Why Jesus Wept at the Tomb of Lazarus?

March 5, 2026

Scripture Reflection

When Jesus receives word that his beloved friend Lazarus is sick, we’re told that He waits two more days before traveling to Bethany. The result is that when He finally arrives on the scene, Lazarus has already been dead for four days.

Jesus then encounters Lazarus’s two sisters, Martha and Mary, in quick succession.  

Both sisters address Him in the same way: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (John 11:21, 32). Martha follows this up with a dramatic profession of faith: “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, he who is coming into the world” (John 11:27).

Mary, by contrast, is more subdued.  

It is upon seeing her grief and the grief of the people around Him that Jesus is suddenly moved to tears:

 

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled; and he said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus wept. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” (John 11:33-36)

 

All of this raises an interesting question: Why exactly does Jesus weep, especially if He knows He is about to raise Lazarus from the dead?  

Here we’ll explore some possible answers to this question with the help of two great Doctors of the Church: St. John Henry Newman and St. Thomas Aquinas.

Tears of Compassion

In a sermon titled “Tears of Christ at the Grave of Lazarus,” St. John Henry Newman begins by underscoring the mysteriousness of the Incarnation and our inability to fully understand all the reasons for Christ behaving and responding as He does.  

Newman then goes on to offer four ways we can make sense of Christ’s tears.

The first of these is that Jesus “wept from very sympathy with the grief of others.” Here Newman takes seriously what Scripture says when it describes God as compassionate and merciful. If God had never become man, we would never see the sympathy He feels for His creatures. But through the mystery of the Incarnation, God has revealed to us the true depths of His tender mercy:

 

When, then, our Saviour weeps from sympathy at Mary’s tears, let us not say it is the love of a man overcome by natural feeling. It is the love of God, the bowels of compassion of the Almighty and Eternal, condescending to show it as we are capable of receiving it, in the form of human nature.

Jesus wept, therefore, not merely from the deep thoughts of His understanding, but from spontaneous tenderness; from the gentleness and mercy, the encompassing loving-kindness and exuberant fostering affection of the Son of God for His own work, the race of man. Their tears touched Him at once, as their miseries had brought Him down from heaven. His ear was open to them, and the sound of weeping went at once to His heart.

This sentiment is also found in St. Thomas Aquinas, who in his commentary on John’s Gospel describes how Jesus “is the Consoler of the sorrowful [who] loved the sorrowing sisters, and he who was the Savior of the weary loved the weary and dead Lazarus” (#1479). Aquinas goes on:

 

Now his tears did not flow from necessity, but out of compassion and for a purpose. Christ was a well-spring of compassion, and he wept in order to show us that it is not blameworthy to weep out of compassion: “My son, let your tears fall for the dead” (Sir 38:16). He wept with a purpose, which was to teach us that we should weep because of sin: “I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears” (Ps 6:6). (1537) 

Tears of Anger

The second reason Newman offers for Christ’s tears is that He was expressing anger at the ways that death and the devil have ruined His beautiful creation.

Here it’s worth noting that the Greek verb — embrimaomai — that St. John uses in verses 33 and 38 to describe how Jesus was “deeply moved” is a very strong expression. Elsewhere in Greek literature, it’s even used to refer to the snorting of warhorses prior to charging into battle.

In other words, in this scene, Jesus isn’t simply sorrowful; He’s furious.  

Newman reflects:

 

Here, then, was the Creator surrounded by the works of His hands, who adored Him indeed, yet seemed to ask why He suffered what He Himself had made so to be marred. Here was the Creator of the world at a scene of death, seeing the issue of His gracious handiwork. Would not He revert in thought to the hour of creation, when He went forth from the bosom of the Father to bring all things into existence? There had been a day when He had looked upon the work of His love, and seen that it was “very good.” Whence had the good been turned to evil, the fine gold become dim? “An enemy had done this.”

