"Jesus turned and said to them, 'Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep for yourselves and for your children. For the time will come when you will say, "Blessed are the barren women, the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!" Then "they will say to the mountains, 'Fall on us!' and to the hills, 'Cover us!'" For if men do these things when the tree is green, what will happen when it is dry?'" (Lk. 23:28-31, NIV, 1984)
How is it that Jesus can say this? How can he look into the wet eyes of these mourning women and—despite the throbbing pain in his body from the beatings and lashings and the thorny crown buried in his brow—have compassion on them? How can he find more in his heart to pour out after being betrayed and abandoned by his closest friends? How does he have more compassion to give, a continued ability to see the pain of these women not just in that moment but in the future—to see a pain in them deeper than the pain they see in themselves—and then dwell on that pain for a second? How is he not overwhelmed and focused entirely on his own suffering?
Then I wonder at other questions...
Where are our hearts today? Where are our tears? Are we weeping for the things Jesus is weeping for? Seeing the things he is seeing?
For some of us, perhaps we need his eyes for our own pain. Perhaps we need to accept his compassion and care for our own burdens and wounds.
For others, perhaps we need his heart for those outside of us. Perhaps we need to see our friends—and our enemies—as he sees them.
For all of us, perhaps we need his vision for his church. Perhaps we need his vision for his world.
Jesus, we long for your heart. We pray that you will refashion us, grant us a heart of flesh that mourns for the things you mourn for and that honors you wholly. Please give us your heart for ourselves and for others. Help us to know and to reflect you well.
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