#metoo #shametoo #healingtoo


The Blog That Speaks: #metoo #shametoo #healingtoo

“You Jerk.”

The child stood, stunned in the neighbor’s kitchen. Shame . . . ugliness . . . loneliness . . . engulfed her. In an instant, her shame grew exponentially, thereby becoming the most exaggerated part of her being.

She was bad.

She had led him astray.

She was to blame.

Unable to reconcile the wound that had been created, she attempted to forget all that transpired by burying the sexually abused and shamed parts of her. Little did she know, it oozed from her in a myriad of other ways. It manifested most distinctively by emotionally-overreacting; by people-pleasing; and/or by becoming perfectionistic. These ways of being grew as they increasingly began to serve as her protectors[1] while masking her profound longings for connection, safety, and security—the parched needs within her.

It would not be until ten years later when she was in a better place to face the wound, which reappeared from the shadows, from the dark recesses of her mind. When it emerged, it played frame by frame like a movie before her mind’s eye. Her adult part stared in shock and disbelief at the identity of that little girl: She was that girl. Yet, shame soon grabbed the stage, front and center, with its shoulds and should nots.

She should have stopped it.

She should not have let it continue.

She was not good enough.

Trapped within the enclosed walls of shame, her world shrank. She had to be punished . . . her perpetrator had implied as much, hadn’t he? She was the bad one . . . her abuser had insinuated that she had caused him to sin. Thus, she took his evil act into herself. She bore it. She owned it. It became hers. As Bessel van der Kolk notes, “One of the hardest things for traumatized people is to confront their shame about the way they behaved during a traumatic episode, whether it is . . . warranted . . . or not.”[2]

Unknowingly, the girl was living and breathing an age-old story told to and about women: The woman causes the man to sin.

The responsibility of men’s sexual violent acts has been repeatedly placed at the feet of women. Such responsibility is heard in the variations of the phrase: She was asking for it . . . by the way she dressed . . . by being in that place . . . by not stopping him . . . by the way she walked. Most recently this type of argument was given as a reason to kill when Robert Aaron Long blamed women at massage parlors for his sex addiction.

This story of blame and shame is not new. Genesis records Adam exclaiming, as the juice from the fruit remained fresh on his lips, “It was the woman you gave me.” Mary Stewart van Leeuwen comments how the healthy bond and connections among humans have been severed since that time: the man by dominating in all his relationships, thereby giving up authentic relationality, and the woman by being socially enmeshed in her relationships by being pleasing, thereby giving up her dominion.[3] In short, God’s image is diminished in both.

Such dominating and pleasing in our human relationships point toward the pandemic of shame that has been unleashed upon humanity since Genesis 3.

It is our shame that reveals our fear of authenticity. Like Adam and Eve, we continue to cover ourselves, not with actual leaves, but metaphorical leaves. Leaves of status. Achievement. Rank. Beauty. Busyness. Like rats in a maze, we run here and there, desperately attempting to be and do enough.

Shame plays a central role in our fallen relationships. Simply consider this common exchange between individuals:

Person #1: “How are you?”

Person #2: “Busy.”

In this exchange, it is what is not stated that I find most revealing. After all, how many of us would dare to admit that we enjoy watching television with our spouse in the evenings? Instead, our not-enoughness takes the driver’s seat as our one-word response of “busy” strives to convince the other and ourselves that we are important enough . . . matter enough . . . good enough . . . through our active and full lives. In the process, we avoid authenticity as we strive to prove our worth through our busyness.

It is an ongoing search to be good enough, to find acceptance, to be embraced for who we are. But meanwhile, our human relationships suffer as they are permeated with ongoing veiled attempts to be enough by covering up our shame.

As a Christian, I realize that the church is not immune to the powerful pull of shame.

The church frequently utilizes tools of the systems of the world to gain power over the other, thereby indirectly revealing its own struggle to matter—to be good enough.

  • It emerges in a summons by Christians to use violence to assert their way of life.
  • It appears when we blame the Liberals . . . the Conservatives . . . the Asians or the _____.
  • It may be seen in calls by denominational leaders to be bigger and better than _____.
  • It is evident in stories of those who have experienced sexual violence by church leaders.