 

Aquinas offers an explanation along the same lines, clarifying that Jesus’ emotion on this occasion was not an uncontrolled outburst but rather a response “in harmony with the judgment of reason”:

 

But what does it indicate to say that he was deeply moved in spirit (fremuit spiritu)? ... I answer that Christ’s being deeply moved indicates a certain anger and resentment of the heart. For all anger and resentment are caused by some kind of pain and sadness. Now there are two things involved here: the one about which Christ was troubled was death, which was inflicted upon the human race on account of sin; the other, which he resented, was the cruelty of death and of the devil. Thus, just as when one wants to repel an enemy he is saddened by the evils inflicted by him, and indignant at the very thought of him, so too Christ was saddened and indignant. (#1534)

 

Tears of Joy  

The third reason Newman offers is more mysterious.  

It rests on a comparison he draws with the Old Testament figure of Joseph, who, upon seeing his brother Benjamin, sought a place to weep in private (see Gen 43:30). Joseph then weeps again, this time openly, when he finally reveals himself to his brothers as the one they had abandoned for dead (see Gen 45:14-15).

The connection Newman draws here is profound:

 

Christ was come to do a deed of mercy, and it was a secret in His own breast. ... I mean the feeling that He had power to raise up Lazarus. Joseph wept, as having a secret, not only of the past, but of the future;—of good in store as well as of evil done—of good which it was in his own power to confer. And our Lord and Saviour knew that, while all seemed so dreary and hopeless, in spite of the tears and laments of his friends, in spite of the corpse four days old, of the grave and the stone which was upon it, He had a spell which could overcome death, and He was about to use it. Is there any time more affecting than when you are about to break good news to a friend who has been stricken down by tidings of ill?

 

On this reading, Jesus was so overcome with anticipation at the glorious wonder He was about to work in the presence of His closest companions that He could not help but be moved to tears.

 

Tears of Apprehension

The final reason Newman offers for Christ’s tears is the most somber.  

Jesus weeps because He knows that His decision to raise His friend Lazarus will be the final catalyst setting into motion the events leading up to His own Passion and death:

 

Alas! there were other thoughts still to call forth His tears. This marvellous benefit to the forlorn sisters, how was it to be attained? at His own cost. Joseph knew he could bring joy to his brethren, but at no sacrifice of his own. Christ was bringing life to the dead by his own death. His disciples would have dissuaded him from going into Judea, lest the Jews should kill Him. Their apprehension was fulfilled. ... He felt that Lazarus was wakening to life at His own sacrifice; that He was descending into the grave which Lazarus left. He felt that Lazarus was to live and He to die; the appearance of things was to be reversed; the feast was to be kept in Martha’s house, but the last passover of sorrow remained for Him. And He knew that this reverse was altogether voluntary with Him.

 

For Newman, part of the reason Christ wept at the tomb of Lazarus is that He knew what awaited Him on Calvary.  

It stands to reason, therefore, that He who had never known even the smallest stain of sin trembled somewhat at the prospect of confronting all the darkness of fallen humanity, and even death itself, as He hung upon the Cross.

Here Aquinas explains that, for the Christian, there is a certain kind of sadness which is appropriate in the face of physical evils like illness and death:

The Stoics had taught that a wise man is never sad. But it seems very inhuman not to be sad at the death of another. However, there are some who become excessively sad over the evils which afflict their friends. Now our Lord willed to be sad to teach us that there are times when we should be sad, which is contrary to the opinion of the Stoics; and he preserved a certain moderation in his sadness, which is contrary to the excessively sad type. Thus the Apostle says: “But we would not have you ignorant, brethren, concerning those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope” (1Thess 4:13).

Aquinas adds that Christ’s behavior teaches us “that we should be sad and weep for those who physically die.”  

This reminds us that mourning is an appropriate response to death, for death is an evil and not part of God’s original plan for humanity.

Nevertheless, as St. Paul teaches, our mourning must not be without hope.  

We live in faith that the God who weeps with us and for us at the tomb of His friend Lazarus is the same God who conquered the grave and who promises us that the day is fast approaching when every tear will be wiped from our eyes, “and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain any more, for the former things have passed away” (Rev 21:4).