On the other side of tears is God’s peace!
Have you ever heard the expression “good grief”? It’s true. Grief is healthy. A tear in the eye tells of at least one spring in the soul. It may lie buried beneath emotional scars, a bitter divorce, rejection by parents, and a litany of bitter memories that will not die. But that one little tear trickling down our cheeks cries out, “I’m alive!”
Every Sunday morning at Cornerstone Church, immediately after the sermon, I invite all who wish to respond to the Gospel to come forward to the altar. When I was a child, we used to call it “the mourner’s bench.” People come forward with tears streaming down their faces.
Why? Because the Lord is at work. Shattered dreams are being rebuilt, fractured marriages restored, ruptured relationships healed by the power of God. The pressures of life are easing and the burden of sin lifting as people bask in the happiness that only God can give. They look sad on the outside, but they’re happy on the inside.
Tears are living proof of life. The man who cannot shed tears is not fully alive.
One day a woman called my office asking if I would talk to her husband, who was manifesting signs of severe depression. Their eighteen year old son had been killed two months before in a blazing auto accident, and the father’s heart was broken. His torture was compounded because he embraced the mentality that it isn’t manly to cry.
When I arrived at the home, I found the man in the backyard, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. We chatted a few moments as I searched for a tactful way to broach the painful subject of his son’s tragic death.
Suddenly he blurted out, “Tears are for the weak, preacher. I’m too hard and cold to cry. I’m like steel inside.”
That’s a pity,” I said. “And dangerous, too.”
“Why?” He asked.
“Because the only thing steel can do under stress is snap and break,” I said. “You may consider tears a sign of weakness, but they are really God’s therapy for a broken heart. On the other side of tears is God’s peace. Don’t be afraid to cry.”
He brushed off my advice. Two days later he put a .357 Magnum in his mouth and blew the top of his head off. He couldn’t bend like a supple tree planted beside rivers of living water. He could only snap under the pressure.
Happy are those who mourn, who can weep like a child, sob it out in their private Gethsemane and later find relief in the rich laughter of heavenly consolation. They shall be comforted indeed.
Source: Being Happy in an Unhappy World
Daily Living
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