Weep with those who weep. The command Paul gives in Romans 12:15 (ESV) is in the the larger context of his instruction to believers to offer their bodies as living sacrifices, which is their spiritual act of worship (Romans 12:1). He continues, admonishing them to let their love be sincere (Romans 12:9), and details the various forms sincere love may take, among them, weeping with those who weep.
Working among Afghan people in Afghanistan, in Europe, and the US, I often found myself weeping with them. Their heart-rending stories and catastrophic losses evoked strong emotions in anyone with a beating heart. Afghanistan is called the land of tears for a reason. But with tears streaming down my face, I often felt helpless to do anything to alleviate their suffering.
Could I give a stateless person, citizenship, or rescue a girl sold into marriage? The conundrums and traumas I encountered working with Afghan people were overwhelming, far too big for the likes of me.
Despite my sense of helplessness, I came to understand that my tears were not a meaningless gesture, or an act of futility. They were instead evidence of love, and love alone has healing power. My presence was ministry, whether or not I could immediately act to do anything to solve their problems. Our presence towith suffering people embodies a powerful message — “You are not alone. You matter to God. You matter to me.” Because God’s Spirit lives in his people, when we engage in this ministry, we usher others into the presence of God.
Hagar fled abuse and thought she and her son would die in the desert, but God saw her and sent an angel to speak words of hope to her.
Hagar responded, “You are the God who sees me (Genesis 16:13a, NIV).”
The Hebrew word for angel means “messenger.” As ambassadors of God, we too are messengers. Our very presence communicates to suffering people that God himself has taken notice of them.
Yahweh is indeed El Roi, the God who sees. He has opened our eyes to those he takes special notice of — the abused, the poor, the sojourner. The word “compassion” literally means to suffer together with. As a compassionate God, he doesn’t shrink from our suffering like humans do. He’s not only willing to suffer with us; he runs into our suffering.
Jesus, the Word made flesh, was himself a man of sorrows. He suffered with us by taking on human flesh and entering the very world humans had plunged into sin and darkness. He willingly endured every kind of suffering and even suffered for us to spare us eternal separation from God, the most excruciating suffering.
Paul’s instruction to weep with those who weep presumes a willingness to see another’s circumstances through their eyes and to be present with them. It requires sitting in the discomfort of being with those whose circumstances have brought them low as well as with our own powerlessness to fix them. By weeping with those who weep, we hold a safe space for them to express their anguish and come close enough to allow ourselves to be moved by their pain.
The admonition to be an empathic witness and to suffer with another, extends to those we’re not able to be with in person. Hebrews 13:3 (CEB) says, “…remember prisoners as if you were in prison with them, and people who are mistreated as if you were in their place.” To voluntarily suffer with those who’ve lost their freedom, who have suffered injustice, treachery, and harm, is the embodiment of love.
I’m mindful of Afghan women who suffer. Within Afghanistan, most find themselves falsely imprisoned – some literally in jail cells, others in their own homes under what amounts to house arrest for the “crime” of being a woman. When the Taliban took control of the country in 2021, women lost their freedom of movement, their agency, and their ability to develop their own minds and pursue their dreams. This false imprisonment, in homes and under burqas, is an indictment of the God who created women in his image, with agency and freewill. It defrauds them of their basic human rights.
Girls are allowed to attend school up to age six, but are barred from attending secondary school or university. Women are banned from most public and formal employment. Even the safe spaces women used to enjoy gathering – beauty salons, bathhouses, and women’s parks – have all been shut down. Women are required to wear full-body and face coverings in public and can’t travel alone without a mahram, a close male relative. The severe restrictions on women’s movements impact their mental health and their access to healthcare. Even the sound of their voices is now forbidden in public.
Morality police aggressively enforce oppressive dress codes and behavior restrictions under threat of fines, imprisonment, violence, and other abuses. Male guardians can be punished for a wayward woman’s behavior.
Even from afar though, we can weep with Afghan women in solidarity through prayer, confident our tears are not wasted. In fact, our prayerful tears can draw Afghan women near in unexpected ways, opening doors for us to connect with precious image-bearers of God who feel alone and unseen. I’ve experienced this in my own life in countless ways.
I’m now connected with multiple women inside Afghanistan and have intimate knowledge of their suffering. My tears for them are are born of sorrow and compassion, but not of despair. In them is an appeal to a God who is far from helpless, a God who is well able to right every wrong, set the oppressed free, and even reverse whole destinies.
When, in her despair, Hagar realized God’s eye had fallen on her, she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.”
(Genesis 16:13a, NIV)
Not only did God take notice of Hagar and recognize the injustice committed against her, he rescued her and promised her she would be the mother of a multitude of children, so many they couldn’t be counted (Genesis 16:9).
In the gaze of a good God who had taken notice of her plight, she felt her own worth. Her hope was restored. Perhaps the most surprising result of being seen is that Hagar’s own eyes were opened to see God.
By becoming an empathic witness to a fellow image-bearer’s suffering, we partner with God to to see suffering people with God’s eyes and to love them with his love. This ministry gives others the experience of being seen and, if they are willing, of seeing God himself. The ministry of weeping with those who weep goes far beyond extending pity or even comfort to others – it is nothing less than the holy work of reconciliation.
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