Why Are There Tears in Heaven?

“And He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” (Rev 21:4, NIV)

I’ve always wondered why there would be tears in heaven. The only reason I could imagine, amidst what I believe will be unimaginable beauty and celebration, was that someone I loved on earth wasn’t there.

But now I have new reasons. I recently participated in the Why Christian 2015 conference. This event, organized by recognized authors and speakers Nadia Bolz-Weber and Rachel Held Evans, brought 1,000 men and women to listen and respond to this question: Why, in the wake of centuries of corruption, hypocrisy, crusades, televangelists, and puppet ministries do we continue to follow Jesus? Why, amidst all the challenges and disappointments, do we still have skin in the game? And while that event gave me too much to ponder to summarize in one column, it did give me three reasons for tears in heaven.

First, the event was held in the historic St. Mark’s Episcopal Cathedral in Minneapolis. Built in 1858, this beautiful, traditional church contained stained glass windows, stone carvings, pews, prayer rooms, and a library rich with wood carvings and filled with books. Where did we lose the idea that a church should reflect the awesome majesty of the glory of God. Moses instructed the people in how to build a temple that was an earthly copy of a divine reality (Exodus 25:8-9, 40). The sight of this lovely church brought tears to my eyes, for it had a voice, everywhere I looked it spoke of the majesty and beauty of God. I don’t see or hear God in modern churches that have substituted gyms for sanctuaries, and where I worship in a movie-style auditorium. Those buildings have never brought me to tears, probably because they speak to me of a mall, of entertainment, but not of God’s overwhelming awe and beauty.

Second, the liturgy of each morning’s matins and the closing communion service declared our core experience as God’s people, united not just in that room, but with crowds of saints before us. Psalms, prayers for the church and the people of the Lord, confession, absolution, and the proclamation of forgiveness brought me to tears. Similarly, the music spoke to the shared themes across centuries of redemption, salvation, abundance, and love. As Amazing Grace and How Great thou Art swelled with 1,000 voices, tears flowed. Perhaps the tears in heaven will be from the shared communion of worship, a tradition often lost in today’s focus on the individual.

Last, and most movingly, the speakers were storytellers. Their stories were not about prosperity nor success. Rather, their stories were about those of us on the margin. Fellow Christians marginalized because of their sexual orientation, their poverty, their color, their brokenness. Nicole Flores, assistant professor of religious studies at the University of Virginia, spoke of her internship among people whose immigration status prevented them from basic human dignities. They worked as field laborers at below-poverty wages, and in conditions that would horrify us privileged folk who do not realize that a lovely fresh tomato on our hamburger might represent participation in the abuse of fellow Christians. The Gospel illuminates a claim to human dignity. God called us to freedom in Christ. We who call ourselves Christian, created in God’s image, must speak to society of the sins of personal and systemic corruption and commit ourselves to personal action regarding the same.

And we must also advocate to allow the voices of those who have been silenced by the same societal oppression: women, gay, lesbian, bi-sexual, queer, and transgender people. Those voices were also represented among the speakers who spoke so movingly of having their membership among the followers of Christ challenged, denied, and refused. Pastor Emily Scott, of St. Lydia’s Dinner Church in Brooklyn, began life as a proficient trombonist, but eventually her voice withered in the compression of classical music training. She was just too — too emotional, too much voice where musical machinery was required. But her playing of Amazing Grace brought tears to the congregation, tears that this beautiful voice had been silenced because it didn’t “conform,” it didn’t “fit,” and therefore it wasn’t allowed to speak truth and beauty. But now it was. And that voice of music brought tears.

Perhaps that will be the most profound reason for tears in heaven. Jesus was clear on many occasions, particularly His opening “campaign speech:” “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners… to comfort all who mourn…” (Isaiah 61: 1-3).

Jesus spoke against the conventional wisdom of his day (and unfortunately of our day as well), that those with good fortune in life have received God’s blessings while those who suffer are receiving the well-deserved outcome of their actions. In the New Testament, Jesus repeatedly testified to the reversal of this belief: that He was here for the prostitute, the tax collector, the sinner, the last.

Maybe in heaven, that same truth will apply, and the stories we hear first will be from those who spent their lives on earth being last, being oppressed, being hungry, being persecuted. Those stories will bring us to tears, for they will not just speak, they will shout to our failure to carry out the mandate of embracing God’s will for justice on earth. But God will wipe away those tears from our eyes, one more instance of amazing grace for us who do not, and never will, deserve His favor.

About Betsy Altmaier
Elizabeth (Betsy) Altmaier is a psychologist whose academic work focused on issues related to overcoming life-threatening and traumatic circumstances. As a researcher, therapist, educator, and clinical supervisor, Betsy was deeply influenced by her own life difficulties, as she experienced childhood abuse. She is the author of the forthcoming Push Back the Dark: Companioning Adults Sexually Abused as Children (Wipf and Stock) and the editor of the forthcoming Reconstructing Meaning after Trauma (Elsevier). Her website is elizabethaltmaier.com.