It was one of those uncomfortable moments in the store.  A young mother with three small children was trying to get her shopping done.  The middle child by size (about two, I’d say) was not happy.  She was ready to go home.  I understand that feeling.  After about thirty minutes in a store, I’m ready to go home, too. 

Two-year-olds have surprisingly big voices in little bodies.  This little girl started to tear up and scream, “I want to go home!  I want to go home!”  Everyone in the store heard her.  Everyone within a ten-mile radius heard her.  Everyone knew she wanted to go home. 

Her mother tried all the standard techniques: “Shhh!  Be quiet.  We will go home in a few minutes;” “If you stop crying, I will buy you some candy (that would work for me);” and, as the mom felt the stares, “Will you stop crying!” 

None of the strategies worked.  The little girl upped her decibels.  Dogs began to howl outside the store.  I think I saw a jar of pickles start to vibrate.  More people were coming around the corner in search of this child in distress. 

The young mom had reached her limit.  She pulled out the nuclear option phrase: “If you don’t stop crying this instant, I will give you something to cry about.”   

The two-year-old looked at her mother with non-comprehending eyes.  You could read her thoughts on her furrowed forehead: “I already have something to cry about!  That’s why I’m crying.  What part of ‘I want to go home, Momma’ do you not understand?”   

My heart went out to the little girl and to her overwhelmed Mom.  How do you reason with a two-year-old whose emotions have torn her away from whatever reasoning ability she has? 

I have lived those intense moments of emotion when my soul was flooded, and reason left me.  I have felt the loss of someone I love so deeply that it seems all I can do is weep.  I have been filled with anger and said words that are mean, and I meant them, yet I didn’t mean them.  I have been so afraid I was paralyzed, not knowing what to do or say.  But sadness and grief is the emotion that floods my soul the most. 

Jesus once encountered people who were weeping because their friend Lazarus had died.  Jesus, who could have healed him, hadn’t come in time.  Now Jesus was on the scene.  He could feel the accusing eyes and read their message: “He was your friend.  Where were you?  You could have done something.  You could have healed him.”  Jesus does not tell them, “Don’t cry.”  He does not tell them he will give them something to cry about.  Instead, he joins their grief.  In the shortest verse in the Bible, we told one of its great truths: “Jesus wept.”   

This is the grace of God: he weeps with us.  Jesus understands the moments in your life when you are overwhelmed with emotion.  Jesus, with infinite patience, stops to feel with you.  He shares your tears.  But he also will share your joys, your anger, your anxiety.  To your joy, he brings song; to your anger, perspective; to your anxiety, peace.   

The theological word for this is “Incarnation.”  It means God dwells with us; he has taken on flesh.  God so loved the world that he became one of us so we could know that he knows us. 

I give the young mom credit.  Realizing what she said and how it sounded, she stopped her shopping, picked up the two-year-old out of the buggy, and held her while she cried.  She let her daughter cry out her frustration.  Then she tickled her and made her laugh. 

I think that is what Jesus does.  He holds us when we are flooded with emotion.  He cries when we cry.  Then, when we least expect it, he brings something good; he brings joy.  Jesus is the God of the morning when night turns to joy.  Whatever your tears, he will hold you.  And joy will come.