Tears, 23 of 40

So, Mary had to go to a funeral on Saturday in East St. Louis, and I had to work, so my mom came up to watch Henry. At first she was only going to come up Friday and leave Saturday, instead she decided to stay until today. This meant that mom was going to come to church with us and hear me give a sermon for the first time. Mom had only visited my church once before and it was on my Installation Service Sunday when my friend Marty preached. She had visited a few times before when I was at other churches, but never a Sunday when I was preaching. She seemed to be genuinely proud of me, so that was good.

Now, onto other things...

In the 2 hour car ride home the three of us talked about various things, one of which was crying. Mom told me that at my dad's funeral [I was 5] my uncle told me that if I wanted to cry I could, because real men do cry. I have no memory of my uncle telling me this, but it was a lesson that I seemed to get subconsciously. I have never been afraid to cry when I felt the need to do so. And I think that as I go along in life I definitely cry more than I used to. I mentioned in the car that when I came to college I could tell you that I had cried at exactly two movies: the Lion King and Untamed Heart.

Today I can barely remember the last five movies I cried at because it is no longer that big a deal for me to cry at movies. For instance I watched Rise of the Guardians last night and I ended up tearing up at one point, mind you this is an animated movie. I cry at movies all the time, when I was attending church as something other than a senior pastor I would tear up a lot during sermon illustrations. Almost anytime someone would tell a real story of people in pain the waterworks would begin. The same goes for when I read a real life story that involves pain or overcoming odds. I own a couple volumes of Chicken Soup for the Soul and I can barely get through a few pages before I am weeping.

Music can also move me to tears, especially more story-oriented songs, like Joshua Kadison's Paris:


Ezra was an old man
He lived by the sea.
Watchin' himself gettin' older,
With no Family.
And Cassie was a pretty one,
A bartender by trade.
She had a daughter with big green eyes,
She called her Jade.
They met each other in the park,
While Jade was on a swing.
On a bench underneath a tree,
They talked about everything.
And she said, Sometimes I get so scared,
But I don't know why.
She reached for the old man's hand,
and she began to cry.
And he said,

it ain't no crime,It ain't no crime...
Everybody gets a little bit lonely sometimes.
It ain't no crime, It ain't no crime...
Everybody gets a little bit lonely sometimes.

Then he said...
I was gonna be a painter,
gonna paint my masterpiece.
I spent my whole life dreamin',
now they're my only memories.
And I was gonna live in Paris, France
Now my body's fallin' apart.
I could be Pablo Picasso if dillusion were an art.
And she said,
"That sounds lovely...Paris, France
Just sayin' those words,
Kinda makes me wanna dance,
Do you wanna dance?"

It ain't no crime,It ain't no crime...
Everybody gets a little bit lonely sometimes.
It ain't no crime, It ain't no crime...
Everybody gets a little bit lonely sometimes.

They'd meet there every Sunday
In the park at noon.
Ezra would get there early
To buy Jade a red balloon.
And Cassie'd tell him all about
her awful luck with men.
She's say, "Wish I could find a guy like you
But they'll never make you again."
And Jade would fall asleep on Ezra's lap
there in the park.
While Cassie'd still be talkin' a long time after dark.

Everybody gets a little bit lonely sometimes.

One Sunday afternoon,
no Ezra, No red balloon.
Just a friend of his who said,
"Ezra Passed Away.
And he wanted me to bring this letter to you today."
Well it was 2 tickets to Paris and a note that read,
'Thank you for the dance...
My dearest Cassie,
you were my Paris, France.'

It ain't no crime, It ain't no crime...
Everybody gets a little bit lonely sometimes.

Every time Ezra dies I am in tears, the first time this happened I was driving a car around 75 mph, not the best time to be in uncontrollable tears.

My plan is to make sure that Henry knows that crying is not a sign of weakness, but that tears are instead a sign of compassion and connection. They are a sign that we are willing to share our emotions, as opposed to so many guys who always hold them in, and usually die of heart attacks. My hope is that one day Henry will be a compassionate caring man, one who can express his feelings and share them with other people. And maybe one day we can both sit around watching cartoons and crying when the good guy is finally seen as a good guy.

Peace and Love,
Pastor K