Tears are a sign that God is touching our centre

Praying isn’t always pretty and it’s often mixed with tears, says Duncan Clark

I entered the room, uncertain as to what would happen next. I have spent the majority of my life in churchy-type meetings and so I usually have a pretty good idea who will say and do what. I know that even non-liturgical churches actually have a liturgy. It’s not written down, but there is one. I know what to expect. But this felt different.

For a few days I had joined a community that has a rhythm of prayer. Three times each day its members pause to pray. Following a set liturgy, they direct their hearts to God, and in the middle of the activities of their day they pause to remember that he’s there with them.

I walked into the room, and in contrast to my own church tradition which is often noisy and energetic, this room was still. It was no less engaging; it’s just that there was silence. Stillness.

And then it happened. The person leading the service welcomed everyone and invited all the people in the room to open their hands and hearts to God in prayer. Warm, heavy tears filled my eyes and uncontrollably rolled down my cheeks. No matter how hard I tried to stop them, they kept coming. I was in a room of random strangers, and I was weeping, quietly but uncontrollably.

To stop the tears, I tried to redirect my thoughts to anything else, other than what was happening in that room. Football. Food. Family. But the tears kept coming.

I tried to analyse what was occurring. I tried to make sense of it. I wasn’t sure if my emotions were responding to a release of stress, as I was having a temporary break away from my leadership responsibilities, or whether my heart was responding to the presence of God in a room where, over many years, thousands of people had prayed.

One thing I know is that my tears were my prayers.

In my desire to live deeply, I have tried to figure out how I can emulate the lifestyle of the psalmist King David who, when encircled by ungodliness in his enemies and his own nation, declared, “But I am in prayer,” (Psalm 109:4, AMP). In that pursuit of a deeper life I have grown to understand that prayer is less about spiritual discipline and more about spiritual desire. It is birthed and it flourishes from a heart that is moved. A heart that is soft. A heart that longs. A heart that knows how to cry.

I appreciate that this kind of prayer is offensive to the strategic part of our brains because so many of us are wired for activity and productivity, and our prayers so often reflect this. We pray with a list of requests. Requests that our lives will be more efficient and less complex; that we’ll have the strength to get the job done. But I’ve learned that the spiritual authority we need does not flow from activity but from intimacy. I’ve learned that before our prayers can affect the world around us, they must affect the world within us. Prayer flows from the heart. It flows from the depths. For me, when I’m most connected to the presence of God, it often starts with tears.

This isn’t a new concept. Many of the Bible’s heroes prayed with tears. It was totally understandable that Job, after all his pain and loss, would pray with weeping. “My eyes pour out tears to God,” (Job 16:20), he said with simple honesty.

Jeremiah’s form of prayer was no different. A man who was mocked , abused and laughed at by the people he loved and served couldn’t help but pray with a deep heartfelt passion for his nation. “Oh, that my head were a spring of water and my eyes a fountain of tears!” he said. “I would weep day and night for the slain of my people,” (Jeremiah 9:1).

Jesus also experienced the prayer of tears. Looking over the great city of Jerusalem that he loved, “he wept” (Luke 19:41). The tenderness of Jesus’ hear t meant that he would often offer up “prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears,” (Hebrews 5:7).

The source and the purpose of our tears can be varied. Tears can flow as a response to an inward godly sorrow, as a response to a “broken and contrite heart,” (Psalm 51:17). They can flow in repentance and remorse, as an act of holy mourning. I’ve found that they can flow as a simple response to the tangible presence of God.

As best as I can understand it, tears are a sign that God is touching our centre. It is one way that he helps our prayers descend from our minds into our hearts. It is one way that he helps us avoid praying prayers that are theologically correct but lack feeling or emotion. While the number of literal tears we shed is not important, what is important is that we are learning to pray heartfelt prayers f rom deep w it h i n, from a sorrowful, repentant, thankful or joyful heart.

Live Deeply by Duncan Clark is published by Instant Apostle (ISBN 9781912726790) and is available in Christian bookshops and from online sellers.

This article first appeared in Direction Magazine. For further details, please click here.

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