Weeping in Westminster

I was sobbing like a school girl.

Rewind approximately 30 minutes.

"Well, we're right here. We might as well start with Westminster Abbey," my family said. I could see the Westminster Chimes towering above us only a short distance away.

"Westminster Abbey?" I thought to myself. "Why do we want to spend the next few hours walking around some old church when the Westminster Chimes and all of London is waiting for us?"

Knowing I was outvoted, I grudgingly paid for the tickets to trudge around a church for the next few hours.

"Tickets... to go into a church?" I muttered to myself. "And you can't even take pictures in it!"

As I stepped through the door, I was seized by the same awesome wonderment that Lucy must have felt when she walked into the wardrobe and found herself in the Land of Narnia.

The first thing I noticed were beautiful marble statues all around me and an austerity I have never sensed in my entire life. All around were tombs and crypts of some of the most famous people in history - Henry the Eighth - Catherine the Great - David Livingston - William Wilberforce...

Quiet, somber reflection was evident among the people who had entered the Abbey with me.

Stepping into a large chamber, I glanced up and was awestruck as I noticed the tomb of George Fredrick Handel, with the words, "For I know that my Redeemer liveth," from Job 19:25 adorning it.

I had just completed writing a number of Christian songs earlier in the year, and in that moment, was suddenly in the presence of the remains of the man who wrote the Queen Mother of all worship tunes... "The Hallelujah Chorus."

I cry, maybe, once every two years. And I'm usually alone when I do it.

But this day, the tears began to flow. I couldn't stop them. It was embarrassing. I tried to hide my sobbing, wiping the tears with my hands. But they just kept flowing. And then my family noticed them.

"Dad, there's a little chapel back there where you can go and pray," my oldest daughter said.

"Thank you!" I whispered as I ran for the door, blubbering like a fool. Fortunately, the little chapel was empty. I closed the door and sat down, praying and thanking God for allowing me to be on this trip and to be able to give homage to such a great composer. I sat for at least 20 minutes, pouring out a plethora of pent-up emotion. It was an experience that etched God's love and care deep into my soul.

I later learned that Handel, who had cloistered himself in his room during the writing of "The Messiah", was sobbing just like I had been after he finished the "Hallelujah Chorus." A concerned friend had forced his way into his chamber, only to hear him say, "I do believe I have seen all of heaven before me... and the great God Himself."

I said all that to say this - why is it embarrassing for men to cry? Why do we keep our emotions buried so deep within our souls?

Yes, there are men who can cry freely, but they are the exception. Not the rule.

The shortest, and probably most poignant verse in the Bible is composed of two simple words... "Jesus wept." (John 11:35).

One of the most powerful but subtle scenes in the movie, "The Passion of the Christ," is when Christ dies on the cross... and the scene shifts to directly above the cross. Rain drops are falling. And suddenly, the camera starts to blur... and a drop forms and falls directly onto the cross. I pondered this while watching it, and realized that we were suddenly looking from God's perspective at what had just happened - and a tear formed in his eye and was shed.

So, do you cry? And what makes you cry? Is it easy for you to express your emotions? If not, why?

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