Jesus Shares the Sorrow of Death
When grief screams, Jesus doesn't step back. He steps in.
We live in a world where death is brushed aside like an inconvenience. In America, we’re too busy to grieve. It’s bury the dead… and get back to consuming—more news, more noise, more numbing. But could it be that this unprocessed sorrow is slowly killing us?
We’re bloated on information, starving for intimacy. We’ve become grief-obese—stuffed with unspoken sorrow, heavy with the weight of unwept tears. And Jesus? He enters this mess, not with distraction or dismissal, but with divine disruption.
Two weeks ago, I preached from John 11:28–37. It’s the passage where Jesus meets Martha and Mary after their brother Lazarus has died. The text bleeds with grief and pulses with divine presence.
Here’s what I saw. Here’s what I lived. Here’s what I want you to know:
I. He Is Present
“The Teacher is here,” Martha says, “and is calling for you.”
Jesus doesn’t show up with spectacle. He arrives in sacred stillness. No entourage. No spotlight. Just presence.
This isn’t passive proximity—it’s intentional nearness. It’s Psalm 34:18 in the flesh: “The Lord is near the brokenhearted; He saves those crushed in spirit.”
And He’s not just nearby. He’s calling.
Even when the wailing is loud and your grief is thick like fog, Jesus calls you. By name. Not to fix you, but to fellowship with you.
He’s not afraid of your sorrow. He steps into it.
II. He Is Personal
Martha came with questions. Jesus gave her resurrection truth. Mary came with tears. Jesus gave her silent weeping.
The Greek word dakruō used here means quiet, heartfelt sobbing. Not wailing for attention. But weeping in solidarity. He matched her grief with His own.
Martha needed theology. Mary needed tears. Jesus gave each exactly what they needed.
There’s no one-size-fits-all comfort in the Kingdom.
He doesn’t treat you like a project. He shepherds you personally.
III. He is Passionate
Verse 33 says Jesus was deeply moved and greatly troubled. The word in Greek? Embrimaomai. It means to snort like a horse—a guttural, soul-deep groan.
This was holy rage. Righteous sorrow.
Jesus wasn’t crying because He was helpless. He was crying because He was about to wage war.
He hates death more than you do. He knows its taste. He knows its price.
And He walked straight into it.
While others recoiled from the tomb, Jesus approached it. While others wept in despair, Jesus wept in defiance. His silence wasn’t weakness—it was strategy. He was preparing to break open what everyone else had buried.The Lesson We Miss
After WWII, soldiers spent a month at sea before returning home—time to grieve, time to decompress. But after Vietnam? They were flown straight from battlefield to backyard. No margin. No mourning. And suicide rates skyrocketed.
Grief denied is a soul suffocated.
But Jesus doesn’t deny grief. He dignifies it.
Final Thought:
If your grief feels chaotic—if the world tells you to move on while your soul still screams—know this:
The Shepherd is here. And He’s calling for you.
He weeps with you.
He walks toward the tombs in your life.
He’s not done.
You are not alone in your sorrow. The Shepherd is near. And He carries both your grief and your hope in His nail-scarred hands.