Finding True North #27: Reflecting toward 9/11/11, Part 2—Tears

This is part 2 of a series within a series I'm doing that emerged from conversations with the North UMC staff around preparation for this year's 10th anniversary 9/11 commemoration, which falls on a Sunday. As I did in part 1 ("Ashes," which you can read here), I am focusing on a single image tied to 9/11 remembrance and exploring its Biblical, theological and liturgical connections.

To this day, when I see footage of the 9/11 terror attacks, tears come to my eyes. I did not know anyone who perished that day. I'm not from New York or DC. I watched the tragedy unfold on a television in my 9th grade biology class. Yet, as easily as I cry, I do not think I am alone in experiencing that depth of emotion when remembering that day in 2001. As we approach the 10th anniversary of 9/11/2001, tears are still close for many.

The authors of the Bible were no stranger to tears. People in the Bible wept out of grief, in remorse, for joy, from despair, in unbelief and hunger and thirst. In Luke 7, a woman bathes Jesus' feet with her tears; in Acts 20:19, tears accompany the endurance of trials; in Acts 20:13, warning others to be alert brings the speaker to tears; in 1 Corinthians 2:4, weeping accompanies the expression of deep love; and in Philippians 3:18, speaking of the enemies of Christ prompts the flow of tears. Weeping can mean many things, and it is not an activity that is rare in the Bible.

The Psalms especially are full of tears: "I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping" (Psalm 6:6); "My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, 'Where is your God?'" (Psalm 42:3). Jeremiah practically begs for tears in order appropriately to mourn his people's demise: "O that my head were a spring of water, and my eyes a fountain of tears, so that I might weep day and night for the slain of my poor people!" (Jeremiah 9:1). Tears are acceptable, almost necessary, and excessive.

(I'd just like to point out that the men of the Bible cry a lot. Esau, Job, Joseph, Peter, Jesus, the list goes on and on. Wonder if that squares up with some of what muscular Christianity is painting as "masculinity" these days.)

The inherently excessive nature of tears is something on which contemporary artist Makoto Fujimura reflected at length during a lecture I attended this past April (see my blog about that here). Fujimura recently completed the Four Holy Gospels Project to commemorate the 400th anniversary of the King James Bible. The project is one-of-a-kind in many ways, and it was no small undertaking. As he approached it, Fujimura chose a Bible verse to meditate on as he painted: "Jesus wept" (John 11:35). This proved appropriate in a number of ways, one poignant one being that Fujimura works with water-based paints, so he imagined himself literally painting with the tears of Christ, those tears illuminating each page of Scripture. (See an article by Fujimura called "The Beautiful Tears," link provided at the end of this post.)

But Fujimura had more to say about tears that I found deeply poignant. In his lecture, he drew the audience into the story of John 11—the death and raising of Lazarus. When Jesus arrived, he first met Martha, who said, almost rebuking Jesus, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died" (John 11:21). Jesus gave her a simple, straightforward answer: "Your brother will rise again" (John 11:23). Martha knew about the resurrection to come, but Jesus reasons with her in regards to his own identity and ability to restore life, thus satisfying and reassuring her. Then he encounters Mary, who says the same thing her sister had said: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died" (John 11:32). But Jesus responds differently this time. He sees her tears and the tears of all those who loved Lazarus, and he, too, weeps.

Fujimura pointed out how nonsensical this is. Jesus had just told Martha that Lazarus would be raised. Why did he not give Mary the same reassurance? Fujimura says that it is because Jesus knew and loved each of these women in their particularity and knew that while Martha would be comforted by a direct answer, what Mary most needed at that moment was not to be alone in her grief. Jesus was literally wasting time and energy crying over the death of a man whom he knew full well he was about to raise from the dead. Jesus cried useless, wasteful, excessive tears, all for love of his friends.

Tears are a waste of time, but precisely because of that fact, they provide a unique access point for the divine. God's love is neither efficient nor utilitarian. The psalmist even imagines that God keeps count of these useless drops of water that pour from our frail eyes: "You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your record?" (Psalm 56:8). If you or someone you know is a hoarder or a pack rat, at least they do not keep tears in bottles. But to God, each tear is precious because it is an overflow of the fullness of the human heart.

In God's economy, the wastefulness of tears hides a promise to which we can all cling. Tears are a direct cry for help, and God does respond: "I have heard your prayer, I have seen your tears; indeed, I will heal you" (2 Kings 20:5). As preoccupied as the psalmist sometimes seems to be with tears, even in the psalms of lament, we find hope: "May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy" (Psalm 126:5). Isaiah makes that promise more explicit, as does the author of Revelation: "Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces" (Isaiah 25:8); and "God will wipe away every tear from their eyes" (Revelation 7:17). This promise does not diminish the reality of whatever might have brought on tears, but it does give us a sense of God's presence even—and especially—when we weep.

How might all of this connect with our remembrance of 9/11? First, the church can and should make space for tears, not just on 9/11/11 but at all times. What that means concretely, I'm not sure, and I am wary of anything in worship that is geared intentionally at producing an emotional experience. But this anniversary marks an event that has unique power and resonance throughout this country, and the church needs to be aware that we are dealing with mass grief, sometimes in strange and nonsensical ways (like how I find myself a little choked up writing this). How might the image of water be incorporated into worship? Doing a baptismal remembrance is an obvious answer; recalling that we are baptized not just into life but first into Christ's death could help people connect this national grief with a corporate performance of going from death to life. How might an adaptation of a service of remembrance strike the balance between mourning and hope? Where could the arts fit into such a remembrance?

__________


Makoto Fujimura, "The Beautiful Tears." (link)
General Board of Discipleship (GBOD) Resources: Remembering 9-11. (link)