Jesus wept, so why can’t we?

“Jesus wept.”

The shortest passage in the bible, John 11:35.

Jesus wept because he heard of the death of Lazarus, a man he knew and loved, a friend who was like family.

Jesus wept out of love and grief, not out of doubt.

Jesus wept because it is the human response to loss and sadness.

Jesus wept because it is what anyone with a heart does when that heart is damaged or broken by news that is not welcome.

Jesus wept but the world didn’t stop. No one judged him. No one left him.

Jesus wept and no one questioned if he was fit to lead or fit to serve.

Jesus wept in front of his followers, in a public place for all to see, and no one turned away, no one tried to hide him, no one tried to quiet him.

Jesus wept without shame or embarrassment because weeping is as much a part of human life as laughter.

Jesus wept because tears are prayers of thanksgiving in the depths of sorrow. Each tear is praise for a life lived that now is gone, gratitude for a gift given that is no more but we loved while we had it; a gift so great that the absence of it pains us to our very core.

Jesus wept because we celebrate life not only with smiles and joy but also with heartbreak and sorrow.

Jesus wept because he loved and to love is to risk it all for the sake of the other. To love is to know your heart will swell and break because that’s how God created each and every one of us.

Jesus wept because the pain of love is as rewarding and important as the elation of ecstasy.

Jesus wept for himself and his friends but not out of selfishness or doubt. We can mourn loss in the same moment we have deep and abiding faith that death doesn’t have the last word.

Jesus wept because faith isn’t about 24/7 smiles and praise but about steadfastness in the face of loss and pain.

Jesus wept because he could, in a full embrace of his humanity and capacity for life, love, suffering, loss, joy, elation, friendship.

Jesus wept because he should, because that’s what we do when someone we love leaves us, sometimes even when we know it’s temporary.

Jesus wept, showing us yet another stone in the path that paves the way of life, the way of the cross, the way of faith, the way that is discipleship and dedication to following him.

Jesus wept, so why can’t we? Why don’t we? Are we less human? Do we feel love and loss any less? Do we think ourselves better or stronger than the almighty? Are we so ashamed and embarrassed by our tears whereas God himself cried openly and with abandon?

Jesus wept. And so do we, can we, should we.

Letting the Fruit Go

The mark of a successful and faithful disciple is that she will "bear good fruit." Paul, the evangelists, the psalmists, and even Jeremiah tell us over and over again that righteous people who have a healthy relationship with God will bear fruit. The fruit proves that we are living according to God's will and commandments.

Jesus compares himself to the vine and his followers to the branches in the Gospel of John in the fifteenth chapter. God the Father establishes and tends the "true vine" of Jesus Christ and Christ's faithful followers are the branches. We are inextricably connected to Jesus and the father by our dedication and belief. It's a very straightforward analogy: if we nurture and strengthen our relationship with Christ, we will bear fruit; if we turn away from that relationship, the branch cannot be nourished from the vine and we wither, fruitless. A solid and constant connection with Christ is productive and helps us build up the kingdom of heaven. A bad relationship is bad for the branch and renders it impotent. 

But here's what scripture doesn't tell us: It's damn difficult to let go of the fruit! The authors of the books of the Bible leave the story at the point where the branch or tree has born fruit, as if that's some sort of "happily ever after." 

Faith doesn't end once the fruit has formed and waits to fall from the branch. In many ways, the biggest leap of faith is yet to come, when we let the fruit go, allowing it to fall to the ground. What if the fruit doesn't fall on good soil? What if it's carried away by a bird? What if it falls among the weeds? Or what if it doesn't grow the way we think it should grow?

The "fruit of our loins" may be the easiest comparison. We bear children and try our best to shelter them, feed them, water them, nurture them until they are ripe and ready for the wider world. The fruit most often is more ready to let go than the branch is ready to release it. What if they get lost? What if they wander too far from the vine or even the whole vineyard? What if they forget to wear their jacket and catch cold? As long as the fruit hangs on the branch, the branch can make sure the fruit is safe and loved.

But a fruit that hangs to the branch past maturity will dry out and die, unable to unfold its own roots into the soil and reach its branches toward the heavens. The fruit has a purpose that it cannot pursue as long as it remains on the branch.

Ministry is no different. We listen to God's call to start or join a ministry and we put our everything into that work, that purpose. We invest, nurture, love, attend committee meetings, stay up late stuffing envelopes, open up and close down the church, and set tables and cook for hundreds. Under our care the ministry grows and flourishes. Other people see the fruit of our efforts and are energized. They join in the work and share how God is calling them to contribute and shape it. Soon, something causes us to step back and realize that it's no longer "our" ministry but that of the community. Later, we feel God calling us elsewhere and we have to allow others to pick up the fruit we worked so hard to cultivate and nourish.

Starting a new ministry isn't easy, same as starting a new family. Let's face it: we have no idea what we're doing. We're not fully equipped for the demands of the job.  That new baby arrives and we stare at the first full diaper and wonder what we were thinking. Similarly, we volunteer to start a new ministry to reach out to battered women then realize we've never once had a conversation with a victim of abuse. Through the gifts of the spirit, trust in God, perseverance, forgiveness, and a lot of gumption, we make it work. We figure it out.

And then it's time to let go. Just when we thought we knew how to trust in God, we turn in time to see the fruit falling from the branch. Holy crap. This whole time we've been swimming in five foot water, deep enough for us to trust in God to buoy us but shallow enough we can reach our big toe to bounce on solid ground. Letting the fruit go feels like being shoved over to tread above an abyss and forced to watch our most precious treasure sink beyond our site. 

God says to us, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Now it's time to let go, little one. I've got it from here." With a mixture of heartbreak, pride, insecurity, helplessness, and a compulsive urge to grab to regain control, we look back at God and decide. Will we close our fists tightly around the fruit? Will we shout, "No! Not yet! I'm not ready?" Or will we muster a depth of faith that has never been demanded of us before? Will we be able to loosen our grasp and, with love, release the thing we've given all of our love and attention, all the while knowing it was never ours to begin with?

We read and hear, "Don't hold on too tightly." This saying is popularly plastered on Pinterest, placards, t-shirts, and signs and are good words. The fruit can't mature if it's too sheltered from the sun, water, and wind. We must give it room to breathe. 

The other side should read, "Now let the fruit go!" Trust God. The fruit is ready because of your hard work and love. You did as God asked of you and now this part of your work is done. It's time to relinquish your sense of control. You've been responsible and have done well. It's time for the fruit to fall and pursue it's own purpose, even if it doesn't take the perfectly planned path you made for it.