In Response to the anti-Lent

I respectfully submit that I disagree with those who feel that the season of Lent is a hollow, ritualized observance that actually detracts from the “real” Jesus, as evidenced by the debauchery and debasement exhibited by some on Fat Tuesday (aka: Mardi Gras, or Shrove Tuesday).  Or that it is counter to Christ’s purpose, as He stated, “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10b).

First, I view using the American celebration of Mardi Gras (a la New Orleans’ Bourbon Street) as evidence that Lent is pointless akin to using MTV reality shows to make the point that abstinence is outmoded.  Mardi Gras, particularly in its Americanized form, is the worldly antithesis to the reverence and spiritual fruit that can exist through the observance of Lent (Galatians 5:22, the last fruit of the Spirit listed being “self-control”).        

To the latter, I would like to point out that the passage in which Christ says this (John 10:7-18), is a parable concerning the Good Shepherd, who willingly, and with all authority, lays down His life as a sacrifice for his sheep; only to take it up again, with the same authority, in the victorious conquering of death.  This passage is not an entreaty to seek out fulfillment in life abundant in anything but Christ.  It is an example of the love and authority shown by the Shepherd on behalf of those in His charge, so that the sheep will not later be persuaded to follow grotesque facsimiles of the Incarnate Deity; nor to chase after hollow idols, be they universal or of our own making.     

The Lenten season is intended to symbolize Christ’s sojourn in the desert prior to the beginning of His incarnate ministry.  He fasted and prayed, drawing closer to the Father for 40 days.  Certainly, every believer in every church needs to draw more near to God.  Fasting and prayer are indeed lacking in many congregations, as our daily routines crowd out the movement of the Spirit in our lives and our weekly commitments drown out the voice of God in our hearts, and our frantic busy-ness suffocates the love of Christ from being expressed in our actions.

Instead of the assumed, Pharisee-esque, self-denial often associated with Lent, I instead find great merit in spending a season reflecting solemnly on our individual need for a Savior, and the cost at which we have been redeemed.   For if we cannot personally and in an immediate way, relate to our need for a Savior, do we not tend to diminish His sacrifice?  Instead of Christ dying for my sins, my thoughts become, “Christ died for the sins of the world.”  And while this is an indisputable truth, I have, with one word, removed myself, my sins, my need for Christ’s grace from the equation.  I begin to drift towards thinking I’m okay, because I’m better than “those people” (non-believers, people who don’t come to church like I do, people who don’t attend the Bible studies, retreats, fellowship events I do, people who don’t respond in worship the way I do, etc…).  I start to gauge my relationship with God through my works, my attendance, my personal activities.  And from there, it is a quick descent to the point where I am setting myself up as judge over others.  Thus, I have lost myself among the thistles of self-reliance and am in grave danger of complacency and simply going through the motions.    

To combat this ever-present danger, in the weeks leading up to the holiest day of the year, for certainly if one identifies him/herself as a follower of Christ, the most sacred and set apart of all days is the one on which we, as a body, gather to remember and celebrate the glorious hope that is the bodily resurrection and spiritual triumph over sin and death that is the Risen Christ!  What if, in preparation for that, we examined the rhythms of our lives? What if we took the temperature of our hearts?  And what if we honestly desired to have less of our flesh, and more of Christ in us?  And after that examination, what if we purposed to make some changes; if we cut certain habits that have the propensity to rule us, and replaced them with life giving practices.  Not merely giving up meat, or sweets, or alcohol, or your favorite social networking site, just to show others how holy you are.  But, in submission and humility, asking the Holy Spirit to show you what is keeping you from a deeper relationship with Jesus?  And then entreating the Holy Spirit to empower you to overcome these roadblocks, so that you may enter into a deeper trust of, a great reliance upon, and a closer communion with the triune God.  So that when Easter morning presents itself, your spirit is less fettered than before; and you can come into this celebration lighter, more free, and full of greater rejoicing at the victory of the King of Kings, than if you had wearily frittered away your time in the monotonous distractions in which we are all currently mired. 

Isn’t that the abundant life which Christ references: a life free of fleshly entanglements, a heart unfettered by this world, so that it can love Jesus and those whom He created?  That is my prayer for this Lenten season.  That I may, through the guidance of the Holy Spirit, let go of more of this world, so that I can grasp onto even more of Christ.

