Tired of My Tears

The other day I heard a heartbreaking story. Anthony Griffith, a stand-up comedian, was telling a group the story of what his life was like when he was breaking into show business in the early 1990s. It was recorded for a podcast called "The Moth," which gives people 12 minutes to share stories with a live audience. I listen to it every so often because I believe in the power of stories. Most of the stories are funny, poignant, forgettable, or just plain bad. There aren't many I'd recommend. But Anthony Griffith's story stopped me in my tracks.

As Griffith tells it, he was invited to go on the Johnny Carson show, which was the main way comics made it back in the day. For those too young to remember, Johnny Carson was the host of the Tonight Show before Jay Leno or Conan. Griffith got the call at about the same time that he got the news that his 2-year-old daughter's cancer had recurred. So there was the hook. Listening to his story now, I was following these two tracks - one the story of a young man finding success in a field he felt called to, and the other the story of the same man struggling to walk with his daughter through a battle with cancer.

He talked about the struggle to make people laugh when all he wanted to do was cry. He talked about his managers who were telling him his humor was getting too dark. He talked about his daughter's failing health and worsening diagnosis. He talked about watching her small body struggle with chemotherapy. Finally he talked about her death.

It was the first time he had told the story publicly and his voice cracked several times. He broke down in tears. He said, "I had a plan to teach her to drive. I had a plan to send her to college. I had a plan to walk her down the aisle at her wedding. I didn't have a plan for this."

He consoled himself with a figure from the movies, Denzel Washington's police trainer in the movie Training Day. He heard Denzel's voice telling him, "Man up...You think you the only one losing kids, today? 25 kids walked in this cancer ward, only 5 walking out. This ain't no sitcom. It don't all wrap up all nice and tidy in 30 minutes. This is life. Welcome to the real world."*

It was a heartbreaking story. Well told, as if that matters. All it meant was that Anthony Griffith's ability to communicate meant we could feel his anger, his tears, and his pain even better. It was a heartbreaking story. And I believe in the power of stories.

Jesus stands face to face with Martha in the roadway to his friend Lazarus' tomb. Her sister Mary is the one who falls at his feet. Mary is the one who sat at Jesus' feet to listen as he talked. Mary is the one who anointed his head and wiped his feet dry with her hair. Martha stares him down.

"Lord, if you had been here...if you had been here, my brother would not have died." She struggles to keep it under control. She fights down her disappointment. (He waited two days more to come when he heard of Lazarus' sickness!) She fights down her pain. Fights back the tears. Holds on to the hope beyond hope. "Even now I I know that God will give you whatever you ask." Her brother may be dead, but she will still allow that Jesus may be the one. But still her brother will be dead.

"Your brother will rise again," Jesus says.

"I know. I know. At the resurrection. At the end of all things."

"Martha. I am the resurrection. I am the life. If a person believes in me, that person will live. And everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"

We hear echoes as he talks. Jesus saying to a Samaritan woman, "I will give you water that will never run out." Jesus saying to a blind man, "I am the light of the world." Jesus saying to Nicodemus, "You can be, you must be, born anew."

It seems a cruel thing to say to Martha. She is standing in the road. Dust swirling. Mourners wailing. A grieving sister in the house. A dead brother in the tomb. Shouldn't Jesus be telling her something like Denzel? "Get yourself together woman! You think you're the only one losing someone today? This ain't no fantasy. This is real life. Welcome to the real world." But he doesn't say that. And she doesn't protest. She confesses. "Yes. I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God." And she goes to get Mary.

Mary is the emotional one. She runs out of the house and the mourners follow her thinking she is off to the tomb to weep and she might need some help from their culturally appropriate, manufactured tears. But Mary doesn't go to the tomb. She goes to Jesus. And falls at his feet.

"Lord, if you had been here...if you had only been here." The story has not changed. The tears testify to the pain that will not go away, even in the presence of the Messiah.

"Where have you laid him?" The text says anger was rising in Jesus' spirit and he was troubled in himself.

"Come and see," they said. The same thing Philip, Jesus' disciple, had said to Nathaniel when he was telling him about Jesus. Nathaniel had asked, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?" and Philip replied, "Come and see."

Come and see this body. Come and see the death. Come and see where all our fantasies bump up against the real world. This is the real world, Jesus.

And Jesus wept.

This is the point where I wept with Anthony Griffith, too. I've been there all too often with people whose faith has gone off a cliff. I've been there in the back of an ambulance to tell a couple that the children they fought to get out of a burning house have died. I've been there when marriages have failed. When the diagnosis is bad. When the job is lost. When the boyfriend bails. And what does God give us for times like these but tears?

Yesterday, I posted the topic for today's sermon on Facebook with the question: What makes you want to cry? And people posted replies. What makes me want to cry? People being hungry and not being able to feed their children. Congress. My friend's baby dying. Hatred, violence and suffering..especially the suffering of children. The New York Mets.

We are tired of our tears.

And the answer Denzel gives is to "Man up. This is the real world." That's not what I want to tell Anthony Griffith. I want to tell him that, yes, the pain is real. Yes, the suffering is real. Yes, the death is real. But that is not nearly enough to tell the story of this world.

If death is all there is to the real world then every story is a tragedy. Every tale I tell will end in woe. Every tear I shed is a wasted sign of a world with no God.

But that's not what our tears are and that's not what this world is. Those tears are for a broken world that hasn't yet reached the end of its long road. Those tears are prayers for God to break in on this world. Come, Lord Jesus, and stand before my tomb and let something happen.

I want to tell Anthony Griffith. Man up? Yes, the man is up. And the man is not going to tell you that your pain doesn't matter just because its mixed with the pain of a million others. The man is not going to say, "Stuff happens" and that's the end of it. The man is going to stand in front of the tomb and say, "Take off that stone."

The people will protest. "Lord, think of the stench."

"Take off that stone."

"He's been in there for four days."

"Lift off that stone."

They will lift off that stone. They will expect the worst. They will not expect life. They will not know what to do with it. They will not know how to handle it. They will not know what Jesus is saying when he says,

"Didn't I tell you that you would see the glory of God if you believe?"

They will not know what to think when he calls out in a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out!"

They will not know who they are when they hear a rustling in the dark. They will not know where to run when they hear a shuffling in the tomb. They will not know what the world is coming to when a dead man sheds his wraps and walks once more.

I would weep with Anthony Griffith. I would not know what words could touch the pain. But eventually I would say that someone is standing outside his tomb. I would say to you, "Someone is standing outside your tomb." You know what it is. You know the places where you think even God can't go. You know the stones that seal those places off.

And you know who says to you, "Lift off that stone." You know who says to you, "Come out of that tomb." The man is up and he's waiting for you to meet the real world...the real world where saviors weep over the pain of the world and then say, "Wait, there's more."

I believe in the power of stories. Especially I believe in the gospel story. Because it shows that love wins the day. Death is defeated and God is here to stay. Thanks be to God.

*"Anthony Griffith: The Best of Times, The Worst of Times," www.themoth.org/podcast. Accessed April 9, 2011.