written 1998?
Oh… how I wish I were one of those who, when moved to tears, is able to let such tears fall gently down the cheek, and yet manages to speak with clarity and coherence… but for better or worse, emotion always chokes me in the heart of my throat. The more I try to suppress the sensation, the more I am overcome and lose all ability to speak.
One Sunday at our church many of us participated in a service of healing that included each person moving to the front of the sanctuary to personally receive the bread and cup of holy communion, followed by, if desired, the anointing with oil by the pastor, who offered a personal prayer for healing for each individual.
At the best of times, I am often moved to tears (at least inwardly) during our regular communion service, as I reflect upon the depth of God’s grace revealed to me in the sacrifice of His Son. How much more powerfully I experience the reality of this grace when I am personally offered the bread and the cup, with the words “this is the body of Christ, broken for you”, and “this is the blood of Christ, shed for you”. I knew, even before I approached the front, that I would struggle to hold back my tears upon those words being spoken to me once again.
But when the pastor began to explain the concept of anointing, I immediately began to dread my participation, knowing that my reaction might be anything but restrained. As the procession of people progressed through the line for communion, I wrestled in my mind whether to proceed to the table for anointing, or to just safely return to my seat.
The question for me was not one of whether I really needed healing (I have long recognized that life is one continuous process of healing and renewal), but rather became a question of vanity – of not wanting to feel a fool if I broke down under the emotion of the moment. But vanity, I realized, was the domain of the Evil One, and so I fought to force my steps toward the anointing table.
In accepting the bread and the cup, one is called to accept fully the grace of God, and for that moment, one can be cleansed in the sight of God. As I stepped toward the table, I suddenly felt myself stepping fully into God’s presence, painfully aware of my spiritual nakedness, and in His light was forced to see, without obscurity, my failings, my faults…. my humanity.
For one who has a history of emotional repression and denial, this can be overwhelming. So much of my life has been spent pushing back (and down) a myriad of emotions that have felt threatening and shaming. It is only when I step into the full presence of God, allowing myself to be fully human, that I allow myself to acknowledge and feel the weight of my sin and shame. Only then can I fall into His arms of grace, and let Him lift the heavy cloak of darkness from my shoulders.
And so, as I was anointed that day, my tears flowed and I could not speak. They were tears of sadness at the depth of my weakness and shame, and yet they were also triumphant tears of joy and awe in seeing the full face of God in all His glory, knowing that He accepts and loves me, as I am, naked and bleeding.
Tears are not something of which we should be afraid or ashamed. For me, my tears are an outward expression of a temporary inner release from my earthly chains and my complete submission to the God who is my source of inspiration and strength. Praise God for such sweet surrender!
