Today I watched Jesus weeping. It was the second time I watched him weeping, and I won’t forget either time.
Let me take a few minutes to tell you what I’m talking about. My name is James. My wife Margaret and I live in a small village on the outskirts of Jerusalem, called Bethphage. We’ve lived there since we were married, nearly 28 years ago. Our village has usually been a sleepy little place, with its quiet periodically interrupted by bands of pilgrims making their way to Jerusalem for our religious feasts.