Shame divides, dominates, wounds, withdraws. It seeks power over to prove I am good enough. It pleases to be seen as good enough. It hides because it believes, “I am not good enough.” It is the silent killer of relationships. And each of us, knowingly or unknowingly, longs for a place that is free from the strangling grasp of shame’s tendrils.

Coming off the heels of the church’s celebration of Easter, I believe this place of freedom has birthed forth in our world. Luke 24 is one such post-resurrection passage that indicates the presence of the freedom from shame.

In this pericope, Luke narrates the story of two men walking along a road that leads away from Jerusalem, away from the community of the other disciples of Jesus, when they are joined by the resurrected Christ. The two men are unable to recognize this mysterious stranger, who surprisingly seems unaware of the most recent events that have transpired. I personally cannot help but smile to myself as I read of Jesus’ feigning ignorance. As the reader, I know that Jesus is more intimately aware of recent events than these men are. But his playing dumb provides him with an opportunity to enter into the two men’s sadness and confusion by way of listening to their story. It is only when they are finished that Jesus takes the time to broaden their perspective. He begins “with Moses and all the prophets” and interprets “to them the thing written about himself in all the scripture” (24:27).

As Jesus spoke, I wonder if there was something about Jesus that continued to draw them to him that day. What was it that caused the two men to urge Jesus to stay with them as the trio approached the village? Could part of the burning in their hearts (v. 32) be the presence of genuine fellowship, an absence of shame? Luke seems to implicitly state as much when he speaks of the moment that they recognized Jesus. As they sat down to eat and Jesus took the bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them, their eyes were opened (v. 31).

This expression calls to mind another time in Scripture when eyes were opened but with strikingly different results (thank you, Bob, for this insight). Genesis 3:7 records that after Adam and Eve ate of the fruit, their eyes were opened—they knew they were naked, causing them to cover themselves with fig leaves, a.k.a. shame.

This phrase “their eyes were opened” invites the reader to notice a powerful contrast between these two narratives:

  • In Genesis, shame oppresses; in Luke, freedom heals.
  • In Genesis, the image of God is broken; in Luke, the image of God is restored.
  • In Genesis, facades are built; in Luke, authenticity springs forth.
  • In Genesis, blame disconnects; in Luke, fellowship connects.
  • In Genesis, creation dies; in Luke, a new creation dawns.

Luke’s story, then, portrays that humanity finds freedom from shame at Jesus’ Table—the place of genuine fellowship. But all too frequently, our yearning to abolish shame appears in our constant striving to be the best, to be recognized, and to matter, all in the hopes that someday, we will beat shame at its game, silencing it forever. It is easy for us to forget the true place where healing freedom from shame resides. Maybe this is the reason Jesus instructs his disciples to eat the bread and drink the cup until he comes: To find our freedom from shame in him once again. As Andrew Peterson sings:

and every Sunday morning
You can see the people standing in a line
They’re so hungry for some mercy
For a taste of the Communion bread and wine[4]

Hungry for some mercy in a world where shame is no respecter of persons.

Hungry for some mercy in a world where shame crushes the weak and the powerful alike.

Hungry for some mercy in a world where shame incessantly hisses, “You’re not good enough.”

On Sunday mornings, I too hear shame’s message whisper in my ear. Like Adam and Eve, I am tempted to hide from the gracious Healer. But I come, like the tax collectors and sinners with whom Jesus ate. Like them, I too am hungry for some mercy, for some acceptance, for some freedom from my shame. And as I come, I take to heart the words of the minister:

Hear the good news: Christ died for us while we were yet sinners; In the name of Jesus Christ, you are forgiven.

And as I eat the bread and drink from the cup, I find this place without shame, a place of connection, safety, and security. Such is my place at the Lord’s Table.

#aprilissexualviolenceawarenessmonth

#metoo

#churchtoo

#pentecostalsisterstoo

#Iamthegirl

If you are a pentecostal/Charismatic who is on a healing journey from sexual violence, I invite you to consider participating in a research project. For more information, please read the blog Tell Me the Story of Trauma (simply click on the link to read or scroll down).


[1] This is drawing from Internal Family Systems, which describes protectors that emerge to guard us from the pain of the wound (the exile). See Jenna Riemersma, Altogether You: Experiencing Personal and Spiritual Transformation with Internal Family Systems Therapy. Jennifer Baldwin also notes that being a people-pleaser and/or a perfectionist are some of the socially acceptable ways that the effects of trauma emerge; see Jennifer Baldwin, Trauma-Sensitive Theology: Thinking Theologically in the Era of Trauma (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2018), Kindle Edition, loc. 560-561.

