The Power of Tears and Travail in Prayer
By Joyce Godsen
I remember hearing, as a child, a popular old ballad with the adamant advice never to cry out loud, always keep everything inside, and be sure to hide your feelings. This trendy philosophy, combined with my family upbringing, produced in me the stoic ideals of composure and levelheadedness in all situations and circumstances.
Both of my parents were medical professionals: my father, an obstetrician/gynecologist, and my mother, a Ph.D. social worker and psychotherapist. I watched as my mother and father were called into work at all hours to meet needs and save the lives of many people in crisis. My parents’ voices of calmness and reason helped others through turmoil and pain.
Their professional poise and composure carried over into our home life and transferred readily to my sisters and me. We were not people of drama. Our family’s attention and interests focused on serving others—from an objective viewpoint—during their traumatic situations.
So I developed a “we haven’t got time for the pain” mindset.
Keep It in Check
I had very little understanding of what it meant to endure sorrow and suffering as a Christian. It’s not that we were immune to troubles and problems; on the contrary, we suffered more than our fair share of injustices and tragedies. The way my family handled these things, however, made me question the value of weeping and tears. I did not learn how to endure hardship as a spiritual discipline and had no time for weeping and mourning in travail with Christ.
I often heard, “You’re not going to change anything by crying.” My father’s typical response was, “Stay calm. Be logical.” My mother’s was, “Be still. Trust God.” Out of this, I developed my own coping mechanism: “Detach. Shut down all emotion. Keep a stiff upper lip. Move on.” Unfortunately, this approach offered little logic and produced even less trust in God.
I learned how to go through life’s hard experiences objectively, realizing we live in a sinful, broken, and fallen world. I could handle pain—or so I thought—until my mother died in my early adulthood. If there was ever an occasion to cry, it would have been when my mother’s life was taken by a medical error in the hospital. But I had too much training that told me, “Be stoic. Be brave. Look for the silver lining behind every dark cloud.”
I could thank the Lord that my mother was with Him in heaven and no longer suffering in the hospital. But at first it was very difficult—scary even—to shed tears for my own grief and loss.
Turning Point of Tears
During the week following my mother’s death, the details of funeral planning provided a measure of distraction that seemed to bring some comfort. I was busy, detached, and thought I would just keep moving on.
But the Holy Spirit began to work within me and prepared me for a turning point. The Lord was not going to allow me to continue living apart from Him anymore. I had put my faith in Jesus as a child, but until my mother died, I only knew how to live my life from my head. I knew I loved Jesus, but this knowledge had very little connection with this Lord living in my heart. I had very little head and heart connection in general. I could pray for others but not for myself.
Why not? I wondered.
I did not know what I needed. I did not know how I felt. In my efforts to detach from pain and suffering by being a so-called “productive person” in the professional world, I had become too focused on others at the expense of my own personal relationship with God. Something had to change.
It happened the very moment I began talking with God about my mother’s death. I felt a burst of heat radiate within my chest. I could not stifle or control the sensation. It spread upward through my throat and pushed its way forcefully out of my mouth. I cried, then sobbed, and tears began to flow.
As I prayed and gave voice to my pain, grief, and sorrow, God began showing me a new way to face trials. He wanted me to cultivate a different mindset as I learned how to pray for His will and His Kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven. During that time, the Lord showed me clearly that there is a beautiful, powerful, meaningful place for weeping in our prayers.
Invitation to Travail
Scripture invites us to “cry out loud” before our heavenly Father as Jesus did. The shortest verse in the Bible (John 11:35) confirms it: “Jesus wept.” In that moment, before the miracle of Lazarus’s resurrection, the perfect Son of God experienced travail.
What is travail? The dictionary gives us some definitions:
1. Painfully difficult or burdensome work 2. Pain, anguish, or suffering resulting from mental or physical hardship 3. To suffer the pangs of childbirth 4. To toil or exert oneself.
Jesus told His disciples that going through travail produces great blessing, just as the pain of labor during childbirth yields to great joy:
“Very truly I tell you, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world. So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy” (John 16:20–22).
Jesus spoke these words about grief and joy as He faced the reality of His upcoming crucifixion. Was He saying these things also as a comfort and reminder for Himself? While we may never know the answer, I find it interesting that Jesus taught His disciples about the ways anguish and travail produce great joy—directly before He went through His own unfathomable suffering.
This truth continues to be important for followers of Christ today because it can mean the difference between a hopeless, powerless, stoic prayer life and the effectual, fervent prayer of the righteous that produces great change, makes an impact, and brings blessing out of otherwise “lost” situations.
Joy Comes in the Morning
We see this principle again in Jesus’ prayers in Gethsemane: “He began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, ‘My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death’” (Matt. 26:37–38). Throughout this passage, we witness Christ’s travail—the toil and exertion of strength He employed to submit to the will of the Father.
In Jesus’ humanity, He surely wanted to avoid such a horrible death—as any of us would (see v. 39). He knew, however, that out of His suffering, something magnificent would be born. Out of His death would come life more abundant. By His wounds, humanity would be healed. Weeping would endure for a night, but joy would come in the morning (see Ps. 30:5). Scripture had foretold it. He knew all would be well.
Yet in the hours that preceded His death on the cross, Jesus connected with the gravity of the moment, as He did when Lazarus died—mourning, weeping, holding nothing back.
As Christ’s disciples, we will have days when we too will suffer. He taught us, “‘A servant is not greater than his master.’ If they persecuted me, they will persecute you also” (John 15:20).
Too often, however, when problems and trials arise, we quickly take action, attempting to remedy the situation in our own human strength and by our own means. As problem solvers and prayer warriors we may occasionally forget that the will of God involves momentary suffering and persecution.
Instead of embracing our cross, we may want to fight it or flee from it or subtly sidestep it if we can. We may even employ our faith to totally deny our suffering.
We know that God’s will is to bring us through trials and make us overcomers. So rather than giving ourselves permission to weep and mourn, we bypass that step. We hold back our tears and resolve to move forward with praise and thanksgiving in anticipation of our victory.
Importance of Tears
In the years following my mother’s death, I have grown closer to Christ and have learned from Him more about the importance of allowing my tears to flow during prayer. He doesn’t demand me to be a “happy little camper” all the time when I talk to Him. That was not the example He left us.
Jesus wept. And when He did, He wasn’t “having a nervous breakdown,” as stoics might believe. On the contrary, He was revealing a secret. He showed us how to be more intimate and real with God. David knew this secret: “My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise” (Ps. 51:17). Weeping plays a powerful role in intercession, too, as we connect with the Father’s heart.
Contrary to that song from my childhood, our God not only gives us permission to “cry out loud”—He invites us to do it, to cry out loud to Him. In this vulnerable intimacy with Him, He can comfort us, remind us that He is with us, and assure us that He is working within us. He is giving birth to something wonderful and new.
JOYCE GODSEN was raised in New York City, and by age 15 was playing violin in the New York Youth Symphony. In 2009 she moved to Iowa, where she teaches, writes, and ministers in song by performing in churches, bars, and coffee shops.
