Don't Fear the Weeper

Have you ever heard anyone say, “They are a very private person” especially when referring to a struggle with displaying emotional discomfort. Most likely you have watched someone participate in an intense weeping state and may have even been morbidly curious to know why and what caused him or her so much pain. I have been in many situations where there was clearly something wrong but the person refused to grieve or emote, especially in public. Earlier in life, I began to wonder, “Who taught the ‘private people’ to be private?” I came up with conclusions of my own.  “Maybe their family doesn’t talk,” or perhaps they have family mottos like, “Don’t let ‘em see you sweat!”  I have also struggled to let others see me grieve and thought, “It would be too much!” or  “I can’t let them see me this way!” 

I thought, “But…why?  I’m human, living in a broken world and it would make sense to have an honest and emotional reaction to that brokenness…  We have all lost someone or something dear to us… Nothing and no one will crumble if I participate in emotional vulnerability…. No one will lose faith, why do I feel so much responsibility and who is counting on me to hold it together?” 

Christ models grief in Scripture so simply. “Jesus wept” (John 11:35) over the loss of His friend Lazarus (while also knowing He would raise Lazarus from the dead) which prompts the question, “Why won’t we just cry?”  Over time I realized we might be too quick to console or control the pain of others.  Why? Perhaps, we care and want to help or we think we can fix it. But if we are honest with ourselves we back away from tears because it is uncomfortable or it’s vulnerable.  There can be such a stigma with crying or weeping that is sometimes referred to as the “ugly cry” which is defined (with emphasis) by the Urban Dictionary and by popular culture as: 

A type of crying that can feel really good and really bad at the same time. The ugly cry can occur after a severe tragedy in one's life, or simply for no reason at all. You know you're doing the ugly cry when you lose COMPLETE CONTROL of all of the muscles in your face, start heaving and making awkward sounds (even though you are trying really hard to be silent), and start leaking fluids from every opening on your face from your hairline to your chin (yes, this includes the mouth). Without a doubt, by the time you are through with your ugly cry episode (if it was genuine) it will look as though you are a homeless person with pink eye who got punched a few times in the face and was hit by a monsoon; this is completely normal (and generally the time to call up a good friend). http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=ugly+cry 

This is true (in a way), comical and discouraging all at the same time. We have defined a vulnerable moment as ugly and questioned its sincerity. Who taught us to shame our sadness? We did (with the help of Satan). We, in our concern, fear and discomfort often do not allow others to process emotional pain and their personal meanings of loss because it becomes about our discomfort with their pain. I have a friend who has been hit from every angle lately and it is overwhelming her with complicated grief. I consider this friend to be strong, level headed and pretty private about things that bother her most of the time. But this particular Sunday, it got real. The sanctuary lights were off and all lights were focused on the stage where the choir was singing for the church’s Easter Spectacular.   My friend was sitting down the aisle from me but within reaching distance and was weeping.  I would watch her from time to time as the choir sang about the hope we have in Christ. At times I would think to reach out and touch her arm but I didn’t want to startle the moment for her. It broke my heart to watch her hurt while I was also a little jealous that she felt comfortable enough to let it out.  I even began to tear up myself. I don’t think I would have witnessed such vulnerability had the sanctuary lights been on. Afterward, however, all of my friends and I gathered around her and I wondered if we overwhelmed her with our concern. But this occasion along with so many others stirred up this question, “How do we allow ourselves to experience such raw emotion without shame, whether bystander or the weeper?”

Get honest. Tears are reminders that Earth is not our Home.