[2] Bessel A. van der Kolk, The Body Keeps Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma (New York: Viking, 2014), 13.

[3] Mary Stewart van Leeuwen, Gender & Grace: Love, Work, and Parenting in a Changing World (Downers Grove, IVP, 1990), 46-47.

[4] Andrew Peterson, “Windows of the World,” on the album Resurrection Letters: Volume II (Franklin, TN: Centricity Music, 2010).

Tell Me the Story of Trauma

INTRODUCTION:

The statistics are grim. RAIN reports:

  • Every 73 seconds another American is sexually assaulted.
  • 1 out of every 6 American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime (14.8% completed, 2.8% attempted).
  • About 3% of American men—or 1 in 33—have experienced an attempted or completed rape in their lifetime.[1]

But rather than only nameless, faceless statistics, the #MeToo movement has assisted in bringing to light stories of sexual assault. These types of stories have appeared in all sectors of life from Hollywood to the Olympics; from politics to religion; from universities to seminaries; and among pentecostals. It is a part of pentecostal history as in the public story of Recy Taylor, a young black woman who was walking home from a pentecostal church service when she was kidnapped by seven white teenagers and raped by six of the seven in 1944.[2] More recently, many stories were heard at the first gathering of #pentecostalsisterstoo at the 2018 meeting of Society for Pentecostal Studies as many women and young men indicated that they, too, had been sexually violated. Some women indicated that such violations continue in actions and innuendos as well as through the lack of respect from their male counterparts. These stories may be called “countertestimonies,” as described by Stephen Torr. According to Torr, these are laments that are aided by the Holy Spirit.[3] It is necessary to lift up these voices in our cultures and churches for we as a culture and a church remain incomplete without them. For too long, survivors of sexual violence have been silenced, their voices marginalized as the perpetrators continued to remain in power. Today these voices are beginning to be heard.

With that being said, it is now time for stories that speak of the courage to heal from sexual violent acts. In an interview, Tarana Burke, the founder of the Me Too movement, states she wants to move beyond the stories of trauma to stories of healing.[4] It is here that I believe pentecostal theology may be helpful. It goes without saying that pentecostals are known for their theology of healing, and they are also known to be people of stories. This is evident as some pentecostals have begun to relate their stories of healing (whether these stories be miraculous or ongoing) from sexual violence.

  • Amy Farley, an Assemblies of God missionary, was brutally raped in her home in Senegal in 2014. After spending time in daily counseling for eight months, she traveled to Vietnam to be with missionary friends and is now serving there. She stated, “I’m not the person I was before the attack, even through all the grief and pain. I like much better who I am now. My love for the Father is so much deeper, my love for people is so much greater, and my faith is so much stronger.”[5]
  • Another pentecostal, Jeanette Salguero, who is an associate senior pastor and chief operation officer at Calvario City Church in Orlando, speaks of ongoing healing: “As a Pentecostal pastor, I know about the laying on of hands and the sprinkling and the handkerchiefs and all that good stuff. But it’s a lot more than that . . . We cannot link hands and say, ‘Woman you are healed go.’ ‘Man you are healed, go on your merry way.’ This is a process.” About her own healing process she said, “I’m not denying the power of the Holy Spirit, but I do know, as a thriving victim, that therapy is a must.” [6]
  • For others, there is healing that includes a divine intervention as I presented in Who Is Present in Absence?: A Pentecostal Theological Praxis of Suffering and Healing. One of the participants of my study experienced theophastic prayer, receiving a powerful experience of healing as he envisioned Jesus Christ being present during the abuse that he experienced as a child.[7]

It is in the spirit [Spirit] of this type of healing, that I am seeking out stories (testimonies, if you will) of healing from sexual violence, be it an ongoing process and/or a supernatural divine intervention. If you are reading this, I am requesting your help.

WHAT:

Seeking personal stories of pentecostals/Charismatics who have experienced/are experiencing healing from sexual violence. That is, they may be on a journey of ongoing healing and/or they may have experienced a miraculous encounter of healing.

