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The Gift of Tears

Crying in public is a bit embarrassing for most of us, especially those from particular cultural backgrounds (white people like me have been trained to consider it a sign of weakness). Some occasions might call for it (funerals), but crying, or shedding tears, is not usually sought after.

So I became intrigued some years ago by references in Christian traditions to the “gift of tears.” Ignatius of Loyola even urged us to pray for this “gift.” More than a few sources map such tears to penitence, of feeling genuine sorrow for our sins. But that just skims the surface of what I’m now appreciating as a genuine gift–public chagrin be damned.

I stumbled on a quote recently from the fourth century theologian Gregory of Nyssa:

It is impossible for one to live without tears who considers things exactly as they are.

Set aside for the moment whether anyone can ever consider things “exactly as they are.” I do not take Gregory to mean that tears are inevitable only when we confront the pain and suffering of the world around us (there is certainly plenty of that to garner more attention). They come as well with moments of encountering the indescribable joy and gratuity and beauty of God’s creation when we pause and notice, even in our fumbled attempts to pay attention.

The older I get, the more I seem unable not to cry. An image of a suffering elephant or polar bear on social media can moisten my keyboard with tears. But so can images of human kindness. Or when I’m playing and running with my Australian shepherd dog Judah on a beach, I sometimes find myself crying as I laugh at his antics–it’s too beautiful and I am overwhelmed.

Maybe that’s what Gregory meant by considering things “exactly as they are.” Not that we see things that way, but we consider them. We ponder, contemplate, pray, talk with friends, share meals, pet a furry dog, smell an explosion of hydrangea blossoms, and in some fashion we consider that beneath, within, throughout all of it we find the stubborn resilience of the God of Easter.

berkeley_spring_042418Christian faith is rooted in the crucified but risen Christ. We must consider the suffering and death, the ongoing crucifixions all around us, and still we also consider the blazing light of an unbelievable Easter, the rising of life from death. Both, when well considered, can prompt the “gift of tears.”

I’m keen now to do more research on the biology of tears, the neurotransmitters that register some event or moment that then triggers the ducts at the corners of our eyes to overflow with a salty stream. Why? Does it cleanse? Clarify? Baptize?

I read some years ago that the chemical composition of tears changes depending on the emotional state that produces them. I don’t know if this is true, but if so, the “gift” of tears might well offer more than public chagrin; it might mark a moment of divine encounter.

I read the daily news, listen to the radio, talk with friends–so much to grieve and mourn, and so much to notice with gratitude. Through and in all of it, every  moment, joy will one day come. It will come. It will most surely come and reveal all and everything in beauty. (I just started to cry as I typed that…)

May these next few weeks of the Great Fifty Days of Easter wet your cheeks–or salt your tongue, muddy your paws, water the fragile blossoms of beauty you stumble upon in your quotidian rhythms.

May the gift of tears redouble our commitments to change the world and, because of that, renew our hope for what we cannot now imagine.

judah_rodeo_april_2018

Comments

  1. Thank you for this..I just told my cousin and mentor last week that I had the “gift of tears” and that its been about 7 years now with increasing frequency. Bless your journey

  2. The loving gaze of my dog most always moves me to tears…at some deep level it reflects the gaze of God. Utter and complete unconditional LOVE!

  3. Kathryn Kerr says:

    Good words

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