Cybercolumn by John Duncan: Reflection on tears

Posted: 2/04/06

CYBER COLUMN:
Reflection on tears

By John Duncan

I’m sitting here under the old oak tree, thinking of a family from Lake Butler, Fla.—Barbara and Terry Mann, who lost five children and two nieces in a fiery car crash when their car was sandwiched between a school bus and a tractor-trailer. The grandfather of the children grieved so hard that he died when he received the horrible news. Friends lit candles, and flowers with wreaths decorated the town, and memorial services followed. Residents of the town marched the streets and sang “Amazing Grace.”

The parents weep and grieve.

Then just recently, here in Texas, a 77-year-old man wandered aimlessly into a deep thicket of woods and could not find his way out for four days. He survived on rainwater and cried out for help so long he nearly lost his voice. He said, “Every day I screamed, hoping somebody would hear me.”

Tears push out when loneliness surrounds and no one hears your cry for help.

A police officer found the famished and dehydrated man and rescued him. The man said he did not feel alone because of his faith in God. A blanket of stars comforted him amidst thoughts of death and tears.

Another news story tells us about a baby in Brazil floating in a bag on a lake. No doubt, somewhere on the journey, the baby agonized in trauma and fear and wailed, dripping tears.

I find myself thinking almost every newscast reverberates with tears—murders, court cases, car wrecks, car bombings, protests, pipe bombs, drug deals, teenage suicide and athletes in the sadness of defeat sitting on the bench crying because the dream of a championship trophy has died, at least for the moment.

The poets of old spoke often of tears.

• Lord Byron: “We two parted in silence and tears.”

• Emily Dickinson: “The soul has bandaged moments.”

• John Donne, poet and preacher at Saint Paul’s Cathedral in London during the London plague, when funerals were a daily custom: “Drown my world with my weeping earnestly.”

• Gerard Manly Hopkins: “Now no matter, child, the name: Sorrows springs are still the same.”

• Czeslaw Milosz: “And the sea battering the shore. And ordinary sorrow.”

• Alfred Lord Tennyson: “Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean.”

Tears prove healthy, a catharsis, a cleansing like soap and water on the hands. Everyone cries—a skinned knee, a slammed finger, standing at the grace site of your sweet grandmother, a baby dies before it ever starts living, bad news comes—even tears of joy, celebrating the elation of a goal accomplished or a dream realized. Tears supply life with rain to renew the soul for future days.

I have cried on occasion in my life: The day I took my daughters to college, tears running down my cheeks and me blubbering down the interstate after I dropped them off. My 10-year anniversary at Lakeside Baptist Church, where I pastor. Every time I took my wife to the doctor the first year after her cancer. Thos are just a few.

Sometimes, I lay in bed at night and think of my wife, all she’s been through and how much I love her and Valentine’s Day soon coming and all. And I shed a single, sometimes double, idle tear, the slow drip of a tear that gently slips out of my eye and falls freely on the pillow.

I have talked about tears to say this: Of all the things rarely mentioned about Jesus is this: “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). Preachers often speak of this verse as the shortest verse in the Bible or an easy memory verse. The context is the death of Jesus’ good friend, Lazarus. He died. The moment swirled with drama and grief, and Lazarus’ sisters said: “Lord, where in the world have you been? Why did you not come sooner?” The Bible succinctly presents Jesus’s response: Jesus wept.

Tears mean you are alive. Tears mean you experience love. Tears mean life spits pain. Tears mean that life presents problems and dilemmas. Tears mean that life has joy. Tears mean that you remember. Tears mean that you wish you could forget. Tears trickle and tickle and flow and go and pour and drip and are salty and real.

The Bible also tells us that Jesus weeps for the city (of Jerusalem). He sees it in its sorrow and sin, and he weeps. He cares.

So here I am under the old oak tree, thinking of that family in Florida, and that man who cried for three days and nearly lost his voice and no one heard, and a crying baby floating on the lake. And I’m wondering if Jesus weeps. I think he does. I know he does. He’s alive, and he cares for you!

John Duncan is pastor of Lakeside Baptist Church in Granbury, Texas, and the writer of numerous articles in various journals and magazines. You can respond to his column by e-mailing him at jduncan@lakesidebc.org.