I truly doubt that there’s been a time in most our living memories where there has been so much justified sadness and fear due to compound loss and chronic uncertainty. There is a societal layer to this, just as there’s a personal layer.
A comment was made by a dear friend on a recent article I wrote on Lament. She made reference to the ancient tradition of Lacrymatory, which is actually referred to in King David’s fifty-sixth psalm. In verse 8 the differing translations say that God takes account of all our tears, that our tears are kept in his bottle.
The tradition of Lacrymatory is apparently what the ancients did in crying their tears into personal ceramic bottles that resemble the shape of bulbus beakers used in science; a bottle with a long thin spout, but a bulbus bottle that is designed to retain fluid.
Why did people keep their tears? Perhaps as a requiem or as evidence of the process of losing, that in possessing evidence of the cost of loss there’s the testimony of truth written all over the saline fluid. It said something about the personal value of those tears, especially when those tears are all they had, and especially that those tears are the essence of what feels worst about life.
For us in our day, whether you’re a parent or a grandparent, or your concerned for your parents of vulnerable loved ones or others, or that you just can’t see the end in sight, or for a plethora of other reasons, not to leave out overwhelm, you’re understood for your tears.
Your tears are the validity of your loss and grief you’ve experienced, and that which exhausts you, and for the fear and dread that fills you for the uncertainty that abounds.
Each time we’re in those bouts of sorrow for which nothing attends but tears, we’re granted peace in the presence of a God who keeps our tears on the record of our life.
The purest empathy is what God has for us in those times, no matter how irrational we may feel, because many times there’s a tinge of self-judgement and frustration in those tears, especially if we’ve been there, going around the mountain, stuck in the circle, many times.
But there’s no judgement in God for our tears—just the deepest of understanding.
The tears we cry often seem like such a waste, and so often in our deepest sobbing and wailing we feel as if we should die, but in all this the faithfulness of God shines forth and through—tears provide some sense of temporary relief, if none other through exhaustion, and we do live another day. Indeed, often there’s a semblance of joy in the morning (Psalm 30:5).
We don’t die of our tears, indeed they bring forth life and a portion of hope.
I know as a man and as a pastor and counsellor, there have been so many times when I’ve been so confounded emotionally and spiritually, that tears have been my food. They positively nourished my soul that was otherwise pent up with frustration, anger, dread, concern, etc.
I know it’s not a sin to experience worry, fear, sadness, overwhelm—these are all very human experiences that are never to be judged and condemned—and indeed, these are the portents of God, as in them is the portal to healing. Further, they’re to be celebrated in tears, not that tears feel like any source of celebration, but in giving truth the final word, because how we feel is the truth, THIS is cause for great celebration in the heavenlies, if not here on earth.
Our tears are important, important enough to be eternal. They’re never a waste. The process itself is psychological and physiological healing combined.
Grief expressed is honoured because it honours truth.
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