Grief Myth #5: Big Boys Don't Cry
by Peggy Haymes, Pinnacle Associate
When Brad Orsted left his healthy toddler at his mom’s house so that he and his wife could have some much needed time away, he had no idea that the next time he’d see his child would be at the hospital as a medical team tried to revive her lifeless body.
The police tried to piece together what had happened. Orsted was surrounded by family when he got the call from the detective saying that his mom kept changing her story. There were no other witnesses. The detective promised to keep working the case, but warned Orsted, “You need to prepare yourselves for the possibility that you might never know how Marley died.” I thanked Detective Rodd and hung up. As I relayed the message to everyone around the table, I started to cry. “Knock it off!” an elderly relative snapped at me. “Men don’t cry.” I looked at her husband, a World War II veteran. He shook his head in disgust at me. – (Brad Orsted, Through the Wilderness: My Journey of Redemption and Healing in the American Wild)
It’s a common myth that shows itself most clearly in times of grief. Big boys don't cry. Real men don't cry. In fact, in times of grief it’s not limited to men. Perhaps you've heard, as I have, the assessment of a family at their loved one’s funeral: They did so good. They didn't even cry.
You may have had people with whom you're sitting in your office or a hospital room apologize for their tears. “I’m sorry for crying.”
Tears, of course, are a natural response to loss. The psalmist wrote of God keeping our tears in a bottle (out of care and not out of condemnation.) Jesus wept by the tomb of his friend.
As leaders, we can help our church members move past this limiting narrative. Preaching on stories where God’s people (and God’s Son) wept becomes an opportunity to reclaim the natural response of our feelings. We can talk with our children and youth about our God-given feelings, and what we choose to do with them.
In Ken Medema’s song, If This Is Not a Place he sings, “If this is not a place where my tears are understood, then where can I go to cry?”
These kinds of conversations and this kind of modeling creates a community where our tears are understood and welcomed.
My father was a sniper in General Patton’s army in WWII. He never talked much about the war until the movie Saving Private Ryan came out, and then he shared a few stories, both through conversation and writing. He had a tender heart, and the job required of him weighed heavy on it. It was important for him to talk with his pastor.
I don't know what transpired because it’s none of my business to know. Here’s what I do know... my dad felt safe enough with his pastor that if he did begin to weep, he would not be told (explicitly or implicitly) to knock it off.
That meant everything.
Navigating GriefLand provides a space for people to honor all of their feelings, whether anger, sadness, relief, or nothing at all. We honor that there is no one right way to feel. Click here to find out how to offer a group in your church. Click HERE for more information.