is so fresh in everyone's minds, let me relate this to the mass shooting that recently took place in Orlando, Florida. Let me establish one simple truth about the massacre before going forward: Jesus did, in fact, weep over the victims in Orlando. I can say that with full certainty, but let me ask one question: did we? Yes, I'm sure many of us, upon hearing about the tragedy in Orlando, felt sorrow, disgust, sympathy, and anger, and I'm sure many of us even shed actual tears. But did we weep as Jesus wept? At the risk of overgeneralizing, I'd argue that many of us did not.
Like I mentioned earlier, we live in a talkative world, so when events like this mass shooting happen, we're only conditioned to respond with words. Hence, perhaps some people in the church believe that our vocal culture has exculpated us from the Christian duty to be a people who even possess the capability to respond silently. According to these people, if the church were to respond to front-page disasters with nothing but weeping, not a single person of this talkative world would think that the church bothered to even notice, and if the public isn't fully aware of the church's stance, then the church has become static. It was people who thought like this that were more heartbroken by the imminent danger of radical Islam, the failure to achieve equality for the LGBT community, and the ineffective gun control laws in need of reformation than by the loss of human life. It was people who thought like this that voiced an opinion about what could have been done to prevent this travesty before they voiced a prayer out of love and compassion for those who are in need of nothing else. It was people who thought like this that did not weep as Jesus wept. Most importantly, those people who thought like this were probably often you and I. After all, how many of us posted something with the hashtag #PrayForOrlando without actually praying for Orlando?
I can assure you this, the people of Orlando have no interest in your hashtag if it is not accompanied by the appropriate sentiment, and that sentiment is exactly what John describes in John 11:35. It is not pity. It is not an attempt to mend what has been broken. All Orlando needs us to do is mourn with the mourners, to share in their sufferings, to humiliate ourselves alongside them to achieve solidarity before achieving a solution. That is to weep as Jesus wept.
Surely we don't have to wait for mass shootings to happen to weep as Jesus wept. In fact, it's probably easier to show this kind of love and compassion to people in our immediate areas than it is to reach to a city halfway across the country. Pain exists in smaller degrees in the less significant endeavors of everyday life, but such instances are no less deserving of a humbly compassionate response. There is always suffering that needs to be met with compassion. Henri Nouwen defines compassionate living nicely in his novel Compassion. He claims that compassion is "not a bending toward the underprivileged from a privileged position; it is not a reaching out from on high to those who are less fortunate below; it is not a gesture of sympathy or pity for those who fail to make it in the upward pull. On the contrary, compassion means going directly to those people and places where suffering is most acute and building a home there." That is how we live everyday as Christians in a hurting world. That is to weep as Jesus wept.
Compassion is a message that does not need to be communicated through words. I'd go as far as to say that compassion is a message that is often polluted when accompanied by words. Thus, to respond to those who are in pain, we ought to understand that before people need our thoughts and our actions, they need only our presence in the depths along with them. This chaotic world will not always be peaceful, but when the world knows how to weep as Jesus wept, then it will know peace nonetheless.
"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted" (Matt. 5:3-4).
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