To Teach or To Tell

“Go home to your own people and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you.” ~Mark 5:19

[Before I broach my subject today, I am inclined to immediately qualify it with the fact that as of this writing, I am not in a position of leadership in any church or ministry.  The following is merely my opinion; though granted it has been formed by research, prayer, and my experience on both sides of the topic.]

It is a question I have wrestled with for over a year now: to teach or to tell.  I can only say that the answer varies from situation to situation.  There are some instances that beg first-hand accounts: miraculous signs and wonders, events or circumstances that succinctly reveal some part of God’s identity in the telling.  Conversely, there are deeper, more subtle nuances of God’s character that require diligent pursuit and a carefully drafted theological lesson to explain and illuminate.  Yet today, the question gnaws at me because I believe that in certain communities we are lacking a powerful, Kingdom-ordained tool: personal testimony.

It is a wonderful thing to be privy to the healing and restoration of other followers, and then to be able to share parts of their stories (with permission, of course) with others among the faithful.  However, to sit in the congregation and hear a story of freedom told in third person is a lesson; a parable from which we glean truth.  It is distant, impersonal and easy to hide from.  Yet to look in the face, to hear the tremble in the voice of the former captive is to connect to this truth on a personal, visceral level.  It is not a lesson but a reality; tangible and living, physical proof that Christ does save, Christ does heal, and Christ does restore!  To be as frank as I can, it was a testimony that finally led me to faith.  Within my heart sprang forth the cry, “If God can love this person, He can love me!”  It was the first-hand telling, not the teaching, that finally made salvation personal and applicable to me.

Is it risky to let someone tell their story?  Sure.  Who knows what they’re going to say once they have a microphone in hand.  Might the content offend some in the congregation?  Probably.  But Jesus frequently offended [imagine, as a ministry leader, being told that you’re just as guilty as someone caught in the act of adultery].  What if the congregation judges the speaker, or labels them?  True freedom in Christ has a way of protecting hearts.  The crux of these questions being: is God trustworthy?  Can the leaders trust that God has truly called a person to share their story of His redemption?  Can the leaders trust that if anything out of their control happens, God will use it for His good?  Can we, today, trust that God uses His people telling their stories to further His kingdom; or do we only place our trust in carefully thought out, well-annotated, pre-approved sermons?

The subscription to highly organized lessons calls into question whether some people are actually called to share their stories.  [Note I say some, not all.]  Indeed, Christ Himself, tasked the man who had been possessed by a legion of demons not to become one of His followers, but to “Go home to your own people and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you” (Mark 5:19).  Why?  We learn from the surrounding verses that to see a man (who had previously broken through chains and stalked through the tombs cutting himself while night and day crying out) calmly proclaiming his salvation would amaze all who knew him.  Christ didn’t send His apostles to tell the populace of the miracles He preformed.  He sent the person He healed because people needed to marvel at the change; to say, “We knew this person when he/she was wounded; and now, look…!  We can not deny the power and authority of Jesus!”

For millennia, God has been using the stories of the broken, the lost, and the sinner, from their own mouths, to call others into His kingdom.  It could be because God knows we are afraid to admit the depravity in our own souls to Him [though He is aware of it already].  It could be because He delights in our show of love for Him in this way.  It could be because if you are an utterly broken, deceived, and struggling soul, you have a hard time personalizing messages from the seemingly pious folk behind the podium.  And so, you need to hear from someone who has tread the ground in which you are now mired.  You need to see the face of one who has been freed from the prison in which you are languishing.  You need to experience the presence of someone who has been held captive, but is now free through Christ.

Jesus, being fully God and therefore aware of the hearts of humanity, knew that we need to see, to touch, to personally encounter stories of healing and redemption so that we might recognize the need for this power in our lives.  Because in truth, these testimonies give glory to God, with no person or program or production standing in the way.  All the glory, honor, and worship are His!  And the Lord is made famous, not the teacher.

Empty Vessel

I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call—one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all [believers].

