Blessed Are Those Who Mourn by iyree jarrett

May we let go of
polished prayers
and held-back tears,
of grief tucked
behind practiced worship,
of sorrow hidden
beneath hallelujahs.

May our bodies remember
what our minds
so often forget:
that we do not have
to hold ourselves together
to be held.

When shoulders begin to shake,
when breath catches in our chests,
when loss becomes too heavy to carry,
when runny noses
replace composed smiles,
when all that remains
is silence—
may we remember:

Blessed are those
whose bodies
finally stop pretending,

blessed are trembling hands,

blessed are those who fall,

blessed are ugly cries,

blessed are wet shoulders,

blessed are those
who discover
that God's embrace
is stronger
than their composure.

May every tear
be a baptism—
not washing grief away,
but immersing us
in a love
strong enough
to hold it.

May we remember
the woman who had no sermon,
only tears enough to wash his feet.

May we remember
that even the son of God
did not hide his anguish,
but let sorrow
have a voice.

How incarnational,
that God
would take on flesh
capable of weeping,
of mourning injustice.

May we remember
that the Holy One
has shoulders
strong enough
for our breaking.

May we remember
that the Holy One
breaks with us,
and that God
has never asked us
to apologize
for getting their shirt wet.

May we remember
that God has never confused
our masks
for our faces,

that they have always loved
the trembling soul
beneath them.

Remind us, oh God,
that love
does not flinch
when our hearts
finally tell the truth.

Blessed are those
who mourn.

for here,
between the sob
and the silence,
God weeps with us.