I have had people in my life who are quick to shut crying down with a pat and a “There, there, everything is going to be okay.” I just want to say, “Shut Up! If you are attempting to convince me there is no necessary reason for tears, then go away!” When we meet each other in our brokenness, whether through painful events, the loss of a loved one, divorce or grieving the transition to an empty nest, tears remind us that we are not at home. Whatever the reason those tears are often telling the truth and ignoring pain ignores the need for Christ. When we weep there is longing for the unseen followed by the reminder of our Eternal Home, “He then will wipe away every tear from our eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. And He who was seated on the throne said: Behold, I am making all things new,” (Revelation 21:4-5). Furthermore Brene Brown, an expert on shame and vulnerability says, “I thought faith would say: ‘I’ll take the pain away,’ but instead it says, ‘I will sit with you in it.’”  More often than not an individual with depression mourns in darkness and isolation, feeling shame, which produces more darkness and isolation. This is where we need community sitting with us and where a friend’s quiet presence meeting the weeper straight on is a reminder we were not made for loss.

Speak to Your Tears Through Your Everyday Responsibilities.

I once cried for three days after God closed a door on a vision I thought was His best for me. It was intense but everybody and anybody who interacted with me accepted that I would most likely be crying and life went on as it was intended. I slept great every night and woke up finding myself weeping again.  It was cathartic, I was experiencing healing and meeting Jesus in a different way.  Shortly after that three day crying fest, I found a thought from Dr. John Piper on the subject of talking to your tears as you continue to participate in life. He reflects on Psalm 126:5-6: “May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy! He that goes forth weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him.“ He says that the weeping has little to do with sowing. “Sowing” is the necessary life work that must go on amidst sadness. This Psalm teaches the tough truth that there is work to be done whether you are up emotionally for it or not; it is good for us to carry out the work before us. Suppose we are in a “funk” and it is time to sow seed. Do we say, “I can’t sow the field this spring, because I am in a funk?” This will create more problems than we started with. But what if instead we said: “I am in a funk, I am sad. I cry if the milk runs out at breakfast.  I cry if the phone and doorbell ring at the same time.  I cry for no reason at all. However, these kids aren’t going to raise themselves; Alabama Power doesn’t mind that I have mascara all over the monthly statement, they’ll just be glad I paid the bill. I don’t like it but I will do my sowing (chores) in tears.” The point is that when there are simple, straightforward jobs to be done, and we are full of sadness, and tears are flowing easily, let’s go ahead and do the duties with tears. Be realistic.  Say to your tears, “Tears, I feel you. You make me want to quit life. But there is a field to be sown (dishes to be washed, oil changes and laundry to do). I know you will wet my face several times today, but I have work to do and you will just have to go with me. If my duties are made wet by my tears then those around me will just have to accept it.”  I will tell my kids through a tearful smile, “I am sad today but I am going to be okay.” Through the promise of God’s Word we can say, “I know these tears will not last forever. The very fact that I just do my work (tears and all) will in the end bring a harvest of blessing. So go ahead and flow if you must. But I believe (while I do not yet see it or feel it fully)—I believe that the simple work of my sowing will bring sheaves of harvest. And my tears will be turned to joy.”

Let go of rules which delineate who gets to cry and who doesn’t. 

We all like to function around some type of rules or roles that we play such as believing,  “I am the strong, responsible one, she is the sensitive one.” I think culturally, shifts are being made in regards to rules about men crying. I am wondering if women are becoming harder and stronger as the pendulum scoots across the polarities; I observe on some occasion more comfort from men in regards to showing emotion. To quote Brene Brown:  “Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren’t always comfortable but they are never weakness.” Rules about who weeps and who doesn’t are not marks of strength but marks of a trap, which is consistently undergirded by Satan when we allow those roles to rule over us. I would challenge you to invite that strong friend of yours to break every now and again, he or she could probably use it and perhaps it’s long overdue. 

Consider How God is loving you and through you by enduring the tears of another. 

When we sit with someone in the vulnerability of their pain, we are accepting them just as they are, there is no performance… it just is… allowing the weeper to weep agrees with their pain and does not diminish it but lets them feel and meet God. Finally, I once read a biography on Bono, which was quite interesting. The best part of the whole book was at the end when the Rolling Stone’s columnist asked him which scripture he would use if he were to write a song and his reply was that he would use Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God,” and the song title would be: “Shut up and let me love you.”  So… let’s shut up then…