~ Ephesians 4:1-6 [note added]

You’ve likely seen the shirt, or bumper sticker, or status update: “Jesus hates religion, too.”  It’s the post-modern anthem for the Evangelical’s idea of Luther-esque freedom.  Let’s throw out rigid adherences, toss away antiquated practices, and dispose of the “old” way of doing things.  Let’s take a sledgehammer to the pipe organ, set fire to the pulpit, and never, ever, ever say anything that looks like rote prayer.  In fact, if you mention denominations that have even the slightest liturgical flavor, you must do so with a look of puckered disdain, all sour and “we-know-better.”

But this trite dismissal of all things religious leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.  I have to ask, does He really?

I know the common response, when looking for Christ’s example of anti-religious sentiment is His attitude towards and reaction to the Pharisees.  However, I have to note, that Jesus did not roundly renounce the Jewish faith.  Not once did He utter any anti-Semitic pronouncements.  Rather, He calls into question the state of the hearts of the individuals in leadership.  In fact, His ministry centered on reaching the most religious people of His time: the Jews, the remnant of God’s first covenant with humanity; though He knew they would reject him.  And let’s not forget that the foundation of their religious practice was instituted and directed by YHWH Himself.

And isn’t that wasn’t wrong with our religious institutions today?  People.  Our junked up, fallen way of dealing with others, with God’s word, with trying [and inevitably failing] to be God’s emissaries to the lost, the broken, and, frankly, each other.  It’s what the Pharisees were supposed to be.  It what we, the “un-religious” Church, are supposed to be.  Not anti-religion, but pro-relationship.  The two are NOT mutually exclusive.

So if nothing else, I take offense at the misuse of the word.  Much like there is a marked difference between schizophrenia and multiple-personality disorder (another pet peeve), the presence of religion does not immediately equate the absence of Christ.  Simply because someone practices an older, more liturgical brand of faith does not make them an empty vessel; they are not one who has no relationship with Christ, only hollow practices and numerous restrictions.  Frankly, we can not see the state of their hearts, what’s inside their jar of clay.  Only God can; and therefore, it is not our place to play judge.  By definition, religion is: the service and worship of God or the supernatural (2) commitment or devotion to religious faith or observance (3) a personal set or institutionalized system of religious attitudes, beliefs, and practice.

“Service and worship of God,” isn’t that what we do?  Is that what we’re called to?  Isn’t that who we, as Christ’s body, are?

Which means I have a bit of a shock for my fellow non-denomers: by definition, WE ARE RELIGIOUS.  But don’t dismay, that’s as it should be.  Which brings us to another potentially uncomfortable truth: as the body, we are to live in harmony with other believers, even [or especially] our liturgical, “religious” brethren.  In fact, so long as the religious “they” holds fast to the truth of the gospel, we are told in no uncertain terms to “put away all malice and all deceit and hypocrisy and envy and all slander.  Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up into salvation—if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good” [1 Peter 2:1-3].  That means we don’t talk badly about other denominations, we don’t react poorly to their various spiritual disciplines, and we treat all members of the body of Christ as He does: with tenderness and love.

So the next time you or I see that tag line, let’s remember, Jesus was religious.  He wasn’t disparaging, malicious, or slanderous.  Let us strive, within the appropriate boundaries of the gospel, to be harmonious, peaceful, and loving.  That, and not denominational disputes, is what the world needs from us.

May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

~ Romans 15:5-6

Is there Separation?

Here's something I've never done before:  A guest author.

I found this recent post on a widely popular social networking site, and after reading it, had to share.  [And yes, the guest author is my very own husband, Anthony Baros.  Nepotism?  Yes, but it's my blog, which makes it my prerogative.]  Let's see if anyone's listening...

The following posting is in response to a recent article posted on www.christianpost.com titled: $1K Offered to Find "Separation of Church and State."*

Actually, the phrase "separation of church and state" is not found in the constitution and was made popular by Thomas Jefferson in 1802, in a letter to the Danbruy Baptist Association "believing with you that religion is a matter which lies... solely between man and his god, [the people, in the 1st Amendment,] declared that their legislature should make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof, thus building a wall of separation between church and state." What the 1st Amendment says is "Congress shall make no law respecting the establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech..." Separation of church and state as it was intended was to prohibit the national government from establishing and mandating a national religion, like the Church of England, but believed that each person should be free to choose.

