Why are you weeping?

by Robert Mohns

A man holds his two sons closely. Before them is the grave and the casket-enshrined body of his beautiful bride. The wintery winds blow clumps of snow down upon the grieving family, and it seems to the man as though legions of devils are throwing insults at him along with the snow, taunting: “Where are your songs of praise now, son of man?” He wants to rage and roar against death with the voice of Revelation’s mighty angel—but he stands gutted. With not even a tear left to cry nor a voice left to speak, he weeps silently.

Why do we weep? What is the function of weeping? You may have heard people comment, “I don’t know why I still get emotional. I have wept all my tears out, there are no more tears left. I should be healed.” But still we grieve.

“Woman, why are you weeping?” the angels at the empty tomb asked Mary (John 20:13). It was the morning of that first Easter. Mary was there, weeping. She was grieving at Jesus’ grave, three days after His death by crucifixion. Curiously absent from John’s Gospel account is the angel’s announcement of Jesus’ resurrection; there is no proclamation of “He is not here, for He has risen” (Matthew 28:6).

John records that the disciples, having been reminded of Jesus’ words of resurrection promise, departed. Mary is alone at the empty tomb. Trying to make sense of it all, through the veil of grief, Mary focuses on the only thing that seems real: the disappearance of Jesus’ corpse. Someone has dragged Jesus’ dead body away.

Grief is a uniquely human experience. It is the result of sin and death. These last and greatest enemies seek to steal away not only the dead but all humanity. In this moment, they sought to drag Mary away too.

The messengers of the Lord bring to Mary’s attention, and to ours, who have stood at the grave of loved ones, good news of the Creator. Sin and death will not steal Mary away, nor will they steal us away. The question the angels bring is spoken by her God. She is not alone: the Creator who still takes care of His creation is standing right next to Mary and knows her grief. More than that, He has done something about it, and He is about to enter her grief in the person of His resurrected Son.

Immediately, John records, Jesus appeared. And He asks the question: “Woman, why are you weeping?” (20:15).

The Gospel tells us that Jesus wept too, over the death of Lazarus. His raising of Lazarus was a prefiguring of His own resurrection, which gives meaning to our grieving. It was also His validation-by-solidarity of our weeping. Jesus did not come to Lazarus’ grave with a stiff upper lip; no, He came as a Jeremiah, the prophets’ prophet, in lamentation.

We and Mary are right to weep at death. We are right to rage against the separation and to feel tormented by the loss. We are right to lament the wrongness of a loved one’s death. Jesus cried out and we are right to call out too—not for acceptance of the death of a loved one but to call out to God for remedy, redress, salvation, and resurrection.

As we are affected by the death of a loved one, He is affected by the death of our loved one. Jesus inhabits our grief. The one who asks the question is one substance with Father and is also of one substance with grieving humanity— with grieving Mary and with grieving you, dear sister and brother. He is of one substance with our grieving flesh.

Jesus’ compassion is not the consequence of a cosmic sympathetic vibration between creatures and Creator. On the contrary, His compassion is a consequence of His divine nature—compassion made clear in His decision to be born as one of us. The incarnate Lord knows grief as it is. He knows grief in terms of His own comprehension and all the more so by His domination of death.

Jesus was not incredulous that He found Mary weeping. Exactly the opposite: Jesus expected Mary, and us, to weep and wail and come to Him laboured and burdened in our grief. According to John, the angels did not scold Mary for weeping. Neither did Jesus upbraid or rebuke Mary for her weeping, but rather validated her weeping and lament.

“Having said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?’ Supposing Him to be the gardener, she said to Him, ‘Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’ She turned and said to Him in Aramaic, ‘Rabboni!’ (which means Teacher)” (John 20:14-16).

There, outside the tomb, Jesus, victor over the last and greatest of enemies of humanity, exploded onto the scene as the resurrected one. He stands before Mary as evidence of His power to raise the dead. By His impending return to the Father’s side He intends to drag Mary and us, body and soul, into His heavenly kingdom.

Mary will not go fetch Jesus’ body. No, He comes to take Mary. “Mary,” Jesus speaks, claiming her by name. He has dragged Mary out of the prison house of sin and death and into His personal presence. “Rabboni,” she confesses, praising her Saviour. With one word, she confesses the entirety of Jesus’ work for her.

The blessing Jesus spoke at the beginning of His ministry was now accomplished, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). King David put it this way: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me” (Psalm 23:4).

Because of the rising from death of the One who is acquainted with grief, whose name is Jesus, (Isaiah 53:3-4), the gravity of grief as experienced by Mary on the first Easter and by us today is sanctified—made holy. And that changes everything. We do not grieve as those who have no hope: “For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep” (1 Thessalonians 4:13-14).

Why are you weeping? The resurrected Lord stands at our side this day asking the question. And He intends to drag us by His grace and the power of His Spirit into His resurrection, life, and salvation. Today He holds us closely to himself calling us by name, “Cling to me. I have saved you.”

He is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Rev. Robert Mohns is Lutheran Church–Canada (LCC)'s West Regional Pastor.