WHY:

  • Recently, the MeToo Movement has assisted in bringing to light a silent epidemic of sexual violence that permeates our country, and this movement is now spread internationally.
  • In response, other groups have been started, such as #MeTooChurch #PentecostalSistersToo.
  • The MeToo Movement also is calling us to hear stories of healing as Tarana Burke, the founder of MeToo Movement, stated in an interview, published in the New York Times, that she wants to move beyond the stories of trauma to stories of healing.
  • For pentecostals/Charismatics, such a call for healing stories beckons for us to inquire, “In what manner is healing demonstrated in the lives of pentecostals who have experienced sexual violence?” and “How may we participate in Christ’s healing ministry to those who have been sexually assaulted?”
  • These stories may include experiences of healing that are ongoing OR those that are the result of an instantaneous divine intervention.

WHO MAY PARTICIPATE:

  • A male or female adult over the age of 21. Please note that this research is not limited to those in the West.
  • Those who currently classify themselves as Pentecostal/Charismatic
  • Those who have experienced sexual violence (such as rape, sexual childhood abuse, etc.)
  • Those who have started their healing journey

HOW: 

If you meet the above criteria and/or you have questions or if you are interested in participating in this research/writing project, please contact me at

healing101.research@gmail.com

Those interested in participating will be asked to engage in a screening process that includes a questionnaire, which is followed up with a short phone conversation. If you are selected as a participant, you will be invited to tell your story in an extended interview via a video call (such as Zoom, FaceTime, etc.). Participants will be given the main questions in advance to assist in providing a sense of safety and security. You are telling your story during the interview, so you may say as much or as little as you desire or refuse to answer a question if you so choose. You may also stop the interview at any time. The focus is on your healing journey. Any information that is obtained in connection with this process, which can be identified as you will remain confidential and will not be disclosed. This includes the use of pseudonyms for such information as names, dates, and locations.

WHAT IF I’M NOT A PENTECOSTAL/CHARISMATIC AND/OR HAVE NOT EXPERIENCED SEXUAL VIOLENCE:

You can:

  • Pray
  • Spread the word

As a matter of integrity and due to the sensitive nature of this study, I will not be approaching individuals and personally asking them to participate. Instead, I am making a general announcement about this research project, hoping that people will volunteer. This also means that I am relying on the assistance of others to help spread the word about this research/writing project; therefore, I request that you share this post on social media or with other friends and family members so that a wider audience may learn of this research.

WHO AM I:

My name is Pam F. Engelbert, PhD, and I am ordained with the Assemblies of the God and am currently a pastoral caregiver/teacher/researcher/author. I previously interviewed Classical Pentecostals who had experienced extended suffering while hoping/expecting/praying for a divine intervention that did not come to pass and published their stories in a book Who Is Present in Absence?: A Pentecostal Theological Praxis of Suffering and Healing.

Regardless of your interest in being a part of this study, I appreciate the attention that you give to this request. I look forward to hearing from you.

#metoo #pentecostalsisterstoo


[1] “Scope of the Problem: Statistics,” RAIN, https://www.rainn.org/statistics/scope-problem (accessed March 18, 2021).

[2] Sewell Chan, “Recy Taylor, Who Fought for Justice after a 1944 Rape, Dies at 97,” The New York Times December 29, 2017, accessed April 5, 2019, https://www.nytimes.com/2017/12/29/obituaries/recy-taylor-alabama-rape-victim-dead.html?fbclid=IwAR27MauSvas3wKCpuPK2BN4hsHyx_t3r3e4cFDfgtfU5CU34d0z9Kyipyyo.

[3] Stephen C. Torr, Dramatic Pentecostal/Charismatic Anti-Theodicy: Improvising on a Divine Performance of Lament (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2013).

[4] Aisha Harris, “She Founded Me Too. Now She Wants to Move Past the Trauma,” The New York Times, October 15, 2018, https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/15/arts/tarana-burke-metoo-anniversary.html (accessed May 27, 2019).

[5] John W. Kennedy, “Back from a Traumatic Experience,” News, Assemblies of God (August 1, 2019) https://news.ag.org/News/Back-from-a-Traumatic-Experience, (accessed August 16, 2019).

[6] Morgan Lee, “ Max Lucado Reveals Past Sexual Abuse at Evangelical #MeToo Summit,” Christianity Today (December 13, 2018) https://www.christianitytoday.com/news/2018/december/metoo-evangelicals-abuse-beth-moore-caine-lucado-gc2-summit.html (accessed August 16, 2019.

