LOVE WEEK

“But as he approached Jerusalem and saw the city ahead, he wept over it. And he said, ‘If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace – but now it is hidden from your eyes.’ ” Luke 19:41-42

Now, I don’t really do feelings. Rarely do I cry at a funeral and never have I at a wedding. I enjoyed the rationalists and realists in my humanities courses more than the romantics, and will gladly talk weather or sports scores with other men to avoid anything heartfelt.  I even kept a small vigil earlier this year over the passing of Leonard Nimoy, the fanboy gold standard of emotional inaccessibility. So when we’re going to discuss our Lord and Savior crying, I know I’ll be uncomfortable. But that’s a good thing; His ways are higher than mine, so let’s get out of comfort zones and see a more excellent way.

Jesus, as the message addressed Sunday, grieves in the Gospels alternatively for people and for specific places where they dwell – and not for the reasons we suspect when we witness it. He famously and succinctly wept at Lazarus’ death, prompting the bystanders at Bethany to proclaim, “Look how deeply (Jesus) loved him!” (John 11:36 MSG).

But the text tells us Lazarus’ resurrection is a fait accompli before Jesus reaches Bethany, so his grief is more for the hearts of those who cannot yet hope in Him. And with the same dramatic irony, Jesus wept at what should be the apex of his popularity, as crowds of people throw down coats and palm leaves to enter Jerusalem. Why? Because once again, we humans just don’t get it.

Jesus goes on later in Luke 19 to describe a fate for Jerusalem that mirrors the destruction of the temple in 70 AD by the Roman legions under future Emperor Titus. And the implication here is that welcoming a Prince of Peace, rather than a potential earthly liberator from Rome, would have changed the city’s fate.

There is some sense to that – it is after all this misguided political zeal that spurred two failed revolts and scattered the Jewish people, razed the temple and made Jerusalem a pagan Roman city. Just a few chapters later in John, Pilate questions Jesus on whether he is that sort of insurrectionist, and He responds, “My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would fight to prevent my arrest by the Jewish leaders. But now my kingdom is from another place,” (John 18:36). It’s possible that if the people of Jerusalem were to understand this point, it may have spared Jesus some undue attention from Rome and the city from ruin.

This may sound like a lot of arcane history, but it applies directly to us today. It even ties back to the previous week’s message, on early Christians who cared for the ill during plagues of the second century. We fail often as God’s people when we want a political solution to the woes of our day – one that requires less personal effort, like winning an election or a court ruling, rather than stepping up personally and meeting a need the world has neglected. We may win more of the lost by what we do rather than what we don’t do – or what we ask others around us not to do.

So if I’m not going to be a crier, myself, then I pray at least to keep the Lord from weeping any further, over the ways I ask Him to make life easier on me. If it spares him some tears over the lost, maybe it’s about time I got something in my eye.

Written by: Chad Halcom

Edited by: Jaime Hlavin