It seemed the only right action. Their beloved was dead. Their dream of his being the longed-for Messiah ached within them. They were afraid they might also be killed for being close to him. If they hadn’t seen the horror of it with their own eyes, they may even have been in denial.
Jesus wept at the news of the death of his friend Lazarus; they were there as he grieved. In their despair over the events of Friday perhaps they had forgotten the rest of that day at Lazarus’ tomb? Grief is blinding like that.
The disciples of Jesus didn’t know how this would end. Their celebration of the Passover had gone horribly awry; they longed for deliverance, but it no longer seems at hand. They didn’t know how close it was to being won, how true the Psalmist’s words would be, “Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”
So, this day, they wept.