When Tears Become Baptismal Waters

by Lori Wilson

As I prayed today, I was struck by many things. My heart is hurting for those in Texas who have lost children and family in the flood, my heart hurts for people who are pulled from their homes and families by ICE, my heart hurts for the violence that people in the Middle East have been living with war for centuries, it seems. Each of these griefs carries the weight of water - the tears of mothers, the overwhelming currents of displacement, the ancient wells of sorrow that run deeper than any of us can fathom.

And I am struck by water. Yes water. Water that we use for quenching our thirst, and cleaning, and helping things grow. And, it can soothe one's soul with its soft sound in rain or a gentle brook. Water that holds us in the womb before we're born, that calls us to rest beside still waters, that becomes the very blood in our veins. And water that can be destructive and destroy, and over time change the shape of rock, and quickly change the shape of the landscape. The same element that gives life can take it away—and perhaps this is why water is the perfect symbol for the sacred. It refuses to be tamed or fully understood, just like the mystery of our God, who suffers with us.

Baptism uses water - the power and the gentleness of water to bathe us in new life and bring us into a new family where we are supported and loved and have a home. In those baptismal waters, we are submerged into both death and resurrection. In a submersion baptism, we are held under for just a second, just long enough to taste our mortality before being lifted up, gasping and reborn. The water doesn't distinguish between our joys and sorrows - it baptizes us into both, reminding us that to be beloved is to share in the fullness of human experience. Baptism changes us; we are marked as beloved children of God, and we become part of a family. And that can never be changed—not by flood, deportation, war, or any force that tries to unmake what God has made.

When we weep for the world's suffering, our tears join the great river of compassion that flows through every generation. The same water that destroyed becomes the water that consecrates our grief, making it holy, making it prayer.

God, 

Be with all who are mourning the loss of loved ones. Comfort them and remind them they are part of a family that hurts with them. Be with those still hoping to find their loved ones, those whose tears feel endless as any flood. Help each of us find ways to comfort one another in times of pain, loss, and isolation - to be for one another both the gentle brook and the persistent rain that nourishes what seemed dead. Help us create the community, the family you envisioned we could be, flowing together like tributaries joining a great river, carrying one another toward the sea of your endless love. We pray in Jesus’ name.  Amen.

Reflection Questions:

1. When have you experienced water as both a blessing and a burden in your own life? How might those experiences help you sit with others in their contradictory griefs?

2. If your tears of sorrow for the world's suffering could join the baptismal waters, what would you want them to carry or wash clean?

3. How is God inviting you to be "water" for someone else right now - offering both the gentleness of comfort and the strength to help reshape what seems unchangeable?

4. In what ways do you sense the baptismal community holding you when the floodwaters of life feel overwhelming?