All Saints: Tuesday's Reflection

I'm a crier.

Actually, let's be honest, I'm a weeper.
Tears gather in the corner of my eyes easily, and it is not uncommon for me to feel a tear or two or three drift down my cheeks.

Sunday was All Saints Sunday in which the names of those members and friends of our congregation who have died during the past year are read, and candles on the baptismal font burn in loving remembrance of their lives. Also a Book of Saints, in which names added by congregants in recent weeks, was carried to the font, and during the service worshippers were invited to light a candle to honor loved ones. 

As worshippers moved from their pews to candles scattered throughout the sanctuary, the rest of the congregation chanted,
            Give rest unto your servants with your saints O God
            give rest, give rest where there is neither pain or
            sorrow, neither sighing, but life everlasting. 
            
I had added names to the Book of Saints, and I lit a candle in their honor and in honor of those who are in deep grief. 

I cried.
I wept.
I struggled to sing.

Not only did I acknowledge the loss and sadness I felt, but I imagined some of the losses ahead of me. Chances are for as long as I live, I will add names each year to the Book of Saints. I will light candles, and I will cry.  

I looked around the sanctuary and knew in my heart that each person there has known loss or if not yet, will know loss in the future. I offer my tears of compassion, of connection, of recognition to them. 

And some day, too, my name will be in the Book of Saints.


Because we love, we also cry. We may even weep.

                           For those
                   who walked with us,
                       this is a prayer.

                            For those
                    who have gone ahead,
                         this is a blessing.

                            For those 
                who have touched and tended us,
                      who lingered with us
                           while they lived,
                     this is a thanksgiving.

                            For those
                     who journey still with us
                 in the shadows of awareness
                   in the crevices of memory,
                 in the landscapes of our dreams,
                      this is a benediction.
                                            Jan Richardson

An Invitation
For whom do you cry today? I would love to know. 

An earlier post about tears: Vintage Handkerchiefs