God's Tears II

A couple of days ago, a conversation led me to reflect on rain as the tears of God. A friend said that his mother had told him the rain is God's tears.

I took the approach of God weeping over the pain we inflict on each other - the ways we hurt one another - the damage we do. The ways we treat each other certainly grieves God sorely. Indeed, it seems that God could weep eternally over ways we violate God's children. Sorrow, pain, grief, rage, all produce tears.

In response to my reflection, my friend Grace posed a simple question: "Are there ever tears of joy?"

I suspect that the events I was dealing with last week narrowed my vision and limited my thinking. Many things touch our hearts, minds, spirits, souls. The beauty of the world may make us weep. The wonder of love may cause us to cry. Amazing grace, incredible courage, profound sacrifice, all may elicit tears.

Tears of joy? Absolutely. Every day. Thanks be to God.

See you along the Trail.

Surprise is

Surfing through images,
electronically stored on my computer,
an image -
slightly more than a year old -
of a friend whose song ended too soon,
surprised me.

Sadness tugged my heart,
sorrow filled me;
thanksgiving surged,
gratitude flowed;
a tear and smile
as feelings and memories intermingled,
contradicting,
enhancing,
playing off each other.

Surprise is hard.
Surprise is good.
Surprise is life.


12 August 2011
Cleveland Heights, OH
with thanks to Kathy Lueckert

Watch, pray and weep

We watch,
we pray,
we weep.

As blood flows,
society implodes,
agony unfolds,
and the pile of corpses grows.

We watch,
we pray,
we weep.

We call the international community
to move
to intervene.

We watch,
we pray,
we weep.

We give to humanitarian causes
who raise the alarm
and count the bodies.

We watch,
we pray,
we weep.

It is not enough
never is it enough,
but it is all we have,

So though our
heart breaks,
our spirits recoil,
our stomachs retch,
we turn not away.

We watch,
pray,
and weep.

16 June 2011
Shire on the Hudson
As reports of violence in Sudan mount

Tears remain

Be careful.

Keep safe.
Don’t get into trouble.
If trouble comes looking for you . . .
run!

So they told him -

those who loved him,
who heard his first cries,
who held him at his birth,
those who would protect him

from a world in which children
die too soon

so often
that no tears remain to shed for them.

Be careful.

Keep safe.
Don’t get into trouble.

If trouble comes looking for you . . .
run!

He heard their words

and learned them well.
When gunshots

tore the silence
of the street where he played,
he ran.

For cover he ran;
for safety he ran;
for his very life he ran.

Following the sidewalk;

cutting through the grass;
leaping up the steps, he ran -
his heart racing
faster than his feet.

Sprinting across the porch;

throwing open the door;
stumbling through the doorstep, he ran -
entering what should have been the safety
of his own home.

Filled with fear

and their words, he ran still -
his fingers touched the bannister
as he began to mount the stairs
that led to his room.

Suddenly the wall beside him exploded -

a chunk of hot lead
ripping through vinyl siding,
spraying drywall,
violating his body,
tearing life from him.

Be careful.

Keep safe.
Don’t get into trouble.
If trouble comes looking for you . . .

run!

So they told him -

those who loved him,
who heard his final gasps,
who held him as his lifeblood pooled around him
those who tried, but could not protect him
from a world in which children
die too soon
so often
yet still tears remain to shed for them. 

15 August 2001

Cleveland Heights, Ohio