[7] Pamela F. Engelbert, Who Is Present in Absence?: A Pentecostal Theological Praxis of Suffering and Healing (Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 2019), 112-113.

The Good Tears of Grief


The Blog That Speaks: The Good Tears of Grief

I’m sorry.

I have commonly heard this phrase while facilitating grief groups. Although tears are a regular (and expected) part of grief support groups, someone inevitably will have a griefburst and apologize to the group for it.

And you know . . . I get it. I, too, have apologized for crying.

Photo by Javier Martínez on Unsplash

The reasons for such apologies could vary. Perhaps we are feeling embarrassment and/or shame because we need assurance that these tears are acceptable and normal. Possibly, we are feeling concern for the other that he/she will feel uncomfortable, so we are taking responsibility for his/her feelings. Or maybe it is actually we who feel uncomfortable with our tears because our family system and culture have not created space for them.

 Whatever the reason . . . Many of us experience a certain amount of pressure in our Western culture to appear strong, particularly amidst our grief. A contributing factor to such pressure is having heard people evaluate a person’s grief journey in the days, weeks, and months following a death. They may say, “He is struggling with his loss,” or “She needs prayer. She is not so doing so well.” But what precisely do we mean by these phrases? While a person more than likely would cherish additional prayer support, what exactly is the defining standard for doing well after a loss?

  • No tears or lots of tears?
  • Happiness or sadness?
  • Acceptance or shock?
  • Moving forward in life or moving backwards?

Now, all of these are expected as each one may be a part of various grief journeys. But it seems to me that one particular cultural measuring stick for doing well with one’s loss is based on the volume and/or frequency of the griever’s tears. In this case, few tears are equated to healthy mourning while a bucket load of tears is an indicator of unhealthy mourning. As Alan Wolfelt notes about Western culture and tears, if grievers appear strong and in control, they are seen as doing well with their grief.[1] This is regrettable as the public expression of our grief (which is mourning) is how we heal from a loss. Perhaps this indicates why we facilitators educate participants in grief support groups about the appropriateness of tears. It is an effort to deconstruct common cultural misconceptions about tears of grief and mourning in order to help grievers move towards healing.

Unfortunately, the public expression of tears after a death seems to be discouraged in the West and maybe increasingly so.

Consider a shift that I have witnessed in my lifetime. A public death ritual has shifted from being called a funeral to being referred to as a celebration of life. The very name “celebration of life” underscores happiness, connoting this is not a time for sorrow. Some celebrations of life may even be quite explicit by stating that stories and memories are permitted at a person’s celebration of life but not tears.[2] Wolfelt speaks of this cultural change from rituals that provide a space for people to publicly grieve (e.g., wearing black for a year; having several days to view the body; planning a funeral; and participating in a funeral procession) to progressively deterring public grieving by calling them celebrations or parties or foregoing any ritual at all.[3]

This tendency to suppress the public expression of tears of grief is regrettable in light of the fact that research demonstrates that tears of grief contain a helpful, healing element.

Studies show that there are three types of tears:

  1. basal tears assist in keeping the cornea lubricated;
  2. reflex tears emerge from the result of an irritating substance like dust; and
  3. emotional or psychic tears are exemplified by tears of joy or grief.

The latter contains “a natural painkiller that is released when the body is under stress.”[4] When we cry, biochemist Dr. William Frey found that emotional tears discharge stress hormones “and other toxins which accumulate during stress.”[5] This puts an additional spin on Wolfelt’s saying, “You must feel it to heal it.”

That is, tears of grief are good—they promote healing.

As a Christ-follower who is also a pentecostal, I uphold a theology of healing, particularly divine healing. However, I frequently hear phrases spoken by would-be helpers to grievers after a death which implicitly curtail their healing by squelching a public expression of tears:

  • “At least he is not suffering anymore.”
  • “She is now rejoicing in the presence of God and with her spouse.” 
  • “At least they are in a better place.”

Such phrases may be genuine beliefs of the griever, and would-be helpers may have said them with the best of intentions, but these phrases also may hinder the griever’s healing by impeding the public expression of grief as they imply that death is now our friend, not our enemy.

But this is not the way of Jesus Christ.

Consider these two words “Jesus wept” in John 11:35. It is identified as the shortest verse in the Bible, but despite its brevity, I believe this verse has substantial implications for our public responses to loss and grief.

