John 11:35 is the shortest verse in the English Bible – but also one of the most powerful. In this edited extract American writer Debie Thomas reflects on it.

When Jesus weeps, he legitimizes human grief. The raising of Lazarus is around the corner, but in this story, the promise of joy doesn’t cancel out the essential work of grief. When Jesus cries, he assures Mary and Martha, not only that their beloved brother is worth crying for, but also that they are worth crying with. Through his tears, Jesus calls all of us into the holy vocation of empathy, co-suffering, and lamentation.

When Jesus weeps, he respects the necessity of silence, the sanctity of the wordless and the unsayable. We should pay careful attention when the Word himself refuses to speak. Sometimes there is nothing to be said in the face of loss; sometimes tears are our best and most honourable language. Through his wordless tears, Jesus cautions us to pause. He shows us that silence, too, is faithful, sometimes, silence is love.

When Jesus weeps, he acknowledges his own mortality. When word spreads about the miracle in Bethany, the authorities decide that Jesus must be stopped. He knows that the end is imminent, he knows that his time with his friends is almost over, he knows that it’s nearly time to say goodbye to the lakes and skies and hills and stars he loves. In crying, he asserts powerfully that it is okay to yearn for life. It’s okay to cling to this beautiful world. It is okay to love and cherish the gift of life here and now.

And finally, when Jesus weeps, he shows us that sorrow is a powerful catalyst for change. It is his shattering that leads to resurrection. Perhaps Jesus’s tears can provoke us in similar ways. What breaks our hearts? What enrages us to the point of breakdown? Can we work for transformation in our places of devastation? Can our sorrow lead us to justice?

I hope that Jesus’s tears can keep us tender, open, humble, generous, and brave. I hope his honest expression of sorrow will give us the permission and the impetus we need, but to move with powerful compassion into a world that sorely needs our empathy and our love. Our journey is not to the grave, but through it. The Lord who weeps is also the Lord who resurrects.

Edited from Debie Thomas on www.journeywithjesus.net

Cardiff Ardwyn Singers are delighted to present a thrilling concert of Lenten themed music at St Peter’s RC Church on Sunday 26th March at 6pm which is full of local and international colour. Motets from Karl Jenkins provide a mix of familiar music and new discoveries, while Arwel Hughes’ ‘Gweddi’ is a rousing prayer setting featuring a soaring soprano solo. German born composer and organist Josef Rheinberger gives us the jewel in the crown with his ‘StabatMater’, a setting for choir and string orchestra. 

Tickets are just £12 and free for under 18s and available via the Ticketsource website using the link: https://www.ticketsource.co.uk/cantorion-ardwyn-singers/ , or on the door.

This reflection is based on today’s Gospel – the Samaritan Woman. To hear a dramatic reading of it go to youtu.be/5y2GlmTxpkM or thecanonsstall.blogspot.com

I am a woman of no distinction, of little importance. I am a woman of no reputation save that which is bad. You whisper as I pass by and cast judgmental glances, though you don’t really take the time to look at me, or even get to know me. For to be known is to be loved, and to be loved is to be known. Otherwise what’s the point in doing either one of them in the first place?

I WANT TO BE KNOWN. I want someone to look at my face And not just see two eyes, a nose, a mouth and two ears; But to see all that I am, and could be – all my hopes, loves and fears. But that’s too much to hope for, to wish for, or pray for, so I don’t, not anymore. Now I keep to myself, and by that I mean the pain that keeps me in my own private jail, the pain that’s brought me here at midday to this well.

To ask for a drink is no big request, but to ask it of me? A woman unclean, ashamed, used and abused, an outcast, a failure, a disappointment, a sinner. No drink passing from these hands to your lips could ever be refreshing, only condemning, as I’m sure you condemn me now. But you don’t. You’re a man of no distinction; though of the utmost importance. A man with little reputation, at least so far. You whisper and tell me to my face what all those glances have been about, and you take the time to really look at me. But don’t need to get to know me.

For to be known is to be loved and to be loved is to be known. And you know me. You actually know me; all of me and everything about me. Every thought inside and hair on top of my head; every hurt stored up, every hope, every dread. My past and my future, all I am and could be. You tell me everything, you tell me about me! And that which is spoken by another would bring hate and condemnation. Coming from you brings love, grace, mercy, hope and salvation. I’ve heard of one to come who could save a wretch like me, and here in my presence, you say I AM He. To be known is to be loved; And to be loved is to be known. And I just met you. But I love you. I don’t know you, but I want to get to.

Let me run back to town, this is way too much for just me. There are others: brothers, sisters, lovers, haters, the good and the bad, sinners and saints, who should hear what you’ve told me; who should see what you’ve shown me; who should taste what you gave me; who should feel how you forgave me. For to be known is to be loved; And to be loved is to be known. And they all need this, too. We all do. Need it for our own..

By Student Life Creative