The Unitarian Fellowship of Peterborough

Music by Karen Taylor and David Berger

On this Sunday following Remembrance Day, we’ll look at the role of grief and tears in our lives.

Religious Exploration: A UU Heritage day; on Remembrance Day

Opening Words

Do not live too far in the past or the future. Live now.

In each moment expect a miracle: ten kinds of birds at the feeder, and the tracks of a fox in the snow.

Pick up a magnifying glass and scrutinize that crocus. See the pollen at the center of the daffodil, life's dust, death-defying life. Be astonished at the flower, arrested by its beauty.

Run naked through the garden early in the morning and hope the wild geese fly by.

Get silly and laugh loudly with your grandchildren or your grandparents. Refuse to leave the dead behind, but bring their memory to all your chores and games and corners of quiet, warm tears.

Know always that joy and sorrow are woven together; one cannot be without the other. If you love, know that sometimes your love will bring you tears; if you grieve, know it is because at some time you were willing to love.

Do not be afraid to die today. But expect life!

Come now, join with me in this, our celebration of life. 

Story for All Ages

Why Bat Hangs Upside Down: A Story from Sudan

As retold by Allison Cox, from “The Party” in One Day We Had to Run, by Sybella Wilkes, Millbrook Press, 1994. 

This story tells about Bat, who cries because chi is not accepted by either the animals or the birds, and cries until the tears run down onto hir feet, causing hir to slip and hang upside down.  And hir tears run down onto the earth. 

Reading

It’s not the Size of the Loss, but the Size of the Sorrow    - Robert Fulghum

Today’s reading was taken from Robert Fulghum’s online journal:

http://robertfulghum.com/index.php/fulghumweb/entry/1002_its_not_the_size_of_the_loss_but_the_size_of_the_sorrow/

Message

Washington Irving said, “There is a sacredness in tears.  They are not the mark of weakness, but of power.  They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues.  They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and unspeakable love.”   Do you believe that?   That tears are the mark of power? 

There have been many tears shed in the past week, this week of Remembrance.  On Thursday evening, I watched the CBC special, “We Will Remember Them”, which paid tribute to Canadian military personnel who have been killed in action in Afghanistan.  And I cried with those families. 

But I’m a crier.  You know that.  I expect before this service is over I’ll have cried a few times, maybe even audibly.  And, since I’m running on too little sleep, the chances are even better that I’ll get all choked up.  Some of you seem to appreciate when that happens.  And some of you get uncomfortable.  So there.  Fair warning.

I cry so often that I’ve mostly made my peace with it.  Mostly.  Like Bat, I’ve resigned myself to helplessly slipping into a rather vulnerable position and letting the tears fall to the ground.  My only real wish in regard to public crying is that I would love to learn to weep and talk at the same time.  So far, these seem to be mutually exclusive activities...weeping and talking.

For example, let me tell you about a time that my crying got in the way of my talking.  One January during my seminary years, I had the opportunity to travel to El Salvador on a study trip, to explore the history and spirituality of that oppressed and resilient country.  Predictably, part of this trip involved learning more about Oscar Romero, and we visited where he was murdered.  Romero is revered for his willingness to stand against a tyrannical regime, and his willingness to stand up for the people, which he did in the name of Christianity.  Part of his personal story is one of conversion; after witnessing the murder of a friend, he was transformed from a timid priest who maintained the status quo, into a priest who was the courageous voice of the people.  La voz de la justicia.  And for that he was killed.

Upon our return to campus, I spoke of our experience during a chapel service.  I was speaking about the up close and personal topic of conversion...examining by what and how we experience conversion and are thereby transformed.   And I began to weep...unexpectedly and uncontrollably.  After a time, one of my traveling partners came and stood by me at the pulpit, and eventually I was able to squeak out the words I had prepared.  I was both embarrassed and humbled by the way in which my tears took control of me and of that moment.

After the service, Diane Thomas, an amazing woman who herself was a renowned peace activist and who has since died of cancer, came up to me and said, “That was the most powerful sermon I’ve ever heard.  I didn’t understand a word you said, but that was the most powerful sermon I’ve ever heard.”

The power of tears.  In the presence of tears, words pale and have very little meaning. 

Struggling with the correct words to stop the crying was at the center of Robert Fulghum’s reflection which Paula read earlier.  Why are we always looking for ways to help people stop crying?  Early in life, we train children not to cry.  Hush little baby, don’t you cry.  We use our words...too many words...negotiating, reasoning, and cajoling...words of distain and of bullying.  We try to explain away the grief or the sadness or the anger.  We get uncomfortable and shift in our seats.  Personally, I find I can get really tense and even stop breathing when I’m with someone’s who’s crying.  Why?  What makes us so uncomfortable? 

