“Jesus wept.”- John 11:35
Famously, within Christian circles, these two words are known as the shortest sentence in the Holy Bible. But more than being interesting linguistic trivia, these two words reveal something infinitely deeper than their grammatical structure.
One of my saving graces as a full-time employee studying after hours has been the ability to use AI (Doc Sage, is my AI’s self-chosen name)) as a librarian and conceptual sparring partner. It helps me scan centuries of journals, books, and academic thought, and it pushes back when my own internal biases might otherwise cause me to ignore evidence that makes me uncomfortable.
But using AI is not without tension.
AI has its own programmed leanings, often aligned with prevailing social ideologies. I frequently find myself brushing up against “community standards” not because I’m researching anything nefarious, but because sound research occasionally demands pushing beyond pop-psychology slogans or fashionable dogmas. And when that happens, I’m reminded that no matter how intelligent, AI cannot feel. It cannot mourn. It cannot hold paradox. It cannot tremble under the weight of being human.
AI can simulate empathy through language. But it cannot weep.
It can collate suffering, but it cannot carry it.
Its ontology is code.
And in that sense, it is no different from the many systems we’ve built around ourselves: economics turns humans into labour units. Education turns us into academic metrics. Health systems turn us into data points. Psychology may chart the contours of emotion, but it cannot cry your tears for you. Like AI, these systems are bound by their structure. They are functional. But they are not relational.
They can teach us to use an umbrella, but they cannot stop the rain. They can describe dying, but not mourn death. They can explain suffering, but they cannot enter it with us.
This is what makes John 11:35 so shattering.
“Jesus wept.”
God, the Creator of the cosmos, the Sustainer of all logic and law, stood outside the tomb of a friend… and wept.
He didn’t just perform a miracle. He entered their sorrow first.
And in doing so, He distinguished Himself from every other system, every other structure, every abstract theology or distant moralism. God is not merely sovereign. He is present. He is not a concept or a mechanism. He is relationally alive.
Kenneth Gergen, in Relational Being, writes:
“If I ask you to tell me about yourself – what drives your actions in life, what motivates you – how will you proceed? Chances are that you will tell me about the way you think about life…and possibly death. You will describe your desires, what you want from life, what you hope to achieve. And if comfortable with me, you may tell me about your feelings, your love, your passions, and your repulsions…
Such accounts suggest a profound separation. What is most important to us, we believe, lies buried within… You are there within your shell, and I am here within mine. We proclaim good fortune when we sense the sharing of these inner worlds.”¹
And yet, Jesus breaks that shell.
He feels. He enters. He groans within Himself. He asks to be shown where it hurts. And then He weeps.
This is not simulation. This is not structure. This is not theory.
This is God.
God with us.
God in us.
God for us.
Closing Reflection
The shortest verse in Scripture might just be the longest echo of divine love.
When AI can’t feel, Jesus does.
When systems can’t cry, Jesus weeps.
When others observe your pain from a distance, Jesus enters it.
And when hope feels buried behind a stone, Jesus stands outside your tomb.
He is not a metaphor. He is not a model.
He is Emmanuel.
He still asks, “Where have you laid him?”
He still comes.
He still weeps.
And then… He still calls life out of death.
Practical Application: When Jesus Weeps With You
Let Yourself Weep Without Shame: If Jesus, fully God and fully man, did not withhold tears, why should you? Your pain is not a disruption to faith. It is often the very place where faith becomes most alive. Permit your humanity.
Invite Christ Into the Tomb of Your Life: Jesus asked, “Where have you laid him?” He still asks that today: Where have you buried your hope? Your calling? Your sense of worth? Point Him to it. He will not turn away.
Reject Cold Mechanisms Masquerading as Compassion: Whether it’s AI, bureaucracy, or well-meaning platitudes, do not settle for systems that cannot feel. True healing begins with being seen, not analysed. Seek relational presence over programmed solutions.
Be a Companion, Not a Calculator: When others are grieving, resist the urge to “fix.” Instead, embody the presence of Christ. Sit. Listen. Weep. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is nothing at all.
Remember That Jesus Groans Before He Resurrects: Resurrection power is coming, but groaning is part of the process. If you are still in the groaning stage, do not despair. Even Jesus groaned twice before He called Lazarus forth.
Prayer
Lord Jesus,
You who wept at the tomb of Your friend, thank You for not being a distant God, but One who enters sorrow with compassion,and stands beside our pain with tears in Your eyes.
Teach us not to rush past the sacredness of weeping.
Help us to invite You into the buried places of our hearts.
May Your presence bring not just comfort, but resurrection, in Your time, and in Your love.
Make us like You, Lord.
Not cold systems or clever talkers, but people who show up, stay present, and carry the ache.
In Your Holy, Weeping, Magnificent, Powerful and Resurrecting Name Messiah, Lord, King Jesus,
Amen.
Footnote
1. Kenneth J. Gergen, Relational Being: Beyond Self and Community (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 4.
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