A person's moral standards always play a part in lawmaking and the creation of laws. It is not Christianity that enacts these laws, but it is the elected officials of the United States that propose and pass the laws that govern our country. Lawmakers are elected by the people, many, if not most, of whom do vote based upon their personal moral standard.

In recent litigation and law making, there have not been any attempts restrict a person’s freedom to not believe or to make people go to "church." There are no restrictions of freedom for what you believe or choose not to believe. A person will not get ticket, thrown in prison, not allowed to work, have to pay higher taxes, get kicked out of school, etc. because they don't go to church. I would argue that the opposite has taken place and there have been numerous attempts to limit a persons freedom and expression of religion; for example, the debates of the phrase "one nation under God" (Elk Grove v Newdow), decisions about prayer in schools (Santa Fe Independent School District v Doe), ability of Christians clubs to use school facilities with equal access as other groups (Good News Club v Milford Central School).

We are to have freedom of religion, not freedom from religion. Each person has a right to choose. Each person is free to choose what they believe, even if that is not to believe in anything (that is still a belief). Each person has the freedom to choose not to pray or take part in the prayer. Each person can choose not to stand for the pledge or to stand and say the pledge of allegiance. However, in these debates and discussions about issues, we should be informed and knowledgeable about the foundation of our arguments, and not just assume they are correct, like the assumption that the exact phrase "separation of church and state" is in the US Constitution.

*to read the related article, go to:  http://www.christianpost.com/article/20101026/1k-offered-to-find-separation-of-church-and-state/

Training

Theologians.

Seminarians.

What’s the first thing that comes to mind with these words?  For me, it’s stuffy old men in starched white collars and traditional all black attire.  Gigantic King James Bibles, overstuffed leather armchairs, solemnity, severity.  Aloofness.  Almost a holy distance from reality and the people who inhabit it.

May I admit that I’ve had a love/hate/scared-out-of-my-mind/love relationship with the idea of seminary?  When I first came to faith, anyone who had more time in the faith, and certainly anyone who had devoted their life to studying God’s word, was in my mind far superior in spirituality than I.  Frankly, this was true to a degree.  I was an infant, and they [whoever they were] had more experience with God, more maturity than I.  These people, with their formal religious training, were untouchable. Pious and righteous in ways I didn’t think applied to me; and I admired them from a distance.  This was the case for quite some time.  But as I grew in my faith and matured a bit, I began to realize that the same Holy Spirit who indwells the Billy Grahams and Beth Moores of my time also indwells me.  It was then that I wondered at the need for seminary.  I even scoffed at it for a period (yes, I was anti-seminary for a while), feeling that those who undertook this type of training were puffed up and rigid in their thinking.  Yet, after a measure of time and certain events too lengthy to relate here, my husband decided to go.  He loved it; he couldn’t stop talking about all that he was learning.  And honestly, these discussions reshaped my faith quite a bit.  I let go of prejudices, opened my heart to different ways of spiritual growth, revamped my study techniques, and even started reading his textbooks and listening to lectures for fun.  I eventually audited a class and couldn’t get enough.  In the end, I loved it.

During this time, I was given the opportunity to revise a curriculum that is close to my heart [a work that is still in progress].  At first, I was obstinate [a familiar theme, no?], it was a scripture based work that, frankly, worked.  But I started trying to modify it to fit the parameters I thought I’d been given. I met with individuals I greatly admire to get their take on it.  And one day, as I was plugging away, the severity of what I was trying to do accosted me.  This was God’s word that I was attempting to use for a specific purpose.  What if I got it wrong?  What devastation could follow?  My work ground to a halt.  I was petrified of inadvertently hurting someone with my inaccurate, inexperienced use of the sword of the Spirit.

That’s when it dawned on me: I don’t need theological education for my personal study.  But if I ever want to apply God’s word to other people’s lives, I’d better know for certain what I’m doing.  Much like training for battle, anyone can pick up a sword and learn to use it on their own.  But on the battlefield, if my only tactic is to wildly flail about, I will eventually wound my brethren.  To fight or lead effectively requires training.  Such training can come from multiple different sources: a seasoned warrior [mentor], a group of soldiers further along than I, or a school which specializes in technical training.