In truth, throughout most of history, tearlessness has NOT been the standard of strength, or even manliness.  Heroic epics from Greek times through the Middle Ages are soggy with weeping of all sorts, says Dr. Tom Lutz, author of “Crying: The Natural and Cultural History of Tears.”[1]   Apparently, it was the industrial age and its need for diligent, unemotional workers that put the kibosh on crying.  It was then delegated to privacy, and only to crybabies, with small exception. 

I’m not sure that a brief historical perspective really can help us understand our negative reaction to tears.  Maybe it’s just that we’re projecting onto others how it feels to be the one who is crying.  It’s not easy.  Most of us don’t want others to see us cry and have been conditioned to stop our own tears.  How often have you heard people say “I’m sorry” when they begin to cry?  We equate tears with weakness and crying can also make us feel unprotected.  Is that why we try to halt the tears? 

Or perhaps, as Fulghum concludes, when we see others crying, and we try to get them to stop, we simply want to make it better.  Maybe we do have a universal human need to ease the pain and suffering of others.  But paradoxically, stopping the crying actually works to do the opposite.  Stopping the crying can also stop the healing, because in reality, tears are a way to mend the pain and suffering of life...tears are a way to release stress...tears are a way to connect with deep emotion.   

****

I understand that we have three different types of tears.  There are lubricant tears, tears that are flowing and working all the time, keeping our eyes and sinuses and noses moist.  And, there are tears in response to irritants, irritants such as smoke and onions.  These tears are 98% water.  Finally, there are emotional tears. 

Many believe that emotional tears are unique to human beings, although it’s possible that elephants and gorillas have them too.   What is perhaps clear, is that our ability to cry was a breakthrough in the evolution of humans as a social species.  In a National Public Radio article called “Teary-Eyed Evolution”, Allison Aubrey said that ancestors who thrived were probably those who were most empathetic, because that empathy helped them build strong communities, which in turn gave them protection and support.[2]  So, weeping has most likely served humans throughout our evolutionary history by reducing stress, and has functioned as an evolution-based mechanism to bring people closer together.   It makes me feel kinda special to know that Dr. Oren Hasson, Tel Aviv University evolutionary biologist, has called crying a ‘highly evolved behaviour.’ [3]

Researchers have found that emotional tears are chemically different from other tears.  They contain beta-endorphins, some of our body’s natural pain relievers.  They also contain high levels of cortisal, a hormone released during stressful situations.[4]  So, we may literally be releasing toxins from our system when we cry.   Tears reduce tensions and increase the body’s ability to heal itself.  After a good cry, we experience a decrease in breathing and heart rates as we enter a calmer emotional and biological state.  Isn’t it amazing that our bodies have this incredible capacity?  Why would we want to stop this very natural healing and purifying process?  

Another thing that tears do is they allows us to move our emotions through our bodies....they actually allow us to feel our emotions...the depth of our grief, our sadness, our joy.  By stifling crying, we, intentionally or not, hide or shut down valid feelings and emotions.  Then we get stuck...because to process and accept our feelings, we actually need to experience them.  Crying allows us to do that. 

There’s more.  Just as the process of crying serves to connect us, and healing is heightened when we weep together.  Many of you can vouch for that through your experience of the anti-oppression workshop yesterday or your experience in a covenant group.  In such circles, we sometimes cry, and unless we are without compassion, we respond to the tears of others.  Tears telegraph our state of mind to others, and evoke strong emotions in the people who witness them.  And isn’t it curious that skin sensitivity during and after crying increases?[5]  I don’t know for sure why that happens, but it makes me think that our crying is a call to be touched.  Crying frequently creates a need to make physical contact.  Tears may come even more intensely when we are touched with care and compassion. 

We all hurt, and grieve, and feel sad...and like those of Bat, our tears fall on the earth, earth on which we all walk.  These tears flow from our hearts and our souls, and illuminate the sacred connection we have with all people.  If tears can bring us to such truth, they are well shed. 

And so, that salty water that flows from our eyes is an important part of the human experience.  We are, after all, mostly water; in Eastern traditions, the element of water is associated with the emotions, which would indicate that we are also mostly emotion, emotions that are constantly in need of airing, of processing, of purifying.  Water flows, soothes, washes things clean and refreshes.  Tears flow, soothe, wash us clean, refresh our spirits.   Like an emotional spa.  Want to go there? 

