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“Jesus wept.” John 11:35

I hate crying.

No, I really do. For someone who does it as much as I do, you’d think I would have made peace with it by now. Not so. Every time I do it, I despise it. It’s embarrassing. My body is physically reacting to some kind of emotional stimulus and it’s totally out of my control. Happy, sad, angry, scared, tired, laughing. It seems that my tears are always just under the surface, just waiting for a chance to make an unwelcome appearance.

Now, don’t misunderstand, I don’t judge anyone else who’s crying. I’m quick to affirm others giving in to their tears and regularly remind friends to let their feelings out and be true to how they’re feeling. But for me, I secretly admire the poker-faced rocks who always seem to be in control of their emotions. For whatever reason, the feelings of others seem so legitimate and so important. Mine are a nuisance that only muddy the already fairly murky waters of my mind.

However, according to the Bible, if I’m going to be more like Jesus, I need to get over myself. Jesus spoke the language of emotion fluently and often. I’m always particularly intrigued by the heart of Jesus shown in the story of Lazarus. I would read John 11:35 and just turn it over and over in my head. Lord, You knew He was going to die. And You knew You were going to bring him back to life and it would all be okay in a matter of moments. Why did You stop and cry? The only Man who ever walked on this earth who had total control over His emotions chose to pause just before a miracle and weep for His friend. Interesting.

And not only did He allow Himself to feel deeply and express Himself freely, but He praises it in others. Not the performing nonsense of those feigning grief or bluffing conviction, but Jesus’ response to the ‘sinful woman’ in Luke 7 leaves little room for an aloof or blasé believer.

“Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for My feet, but she wet My feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give Me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing My feet. You did not put oil on My head, but she has poured perfume on My feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little.” (vv. 44-46)

I used to picture a fairly unemotional Jesus, continuing dinner and conversation with His friends, occasionally patting the woman patronizingly on the head and looking down on her with supreme satisfaction. But the more I’ve gotten to know my King, the more my picture of Him there has changed. I now see Jesus reclining on the floor, gazing at her in adoration and compassion, soaking in the purest of all worship, and not missing a single tear falling from her puffy, red eyes.

Was He embarrassed by her lack of emotional control? Was He judging her tearful worship? Not even close. She was not only anointing Him with oil, but also with her tears. And those tears, genuine tears, from Jesus’ perspective, were much more valuable.

I can look down on the glass top of my desk and see the salt outlines of tears that have escaped my eager hand. There are mascara marks on my pillow and tear stains on the screen of my phone. All stemming from various disappointments or stressful days. But I remember walking into the kitchen about a year ago, noticing a dull spot on my hardwood floor that had previously been a small puddle of tears. I never cleaned it up because those tears fell in a rush of pure conviction, fresh redemption, and total worship. I offered my tears to my King. And in that moment, I was no longer the Pharisee judging my own heart for not keeping it together. In that moment, I was the sinful woman kneeling at the feet of Christ, who fully experienced His saving power and could do no less than weep and worship in devotion and gratitude. I longed for those tears to fall on His feet so I could dry them with my hair. But I felt His love and presence as surely as if He were physically there because ‘the sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, You will not despise,’ Psalm 51:17.

How quickly I forget that God knows the depths of the heart of every man, and is not limited in guessing by the guarded and contrived outward expressions of our emotions. My King is not one more person on the list of people I have to be brave for. He’s the close friend and/or trusted parent who is always, always safe. So any feeling I try to hold back from Him is a bluff, and we both know it. I long to see those times as opportunities to let God meet me in those places and draw me near to Himself, instead of avoiding Him in embarrassment and vulnerability.

O my Jesus, when did I get so ashamed and afraid of my feelings? When did I decide that You only want my good moods and victorious moments? When did I commit to a life of trying to impress You? My Lord, You know my heart much better than I do. And You speak the language of emotion as well as any other. You created the spontaneous laughter as well as the stinging tears. Maybe You created them because You knew there would be creatures like me who would try to hide how they were feeling. Maybe these outward expressions were designed to draw Your children together to share the highs and lows of life. Lord, give me the security to be who I am and reject shame of authenticity and fear of rejection. The world is full of people trying to be brave. May Your people be a people who are free to be real, no matter what that looks like. And in moments of emotion, may we fearlessly point others to You as our hope. Amen.

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