Raise your hand if you’ve ever cried at Mass.

I don’t know for certain, but I get the sense this is a very common thing.

To be honest, I’m not sure why Mass is often so tear-inducing.

Sometimes it’s a manifestation of Jesus healing something deep within us, and your body manifests this in tears. Sometimes when you feel his presence that’s all you can do. A nun once told me that this is called the gift of tears, but I might not be remembering that correctly.

Other times, though, those tears aren’t about the beauty and the glory of God- not in the obvious sense, anyways.

Sometimes, they’re about pain.

Whenever one is dealing with grief (whether it’s infertility, a painful diagnosis, a death, etc.), it’s common knowledge that one of the absolute most painful places to be is at Mass, particularly on a Sunday.

Why is this?

God is Truth. And when you’re right there in the presence of absolute Truth, you can’t hide your wounds. You can’t cover them up and lie about them to yourself, and certainly not to Him. He brings all things into the light.

And when those wounds (loss, jealousy, confusion, a lack of faith, whatever it is) are exposed like this – it hurts. And it doesn’t take much to send you over the edge into full-blown sobbing.

The priest says something that makes zero sense to you in your situation. You hear a little one scream in the back. You notice a family with living children. Or you see an engaged couple when you’ve been praying for a spouse for years – and your heart just cannot bear it.

“God bless them,” you think. You wish them nothing but the best. But seeing them makes even more obvious the massive, throbbing wound in your own heart.

And you can literally feel the knife in your chest.

What, then, are you to do – besides pray like heck that no one notices your uncontrollable tears?

Trust me – it’s not fun (especially when you’re the cantor and you’re desperately trying to clean your face up before standing in front of EVERYONE and announcing the next hymn).

We could go on and on about why you should or shouldn’t feel what you’re feeling, but that’s besides the point.

That pain is real. So let’s you and me get real for a minute.

The next time you feel that happening – whether you’re hit with a surprise infant baptism after the homily, or an unbearably adorable family of seven, or a little old lady who reminds you of your grandmother you lost long ago, here’s what you do:

Look at him.

As the tears are streaming down your face, look at him. Stare intently at the Eucharist, and as that knife is twisting it’s way into your heart, let yourself feel it. Try to accept that actual, in-the-moment pain and offer it in union with Our Lord’s suffering on the cross, and in reparations to his Sacred Heart.

I know it can sound overly pious, but in a practical setting this is the way you get through this. Acknowledge the real, physical pain of your grief, and try to think about how wounded his heart is, and keep each other company that way. Even to the point of picturing yourself on the cross with him.

I remember several years ago when I had it out with a priest on the phone for something that he did during Mass that really upset me, and I said, “I don’t come to Mass to be crucified.” But in the years after I had said that, I realized, well yes, I do. I mean Jesus sure does. And we’ve been given this amazing opportunity to join him there. Even if it doesn’t feel amazing in the moment.

And sometimes, when you’re looking at him in that way, through the pain of your own crucifixion, you’ll feel him looking back at you as he says, “This day, you will be with me in paradise.”



8 thoughts on “What to do when Mass hurts

  1. Not going to lie, not sure that this is what I want to hear, but I do think it is what I need to hear. This is tough. There are days that I just don’t want to go to Mass (and I’m so thankful that it is required!) but this is true, and I will remember it the next time that I’m leaving fingernail marks in my hands just trying to get to the end so that I can run out. I will also be thankful that it happens in the relative anonymity of the pews and not as a cantor!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi M! I hope this is helpful. One of the reasons I’ve found I love going to daily Mass these days is that it’s mostly just quiet adults by themselves minding their own business. I know that sounds weird but it gives me a chance to really love the Mass without being faced with the dreaded painful distractions (usually). Sending prayers! One of these days I’ll get out your way so we can have a drink. ❤


  2. I had gone many years without crying. Two months after my only daughter died – I still had not cried. Then two pews ahead of me somebody in a white suit sat down. This might sound strange but I am certain it was an angel. As soon as this angel leaned back in the pew and put his arm back I started crying like I had never cried before. The tears wouldn’t stop, and I was never so happy to be so sad! Those tears were a gift from God helping me grieve for the loss – it was love.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. This is beautiful. And I so miss the quiet of Daily Mass, somedays so fiercely.

    I don’t think this is an overly pious suggestion at all, either. A few years ago, gosh, probably 5 or 6 now, I was on retreat and a priest talked about the time of the offertory and what we are supposed to be doing then in offering up all of our stuff – the good and bad – to be sacrificed on the altar. It was a huge turning point for me. Some days it is SO hard to be honest with my offering, to let myself go to the place of pain, but on those days, I know it to be that much more necessary. To mystically place my suffering on the patten as it is handed to the priest and to unite my suffering to Christ’s on the cross, it makes all the difference.

    Thank you for sharing this!

    Liked by 1 person

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