It’s maybe easier than you think.  How about this?  What if you were to designate one chair in your house as the crying chair... and make it known that anyone who needs to cry can sit in that chair and just cry, and they can know that everybody around will respect their privacy and their right to do that.  Make it a particularly cozy spot...with a blanky and tissues nearby... and a simple sign... “crying is okay here.”  Just sitting there could make a person weep. 

Or, do this.  I have a friend who has The Miracle Worker by his television, a movie that, for him, is sure to induce tears when he’s in need of a good cry.  Find your personal tear-jerker and keep it handy.

Or this.  I love this one.  Artist and photographer Zack Bent did an art piece called Lachrymatory....which consisted of a clear vial with an eye dropper.  What is so beautiful is that he used it to collect his tears and the tears of his wife and children.  He explained:

The title Lacrymatory comes from the ancient [Greek and Roman] tear-catching vials that were often filled by grieving widows.  I collect a lot of tears as a father.  Tears fall often in our house.  Collecting them in a vial became a similar ritual to kissing a bump on the head.  It became an act of love. 

Collecting tears as an act of love.  Imagine. 

Seeing a picture of his piece, Lachrymatory, makes me think of holy water.  I’m sure many of you have been to an important cathedral or sacred site...and had the experience of being offered holy water for purchase....water that has come from a particularly spiritual place, or has been blessed by a particularly venerated person.  It is water that is purported to have special healing abilities, or the capability to intervene on our behalf with higher powers.  We here in this Fellowship have a small bottle of ‘holy water’...that is, a sample of the water that is collected during our annual water communion. It is the water of our lives, merged together, and as such, represents the power of this community and our connectedness.  Holy water. 

Now, if I’d had my act together earlier, I would have ordered small glass vials with eye droppers for each of us.  As it is, you’ll have to be satisfied with this small example.  Think about it.  What effect would it have on our view of tears and crying if each of us carried around a tear-collector, and carefully honoured our tears and the tears of others by saving them in a special jar?  In order to fill our jars, we would need to encourage tears, guard them, and see them as precious jewels full of healing power...personally generated holy water.  Our children would know that their tears are not only welcome but cherished for the humanity that they carry.  Our friends would know that they can cry openly with us.  Catching the tears of others would be the ultimate act of compassion.  And perhaps we would then also allow ourselves to cry...easily and regularly.

I remember another time that I cried uncontrollably in public.  It was at the third memorial service for my mother.  I mean REALLY, it was the third service.  We had one at her church.  We had one at her nursing home.  And this third one was at the Multiple Sclerosis daycare centre where she had participated for many years.  To this day, I can’t explain why it happened.  I’d held it all together quite well for the first several weeks.  And here I was, in a room of mere acquaintances, with my sister Beth at my side.  I was trying to tell them something more about my mother...to let them know that she had been more than the wheelchair-bound woman they had known.  And I broke down.  This time, my weeping was more like keening...that Gaelic vocal lament that involves rocking back and forth in grief.  All I remember is that no one moved to stop me...they simply experienced it with me...my sister put her hand on me...and they all let me weep. 

That afternoon, I allowed the people in that room a bit of a window into my soul.  And they allowed me that special crying chair.  Through crying I was somehow able to express something both so complex and so common that I couldn’t possibly articulate it in any other way.  And so I cried.  And I knew that they understood. 

My tears were holy water.  Water collected in the depths of my being, water that coursed through my experience of grief and sadness. 

The water of your tears is holy water.  Our tears are made holy by our longing, our humanity, our softness, our compassion.  Our tears are made holy by the experience of forgiveness and renewal, a cleansing that runs deep within us.  Treasure these tears.  Collect these tears.  Know that crying is okay here.

Be they tears of joy, tears of sorrow, tears of grief, tears of anger, tears at the sheer beauty of life...their magnetic pull connects us with each other and with all that is.   This is the healing power of tears. 

Amen. 

Closing Words

We Laugh, We Cry  (reprise)  

We laugh, we cry...

We believe in life and in the strength of love.

We have found the need to be together in all the times of our lives, and in this we have found joy. 

Here we have a place of both freedom and belonging, a place of grace and blessing, a place where tears are welcome.

May we go forth truly believing in life and the strength of love, so that we may comfort and be comforted, and so that our lights will continue to shine in the world. 

Amen.