THE GIFT OF TEARS

John 11:1-45

A sermon by Mel Williams

Watts Street Baptist Church

March 9, 2008 (Lent 5)

The Psalmist sings our pain: "Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord." (Psalm 130) That sentence can mean both speaking aloud to God, but also crying, weeping, to God. And in the Gospel lesson today, Jesus weeps when he learns that his friend Lazarus has died. These texts have prompted me to reflect on the importance of tears—weeping—in the life of faith.

My friend Fr. David McBriar was the previous pastor of Immaculate Conception Catholic Church in Durham. David tells the story of visiting his mother late in her life. She was sitting in her favorite chair, looking through an old album of family photographs, with pictures of her mother and father, brothers and sisters. David said, "I thought she was crying." So he asked her, "What’s the matter, Mom?" "Oh, it’s nothing," she said. "I must have something in my eye." David said, "On another visit, the last time I saw my mother alive, she wasn’t feeling well. She was sitting in the same chair. I was certain she had been crying. So I asked her, "Is everything OK, Mother?" "Oh, everything’s fine," she said. "I must have something in my eye." (David McBriar, Love in a Paper Sack)

We can easily be a little embarrassed about crying. We men especially may have a tendency to stifle tears, but there are times in our lives when emotion wells up, and we too may say, "I must have something in my eye."

For many of my adult years I have allowed my mind to rule over my tears. When strong feelings emerged, I tried to subdue. I was trying to remain calm and cool, stoical and "strong." I didn’t want to have something in my eye. But gradually I’ve come to understand that it’s not very helpful to stifle tears. Tears are necessary for emotional health and for spiritual health. In fact, the early church believed that tears are a gift from God.

If Jesus is our model for the healthy life, then we need to see that weeping was a part of his life. He said in the Beatitudes, "Blessed are they who weep." (Matthew 5:4) Jesus wept at the death of his friend Lazarus, and he wept as he looked over the city of Jerusalem, saying "Would that they knew the things that make for peace."

Jesus wept in anguish when his people chose violence over peace.

And I think he may still be weeping over our terrible propensity to be a warring people, a violent people. Like Jesus, there are times when we too need to be weeping over our "moral pain" at the way the world continues to choose violence and death. We were reminded of this terrible reality on Thursday of this week when we learned of the random murder of Eve Carson, the talented UNC student body president. Five thousand people came to a vigil to remember Eve Carson and to weep together. There is power when a community comes together to weep. Weeping can have moral force. And let’s hope and pray that our weeping will lead us to stop the madness of so many handguns which have no other purpose than to kill human beings.

Sometimes our best teachers about the honest expression of feelings are children. Children cry easily; they have not yet learned to stifle their tears. Some of you have heard me tell the story of the little girl whose friend Susie lost her favorite doll. She was upset, distraught. The little girl went home and said, "Mommy, I want to go to Susie’s house. She lost her doll." Mom asked, "Are you going to take her another doll?" She said, "No, I’m going there to help her cry."

At the time of our losses, we need to be together. We need to help each other cry. We help each other cry out our grief. And the tears may come at unexpected times, triggered by a word, a song, a situation.

But we also shed tears at the sheer delight of life. This past week I happened to catch a slice of Oprah Winfrey’s class with Eckhart Tolle, the author of "The Power of Now and A New Earth." Oprah mentioned that she has begun to practice living in the present moment, not analyzing and not labeling. She told about going out into her yard, sitting under the trees. She said, "I’ve sat under those trees many times. But this time, I did not label the trees or analyze them. I tried to appreciate their stillness, their beauty, their essence. And as I sat there, I began to weep at the amazing capacity of the trees to express their majesty and beauty."

There are times when we may weep over the beauty of the world. The world around us, this beautiful world, is a gift. And tears are a gift.

In my periodic visits to the monastery, I’ve found that tears come easily there. The place, the climate, the prayers all invite people to feel whatever we’re feeling. So, I’ve come to expect tears there; I’ve even catalogued them—tears of sadness, tears of relief, tears at the beauty of nature, tears over the awareness of how deeply I am loved, how deeply in love God is with all of us.

At first I was bothered by the weeping that happens to me at the monastery. But then I discovered this reality called "the gift of tears." Tears as a part of faith. In the early desert tradition, in the first three centuries of the church, the church fathers and mothers saw tears as agents of resurrection and transformation. They knew that grace comes to us at the point of our need. We wait for God in the midst of our brokenness, and at times we weep. But this is more than "having a good cry." It’s a time of cleansing, washing away our dulled perceptions, clearing our sight and clarifying who we are. (See Alan Jones, Soul Making: The Desert Way of Spirituality)

In other words, tears can open our awareness and give us a fresh perception. In this sense tears cleanse the pain and bring newness. Like rain washing the earth, tears can wash the windows of our eyes. Tears become a kind of baptism, removing our blinders and bringing a new day. Then we can see clearly how much we are loved. For me, that’s when the tears flow.

We may be wary of expressing our tears; but through the years I’ve come to see that church is a place for weeping. Weddings and union ceremonies at church are rituals that evoke feelings. These rituals mark both an ending and a beginning, a transition to a new chapter. So I say to families at the rehearsal: "If tears come, let them come. Let the tears flow. If you can’t cry in church, what’s a church for?" We cry for joy, and we cry for sadness. Likewise at funerals, we come together to weep—tears of loss and tears of thanksgiving. We all need permission to weep.

Tears are a gift, so it makes no sense to stifle them- or to be embarrassed by them. One of my favorite quotes comes from a psychiatrist in Raleigh (Nick Stratas) whose motto to patients was "After tears, there are no tears. And after no tears, there are tears."

When Jesus wept at the death of Lazarus, I wonder what was happening to him at that moment. I wonder if Jesus had moved from his head to his heart. Could it be that his weeping may have brought an opening up, a re-awakening for him? Tears have a way of waking us up. And as we wake up, we find ourselves waking up to life, to aliveness. Jesus found his friend Lazarus coming to life. Many of us have been restored to life after illness and pain. Could it be that renewed life happens when tears connect us to those who suffer? Our tears lead us to stand in solidarity with those who suffer. And tears can open us to love, to God who is love.

Alan Jones says, "Tears keep us soft and supple in the loving hands of God." (p. 105, Soul-Making: The Desert Way of Spirituality)

If tears are a gift from God, they are a gift that we can return to the Giver. We might say it this way: Tears connect our heart with the heart of God; and in the heart of God is our heart’s desire, which only God can satisfy. (Alan Jones, p. 100) That’s worth a few tears.

Could it be that God has given us tears to open us to love? Could it be that tears make love possible? And could it be that love makes tears possible?

What a gift! What a gift!

Thanks be to God. Amen.