the unexpected sacrament of tears...

This weekend I participated in a funeral Mass for a colleague as part of a pick-up choir. There were over 50 of us singing, weeping, celebrating, and sight-reading 30+ minutes of opening choral music prior to supporting the necessary liturgical chants, psalms, and antiphons. A precious friend and former colleague directed the ensemble and played organ, too. Artistically, it was a challenge that worked out well. It was also a sacred obligation of friendship, commitment, and solidarity.

The deceased was a beloved musician in our small community. Seven years ago, he played the pipe organ for our celebration and performance of Paul Winter's "Missa Gaia." He directed a choir in the hill towns of Western Massachusetts and supported the Spanish and English masses at St. Mark's Roman Catholic Church. He was, by all accounts, a real mensch! It was wonderful to be singing in a real choir again. As much as I have come to cherish our quiet, live-streaming time of weekly contemplation, to be a part of the whole was soul food. And, as I knew I would, I found myself weeping tears of grief as well as joy - especially during a setting of "On Eagle's Wings."

Those tears erupted again yesterday during my reflection on the Transfiguration as prelude to the Lenten fast. They took me completely by surprise and, as I have learned to do, I simply let them flow. The wisdom keeper, Frederick Buechner, has been my guide on this practice and he got it so right when he wrote:

YOU NEVER KNOW what may cause them. The sight of the Atlantic Ocean can do it, or a piece of music, or a face you've never seen before. A pair of somebody's old shoes can do it. Almost any movie made before the great sadness that came over the world after the Second World War, a horse cantering across a meadow, the high school basketball team running out onto the gym floor at the start of a game. You can never be sure. But of this you can be sure. Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where, if your soul is to be saved, you should go to next.

Freely flowing tears have long been a sacred charism for me although I fought them for decades. As a young boy I openly wept over flowers. As an adolescent, I found myself crying during certain hymns in church. Or over poems or songs that opened my heart. I spontaneously wept when JFK was murdered. So, too, with MLK. And I was a total mess watching the tribute to Robert Kennedy during the Democratic National Convention of 1968. Tears flowed when our daughters were born, when we celebrated their birthdays, as I watched them dance or play live music or when they joined me in singing Springsteen songs in the car. At times they were tears of wonder and gratitude; they could easily become tears of regret or fear; and more times than I care to recall they were tears mixed with confession and prayers for forgiveness. For most of my adult life, I fought with these tears - holding them back or wrestling them silent through agonizing acts of the will - mostly because I associated tears with weakness. That's in the cultural air breathed by men of the industrialized West; but also an acquired phobia within violent households.

But some 25 years ago, at the quiet request of my beloved, I started honoring my tears as a gift from God. A charism of deep connection, if you will. I'm still practicing acceptance, but trust I'm learning. At least a little bit. When they showed up again yesterday during our "Small is Holy" reflection, I was stunned. Afterwards, I gave thanks to the Lord, but I must confess at being bewildered in the moment: they were real but completely unexpected. As I sat with this truth in the twilight yesterday I became aware of layer upon layer of sorrow: the funeral, the ecstasy of singing live music again, the agony and fear over the war in Ukraine, pandemic weariness, resistance to the frigid air, worries over Lucie as she ages, concern for Di's health, missing my friends in L'Arche Ottawa, and probably tons more that I cannot yet find words to describe. Small wonder they bubbled over as I was full to overflowing. 

Fr. Ed Hays helped me make a measure of peace with my tears when he called them a "sacrament" - a visible and outward sign of an inward and spiritual grace. Jesus wept. Jeremiah and Isaiah, too. Peter and Magdalene wept as did the mother of our Lord. I am in good company - and expect LOTS more tears as Lent 2022 ripens. Psalm 126 puts it like this: May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy. Those who go out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, carrying their sheaves. I am going to use this "Kyrie and Jesus Prayer" from Ukraine as part of my personal quiet time this Lent. You might find it refreshing, too.