The context of this verse is that his dear friend Lazarus has died, and Jesus is standing, weeping at the tomb. Scholars are divided as to the reason for Jesus’ tears. Some believe he is weeping about the unbelief or misconceptions of those around him. Or perhaps he is weeping due to the power of sin and death in the world. As such, scholars will argue that Jesus is not weeping because Lazarus is deceased since Jesus is about to raise him from the dead.

Unfortunately, this proposal seems to fall short in highlighting Jesus’ humanity, and that could lead us down an unhealthy path as to what it means to be a human as a Christian. To understand what I mean, it is important to keep in mind that Jesus is both fully human and fully divine. As such, Jesus Christ reveals to us what it means to be human while also revealing to us who God is. Thus, if Jesus Christ, who reveals genuine humanity to us, does not weep because Lazarus is dead since he is about to raise up Lazarus, then what would stop us from saying that we, too, are not to weep when our loved ones are dead since they, like Lazarus, will be resurrected? Such a response seems to deny: our very humanness; death as an enemy; and the entirety of the scriptures (e.g., Matt 5:4; 1 Thess 4:13; 1 Cor 15:26).

Hence, I propose that we consider Jesus’ revelation to us on how to be fully alive as human beings. In this light, Jesus Christ’s weeping over the death of Lazarus communicates the normalcy of humans to weep over the death of their loved ones. As New Testament scholar Marriane Meye Thompson comments:

“That Jesus will soon raise Lazarus to life, and so manifest God’s glory, does not mute the genuine sorrow that he experiences and expresses. Jesus’ weeping at the tomb of Lazarus demonstrates that grief over death is not an inappropriate response.”[6]

Thus, to fully embrace our humanity means we will publicly weep—we will mourn.

Furthermore, such tears may also be a protest against death. It may be said that the entirety of Jesus’ atonement (life, death, resurrection, and ascension) is a protest against death. Jesus’ incarnation involved dying so that death may be defeated through his resurrection. It is here, then, that I agree with scholars that a reason for Christ’s tears (but not the only one) includes his sorrow over sin and death. Weeping, then, becomes a way for us to participate in Jesus Christ’s objection to death.

Thus, to fully embrace our humanity means we will publicly weep, joining Jesus in his protest against humanity’s enemy, death.

At the same time, let us remember that Jesus Christ is also fully divine. This means that his whole being, his person, is an act of ministry as the divine ministers to humanity within the person of Jesus. That is, the fully divine nature ministers healing to the fully human nature in Jesus’ being. Therefore, taken what we know of the healing quality of tears of grief, Jesus Christ’s weeping is an additional way for the divine to heal Jesus’ human sorrow and that of all of humanity. In other words, since Jesus is humanity’s healer and tears are healing, his tears may also be seen as a divine healing balm for humanity.

Thus, to fully embrace our humanity means we will publicly weep, thereby participating in Christ’s ministry of healing.

In light of this discussion, perhaps doing well with a loss is expressing the good tears of grief. As Jesus indicates, tears are welcomed in his kingdom:  

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Matthew 5:4

May we also welcome them.


[1] Alan Wolfelt, Understanding Your Grief: Ten Essential Touchstones for Finding Hope and Healing Your Heart (Fort Collins, CO: Companion Press, 2003), 90.

[2] Wolfelt, Understanding Your Grief, 27.

[3] Alan Wolfelt, “A Wake-Up Call: Are you a Party Planner or a Creator of Meaningful Funeral Experiences,” Johnson Consulting Group website, December 5, 2011, https://www.johnsonconsulting.com/a-wake-up-call-are-you-a-party-planner-or-a-creator-of-meaningful-funeral-experiences-alan-d-wolfelt-ph-d/?xanax-for-sale, (accessed February 26, 2021).

[4] Joseph Stromberg, “The Microscopic Structures of Dried Human Tears,” smithsonianmag.com,
November 19, 2013, https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/the-microscopic-structures-of-dried-human-tears-180947766/ (accessed February 22, 2021).

[5] Judith Orloff, “The Healing Power of Tears,” drjudithorloff.com, https://drjudithorloff.com/the-healing-power-of-tears/, (accessed September 3, 2020).

[6] Marriane Meye Thompson, John: A Commentary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015), 248-249.