A Grown Man Cries

Sometimes it’s uncomfortable to watch someone cry. For me, this is especially true when it’s someone I love, like a family member. As a man who has no qualms about showing this vulnerability, this access to what moves me deeply, I don’t recoil at the sight of another man crying. Yesterday I was fascinated as a handsome fortyish man quietly wept while the choir sang Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring”. Sure, I could have forced myself to look away, to allow him the privacy we all hold rights to. I did off and on over a period of a few minutes, but I couldn’t stop looking at this guy, nattily dressed in khakis, an open dress shirt and a wool plaid jacket, visiting from out of town and in the company of his dad and his dad’s female companion. I speculated that perhaps he was crying in memory of his mother or that he was going through a painful separation from his own wife and children. It never entered my mind that he might be crying over a man. And now I chuckle as I remember the way he cocked his arm tough-guy style to shake my hand during the exchange of the Peace. “God’s peace,” I usually say. I don’t recall if he uttered any words or not. I do remember his smile, and I wonder if he was aware that I couldn’t really, completely look away while he wept. His own dad had noticed his weeping son, nudged his female companion to call her attention to this touching episode in someone’s life, and finally retrieved his own handkerchief to wipe wetted eyes.

A Grown Man Cries—Santa Fe, New Mexico (October 27, 2008)
R. Harold Hollis

Jesu, joy of man's desiring,
Holy Wisdom, Love most bright;
Drawn by Thee, our souls, aspiring,
Soar to uncreated light.
Word of God, our flesh that fashion'd,
With the fire of life impassion'd,
Striving still to truth unknown,
Soaring, dying, round Thy throne.

Through the way where hope is guiding,
Hark, what peaceful music rings!
Where the flock, in Thee confiding,
Drink of joy from deathless springs.
Theirs is beauty's fairest pleasure;
Theirs is wisdom's holiest treasure.
Thou dost ever lead Thine own
In the love of joys unknown.