As David went up the Mount of Olives, he wept without ceasing. His head was covered, and he was walking barefoot. All those who were with him also had their heads covered and were weeping as they went.
Many people in the Bible weep. There's a story there, and a history.
Some fool once said, "Real men don't weep." I can't imagine where that came from, or why; but it spreads like a contagion from men to women to children. Perhaps it's a facet of the Big Lie which first appeared in the Garden of Eden when Adam blamed God for what he and Eve had done.
Real men like King David and Jesus of Nazareth weep often and easily. It's what we do when we feel sadness, and sometimes when we're frustrated and tired. Many people break down and cry in the confessional and it's often from sheer exhaustion. Feeling welcome and safe, they give vent to their feelings.
I have read that eighteenth century audiences wept easily and often during theatrical productions. Some would howl when Ophelia drowned or Cyrano died. They might insist that the players encore, and go through the scene again. (The actors were underpaid servants and subject to the whims of an engaged audience.) Even into the twentieth century theater-goers anguished through staged melodramas as they loudly demanded that the damsel in distress might be rescued. Only when the actors became more powerful were the audiences told to pipe down and let the show go on.
As we wait for an apparently endless pandemic to end we may finally allow ourselves to weep and feel helpless.
If we learn anything from the Gospel of Jesus Christ it is that sadness and weeping belong in our human experience, along with weakness, vulnerability, aging, confusion, foolishness, mischief, uncertainty, and anger. We may prefer joy and gladness but that preference only demonstrates our spiritual immaturity.
The Gospels don't dwell on that other side of Jesus but neither do they hide the foolishness of the boy who stayed behind in Jerusalem to question the elders. We hear of the Lord's frustration as disciples misunderstood him and quarreled over which was the greatest among them. We feel his sadness when adoring crowds demanded too much of him and then walked away from him. We notice his reluctance to deal with gentile women, and then his recognition of them. We learn of his surprise when a Roman centurion understands him better than his own disciples.
Made in God's image, the Spirit teaches us to embrace the apparently undesirable facets of our nature. The cross reveals them as blessed and beautiful. We can admire the drop-dead gorgeous and the heroically powerful but we are enchanted by aging, need, and even querulous confusion. Sometimes cruelty arouses pity among the blessed for its blind stupidity. We have heard our martyrs pray for their persecutors.
As he wept over the holy city that would hail his coming and then crucify him, Jesus felt deep compassion for its suffering. It was far deeper than they could comprehend. No artist could express it. As we struggle under a nuclear cloud of grief, and see people willfully ignoring it with mind-altering drugs and mindless entertainment, we accept the full gamut of human experience and thank the Lord Jesus for walking with us. He does not walk ahead or behind; he is with us.
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I love to write. This blog helps me to meditate on the Word of God, and I hope to make some contribution to our contemplations of God's Mighty Works.
Ordinarily, I write these reflections two or three weeks in advance of their publication. I do not intend to comment on current events.
I understand many people prefer gender-neutral references to "God." I don't disagree with them but find that language impersonal, unappealing and tasteless. When I refer to "God" I think of the One whom Jesus called "Abba" and "Father", and I would not attempt to improve on Jesus' language.
You're welcome to add a thought or raise a question.