Water is all around us and within us. Approximately 71% of the earth is water and, on average, our bodies are 60% water. Many people enjoy canoeing on a lake or swimming in the ocean. A hot shower at the end of a long day is an appreciated creature comfort.
Of all the ways we can consider water, perhaps the most intimate kind of water we experience are tears. Tears can be brought on by any emotion: joy, sorrow, anger, disappointment, or amusement, just to name a few. Some people cry often, others struggle to shed a tear.
Jesus cried: over the loss of his friend Lazarus (John 11), over Jerusalem (Luke 19) and in the Garden of Gethsemane (Hebrews 5:7).
But, our experience of crying can be affected by others. I can distinctly recall when I was younger feeling ashamed when I cried. There seemed to be an unspoken expectation to ‘pull yourself together’ and ‘stop crying.’ For a number of years, I fought back my tears so that I could be perceived as strong. During college, I kept myself very busy, and there was little time to experience my strong emotions. It wasn’t until I entered religious life that I began to slow down and make space to feel the feelings I’d been pushing down for so long.
At first, I was reluctant to cry in front of anyone, except Our Lord present in the Blessed Sacrament. But little by little, as the years have gone by, I’ve come to understand that expressing emotion can be healthy. And, when I respond to my emotions with virtue, they can even help me grow in my relationship with God, myself and others.
A couple of years ago, a dear friend of mine was dying of cancer. It was difficult to know that his time on earth was coming to a close. When his son reached out to let me know it wouldn’t be long, we went to visit Rich together. I remember sitting next to him as he lay in bed, beaming with joy. He knew he was a sinner, but he also believed in God’s merciful love and was anticipating Heaven in a hopeful way.
I held his hand for a while as we shared our last exchanges, tears—both sorrowful and hopeful—streaming down my face. I knew it was the last time I’d see Rich in this life, and yet there was so much hope that we’d see one another again in the Kingdom of Heaven.
A few days after he passed, his son—a priest—celebrated his funeral Mass. Hundreds of people came together, not simply to say ‘goodbye’ to Rich, but to intercede for him at the greatest prayer on earth: the Mass. We brought our heavy hearts and our heartfelt tears to the altar of the Lord.
During the Liturgy of the Word, we were reminded that “the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces” (Is 25:8) and that because we were buried with Christ in Baptism, we believe that we will “be united with him in the resurrection” (Rm 6:5).
At the end of the Liturgy of the Word we pray the Prayers of the Faithful, also called Petitions. One of the last petitions offered at Rich’s funeral Mass read:
For Rich’s family and friends, that they may be consoled in their sorrow by the Lord who wept at the death of his friend Lazarus.
These petitions are always intercessory prayers: prayers for the needs of the Church and the world. The petitions usually follow a similar pattern:
The Mass is literally the closest to Heaven we can be on earth. Isn’t it wonderful that we can bring to the Lord all the people in our life—including our departed loved ones—trusting that he always hears and responds to our prayers?
Following those intercessory prayers, the Liturgy of the Eucharist began. From the very start of Mass, Rich’s casket had been solemnly placed at the foot of the altar. The paschal candle shone brightly reminding us of Christ’s presence among us and of his victory over sin and death. At that Mass, we not only interceded for Rich, but we also offered him back to the Father.
As we re-lived with Jesus his great Paschal Mystery, we had the opportunity to recall that at Mass we are closer to our loved ones than at any other time or place in our lives. We experienced the greatest closeness to Jesus and the whole Mystical Body of Christ when we received Our Lord in Holy Communion.
Accompanying Rich in life and in death has been bitter sweet. As with all of the people I love who have gone before me, I hold onto the hope of Jesus’ promise: that he has a place for us in his Father’s house. I can cry, but my tears are not a sign of despair but a sign of my hope.
With God, our intimate experience of crying is made new. He beckons us to be close to him in our joys and sorrows, and to not forget that he is for us, so who can be against us? (see Rm 8:31) The Lord proves this to us most powerfully at every Mass, where we pray for the living and the dead.
Water is everywhere, around us and within us. Next time you see water—whether it is flowing from a faucet or downhill in a stream—recall how intimately water is a part of your life. In a gentle way, consider a moment when your eyes watered up for love of a dear one who has passed away. Bring him or her with you, in your heart, to Mass. As you intercede for this person, trust that, indeed, one day every tear at last will be wiped away (see Rev 21:4).