I picked all three.

At the inception of my training, I was strongly admonished by a dear professor regarding the extreme importance of using God’s word accurately, appropriately, and for His glory.  It was during this particular lecture that I slunk down in my chair, feeling the weight of her words on my chest.  I don’t really want that responsibility.  I’m afraid of it.

So do I now think that seminary [the specialized training to which I am subjected myself] will launch me into superior knowledge of the scriptures and God?  Hardly.  I will merely train with new [to me] tools and gain experience in the life of a follower of Christ.  I will be stretched and challenged by life-long teachers; encouraged and strengthened by the faith and insight and testimony of fellow students.  Hopefully through this process, I am better able to recognize my presuppositions and mistakes; and quicker to revised and correct them.  I pray that I leave more humble than I came in; knowing a bit more [while realizing how little that “more” really is] of our unknowable God.

Just 2 inches deep

On somewhat of a whim, we decided to pull up our front lawn [composed mainly of: creeping vines, crabgrass, and dandelions] this weekend and replace it with new sod.  We were weary of fighting a loosing battle with weeds and thought a fresh start would be best.  So, we bought the sod, [to be delivered later today], tore up the existing “grass” and began prepping the ground for the new.  Sadly, we discovered that originally our soil had been poorly prepped, if at all.  A mere two inches down, the roots stopped; because the ground had not been prepared, not loosened, not even broken.  It looked like the crews had come along and slappdc down the rolls of sod on top of whatever was already there.  We found more discarded construction material than not, and little [if any] soil enhancers.  Needless to say, we finally understood why our yard has been such an uphill battle these past few years.  Our grass was only two inches deep, and everything that lay under those two inches, or that could penetrate that depth, was taking over.

After digging and hauling and raking the results of shoddy lawn prep, this Sunday I heard a teaching about 2-inch deep spirituality [I love how God uses visual metaphors with me].  Our teacher was trekking through chapter seven of Ecclesiastes and noted that oftentimes we are the fools who prefer the vanity of laughter, which is like the crackling of thorns in the fire, to a wise man’s rebuke [vs. 5-6].  He noted that we would rather pretend that we’re okay, that we’re not going through struggles, than be vulnerable and admit it.  Or to even ask for help.  This teacher noted that we, as a Church [big C], don our plastic smiles and “everything’s-peachy-keen” attitudes when around others and try to hide what’s really going on behind closed doors, in our own hearts.  Because it’s the outward appearance that we’re striving for, not genuine transformation.

When we allow ourselves to be these plastic people, our relationships and spirituality become much like my lawn.  At first blush it’s green [we even had people driving by pull over to ask why we were tearing it out]; and our lives, at least to those on the outside, are nice and tidy.  But little by little, the creeping vines and dandelions and crab grasses start popping up.  Christ warned us of this, of the state of our hearts, when he said, "What comes out of a person is what defiles him.  For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness.  All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person." [Mark 7:20-2].

Initially, there were only a few weeds, and we were able to control them by pulling them out; much like the darkness in our lives, we treat the external symptoms by trying harder at being good enough, at not letting the ugly parts of ourselves show through.  Then there were more, so we resorted to specific chemicals [retreats] and fertilizers [Bible studies] to feed the grass that was left.  It is like still striving under our own power, not really letting anyone in to see the problem underneath, just treating the symptoms.  But in the end, there were too many weeds, their roots were deeper, and they simply overwhelmed the tenuous hold the fescue had on that plot of land.  And if we, as followers, continue in this course our spirituality, our relationships, even our testimonies will mirror my lawn: choked by weeds, slowly dying, hopeless.

But if we give up our plastic selves, turn these masks over to God, we will be a new creation in Him.  He will till the ground, so our roots may deepen. He will remove what defiles us, if we let Him.  He will change us, and transform those with whom we share this remarkable journey.

The Psalmist marks just this [Psalm 119:25-3]:

Daleth

My soul clings to the dust; give me life according to your word!
When I told of my ways, you answered me; teach me your statutes!
Make me understand the way of your precepts, and I will meditate on your wondrous works.
My soul melts away for sorrow; strengthen me according to your word!

