When Tears Become Prayer

F

irst Point: Tears

Scientifically, tears come in three kinds. Emotional tears—our tears of joy and sadness. Basal tears—those tiny drops that keep our eyes moist. Reflex tears—those automatic floods that wash out dust and irritation. Emotional tears are unique. They carry natural painkillers. They rise when the body is under stress. No wonder a good cry can make us feel lighter.

Crying with someone, however, is debated. Some say: Don’t cry with a client or patient. It might cloud your judgment. It might pull you too close. But tears are deeply social. They signal: Something is wrong. They call for help without a single word. And when people respond, relationships deepen. Communities strengthen. Psychologists who research adult crying say this plainly: Tears open the heart. Not when they focus on the self, but when they help us enter another’s pain. Tears teach compassion. Tears reveal what analysis cannot. Tears move us—to tenderness, to understanding, to love in action.

And then, there are the tears that change us.

I remember people who, after a moment of deep prayer—after truly encountering Jesus—began to weep with repentance, with love, or with gratitude. These tears softened their hearts. They cleared their vision. They helped them see life more truthfully, more lovingly. No wonder St Ignatius, in the Discernment of Spirits, speaks beautifully about tears as a gift. He says that tears can be a form of consolation when they lead us to love God—whether they spring from sorrow for sin, from meditating on Christ’s suffering, or from anything that draws us closer to God’s praise and service.

Second Point: Dominus Flevit — “The Lord Wept”

When Jesus wept over Jerusalem, it was not His first time shedding tears. Tears are part of being human—woven into our very design. Even as helpless infants, our bodies were made so that a simple squeeze of the eye muscle could trigger tears, calling for help and connection. Other newborn animals can walk within hours, but human babies cry to survive. And unlike animals, adults continue to shed emotional tears, which helps them remain human.

If that is true for us, it was true for Jesus. Fully human, He must have cried before—at loss, at longing, in prayer, or in quiet compassion.

So when He stood on the Mount of Olives and wept, those were not isolated tears. They were the overflowing of a heart that had cried with humanity many times before—a God who weeps with us and for us.

Third Point: From Jesus’ Tears to Our Own

“They do not love that do not show their love" (Shakespeare, The Two Gentlemen of Verona). When God said He loves us, he showed it visually when Jesus wept.

During our 8-day retreat in Jerusalem two years ago, our director didn’t begin with a scripture passage but with a place—the ancient stones of the city wall. “Pray with the geography,” he said. “See Jerusalem the way Jesus saw it.”

So I sat on one of those stones and, in prayer, found myself speaking to it. I felt a strange, holy envy. This stone had been there. It had silently witnessed Jesus’ presence. It had borne His weight. It had stood its ground when He looked at the city and wept. This stone witnessed the hour when He showed his love visually through tears.

And suddenly, my own tears came.

Why did I cry so suddenly? Perhaps it was godly sorrow. Perhaps it was that holy envy—wishing to be like that stone, that bears the memory of the Lord when He passed by.

Whatever it was, in that moment my tears became prayer. And I became my prayer. My tears became consolation. They became my own way of sharing, even briefly, in the Lord’s passion.

In that moment, I finally understood what Fr Richard Rohr meant.

Jesus accomplished more by acceptance than by action.

More by His Passion than by all His works.

He saved us not only by what He did,

but by what He allowed Himself to endure.

Not only by His miracles,

but by His surrender.

Not only by His words,

but by His willingness to enter our pain.

His greatest power was His openness.

His vulnerability.

His trust in the Father.

And I realized:

sometimes the deepest change in us happens the same way—

not through achievement,

but through letting God work in us when we are open and surrendered. Amen. Fr JM Manzano SJ