Put false ways far from me and graciously teach me your law!
I have chosen the way of faithfulness; I set your rules before me.
I cling to your testimonies, O LORD; let me not be put to shame!
I will run in the way of your commandments when you enlarge my heart!

We cling to that which is useless, our strivings and appearances.  It is dust.  The only lasting and meaningful life is found rooted deeply and daily in the word of God.  We have to tell our Father the truth, not merely platitudes of praise, regarding the state of our hearts.  If we hurt, we need to tell him.  If we’re mad, we need to tell Him.  If we’re struggling, if we’re trapped in sin, if we’re so lost we no longer know the way out ~ we have to tell Him!  He will answer us.  He will teach us, strengthen us, change us!  If we ask Him, He will help us abandon our plastic selves.  He will reinforce our faithfulness with His own.  He will not shame us, but use our stories to free others and increase His glory!  He will enlarge our hearts to be more like His.

We will be what draws others to the Savior’s arms; a lush, and green pasture that invites the lost, the broken, and the weary to lie down and find rest, find peace ~ in Him!

Jesus wept.

Two words:  Jesus wept [John 11:35].

The shortest verse in Scripture, encompassing the full humanity of the Christ.  Wept, in the original Greek, is rendered dakruō, [δακρύω] meaning “to shed tears.”  It is neither a silent cry, nor a dramatic wailing.  It is visible, possibly audible.  It is a very human reaction to a poignant situation.

Which then begs the question, why was the Messiah weeping?

In the verses preceding, we learn that Jesus received word that His good friend, Lazarus, was ill, possibly dying.  Scripture tells us that “Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus;” Martha and Mary being Lazarus’ sisters [John 11:5].  Jesus stays where He was for two more days before departing to see Lazarus.  Following conversations with the disciples, “on His arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days” [v. 17].  Christ has conversations with both Martha and Mary before Scripture tells us that when Jesus “saw [Mary] weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, He was deeply moved in spirit and troubled” [v. 33].  Then Christ asks, “where have you laid him?

‘Come and see, Lord,’ they replied” [v.34].

In the very next verse we find the heartrending words, “Jesus wept;” followed immediately by, the “Jews [saying], ‘See how He loved him!’” [v. 36].

It bears mentioning that Jesus, being fully God, is omnipotent.  He responded to this news of Lazarus’ illness by saying, “This sickness will not end in death.  No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it” [v. 4].  On the way to Lazarus’ side, Jesus tells the disciples, “Our friend, Lazarus has fallen asleep; but I am going there to wake him up” [v. 11].  Yet the disciples misunderstand, assuming that Jesus literally means a state of sleep as opposed to death; so Christ clarifies in verses 14-15: “Lazarus is dead, and for your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe.”  He even assures Martha, upon meeting her, that “Your brother will rise again” [v. 23].  Armed with knowledge incomprehensible to our mortal minds, and assurance of the outcome of the entire situation, Jesus weeps when He is taken to the tomb of His friend, “the one [He] love[s]” [v. 3].

Why?  Could His tears have been triggered by the sadness of those surrounding Him as He accompanies His friends to the tomb of their brother?  Certainly.  Could He be exhausted from travel, frustrated with the limited belief of those around Him, even keenly and supernaturally aware of the plot to kill Him brewing amongst the Pharisees?  Possibly.  Or was Jesus overcome by the death of His friend?  Did He feel loss, as we do?  Did He miss Lazarus; think of the joyful times they shared; wish that He hadn’t had to wait, to inflict sorrow upon those He loved, to help them believe in Him?  I can not, with any authority, say for certain.  Every time I try to ascribe a reason for the Messiah’s tears, I look again, only to find a new potentiality.  Scripture, so far as I am aware, does not reveal the complete explanation behind Christ’s tears.

What I do know in examining this passage is this:

1. Jesus had friends, for whom He cared a great deal; to the extent that their pain caused Him pain

2. Jesus knows what it is like to loose someone you love

3.  Jesus is the only true and lasting comfort.

..and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor,  Mighty God,
Everlasting  Father, Prince of Peace.

~Isaiah 9:6 [part]

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.

~Revelation 21:4