Seeking unity in grief
14/06/16 05:33
I confess that I have a penchant for complex thoughts. I like to wrestle with ideas and concepts that require careful analysis, many of which have developed over generations of thinkers with many different viewpoints incorporated. I’m a big fan of paradox and the synergy that comes from considering seemingly opposed points of view and reconciling them through the process of paying attention to nuances in emphasis and style.
Not everyone thinks the way I do.
Recently I had a conversation with a person who had experienced significant loss and grief in the past few months. This individual made reference to a vision of heaven that is quite different than I imagine that which is beyond death. For this person heaven is a physical place occupied by people with physical bodies and appearances that are the same as or similar to this life. Activities in heaven closely resemble the things that people enjoy in this life. The main difference between heaven and this life, for this particular believer, is that in heaven there are no bad people and the people who are in heaven don’t experience any pain or sorrow or sadness. The image was very comforting to the person.
I don’t think I would have offered any help to this particular grieving person by saying, “Well, actually, it’s a bit more complex than all of that,” and expounding on my images of spiritual existence and reunion with multiple generations and unconditional love and the power of God to forgive that reaches beyond our ability to imagine. Just as I don’t find it very appealing to imagine heaven in the way described by the person with whom I was speaking, I don’t think my vision of heaven has appeal for that person.
My bias for complex thought and carefully nuanced speech is just that: a prejudice that I hold that may cause inaccurate judgement of others.
There are, after all, some very simple statements that hold deep meaning on a variety of different levels.
God is love. The statement is at once very simple and very complex. It is a powerful image for those who picture God as a kind of super human. It is equally powerful for those whose image of God doesn’t extend to a physical appearance at all. And it has a companion assertion that is equally powerful and similarly simple and complex at once: Love never dies.
Those statements issued at a funeral, when the community gathers for grief and mutual support, can offer comfort to those who grieve regardless of the different ways in which they think. And, unlike the rhetoric used in contemporary political campaigning, the language of a funeral is carefully chosen to unite, not divide the congregation. I work hard to craft language that brings people together for shared experience.
Once again we find ourselves in the midst of a time of national grief. The media headlines are filled with reports of the tragedy in Orlando. In what appears at the moment to be the actions of a severely troubled and heavily armed individual 50 people died in what is being labeled the worst mass killing in recent history. Scores of families are left with the deep pain of unanticipated loss. Sudden and traumatic loss can lead to a lifetime of continuing grief and ongoing problems. People around the world are affected by the violence and overwhelmed by the tragedy.
It is, in my opinion, a time for language that brings us together and unites us in our grief. It is a time for serious questions about what we might do to prevent future tragedies. It is a time for accurate investigation and deep searching for the causes of so called “lone terrorists” who bring such incredible violence to so many others. What can we learn from this tragedy that might help us prevent future tragedies?
Yet there are leaders and those who seek positions of leadership who are already using their positions to divide people. Division isn’t difficult in a world where there are so many different ways of thinking.
I suppose it is natural to look for differences between “us” and “them.” We don’t want to imagine that we might become victims so we look for ways in which we are different from those who were attacked. That kind of thinking, however, does little to ease the burden of grief for those who loved the victims. And make no mistake about it. The families and friends of those who died are every bit as much victims of the crime as are those who died.
The grief work that we need to do as a nation is not about difference and division, however. It is not about who is gay and who is straight, about who is Latino and who is EuroAmerican, about appearance or choice of entertainment or any other of the myriad complexities that make us different from one another. It is about standing with the victims and sharing the grief. Grief really does become more bearable when it is shared.
Campaign advisors may be telling candidates that they need to show strength and power and use tough words to respond to this situation, but those are not qualities that impress me in this situation. I’m looking for compassion and the ability to stand with the victims. I’m looking for leadership that brings us together in our common loss and reminds us of the inherent strength of community.
That kind of leadership is tough work. I know how hard I work on an individual funeral to find just the right words to respond to the grief of a congregation gathered in the midst of the loss of an individual. Multiply that effort by 50 and it is apparent that no single leader, no matter how powerful or well-recognized, can address the mass of grief which is overwhelming us. We need leaders who can lay aside their differences and work together.
I pray for that kind of leadership in Orlando. I fear when those who seek national leadership fall short of that ideal.
Not everyone thinks the way I do.
Recently I had a conversation with a person who had experienced significant loss and grief in the past few months. This individual made reference to a vision of heaven that is quite different than I imagine that which is beyond death. For this person heaven is a physical place occupied by people with physical bodies and appearances that are the same as or similar to this life. Activities in heaven closely resemble the things that people enjoy in this life. The main difference between heaven and this life, for this particular believer, is that in heaven there are no bad people and the people who are in heaven don’t experience any pain or sorrow or sadness. The image was very comforting to the person.
I don’t think I would have offered any help to this particular grieving person by saying, “Well, actually, it’s a bit more complex than all of that,” and expounding on my images of spiritual existence and reunion with multiple generations and unconditional love and the power of God to forgive that reaches beyond our ability to imagine. Just as I don’t find it very appealing to imagine heaven in the way described by the person with whom I was speaking, I don’t think my vision of heaven has appeal for that person.
My bias for complex thought and carefully nuanced speech is just that: a prejudice that I hold that may cause inaccurate judgement of others.
There are, after all, some very simple statements that hold deep meaning on a variety of different levels.
God is love. The statement is at once very simple and very complex. It is a powerful image for those who picture God as a kind of super human. It is equally powerful for those whose image of God doesn’t extend to a physical appearance at all. And it has a companion assertion that is equally powerful and similarly simple and complex at once: Love never dies.
Those statements issued at a funeral, when the community gathers for grief and mutual support, can offer comfort to those who grieve regardless of the different ways in which they think. And, unlike the rhetoric used in contemporary political campaigning, the language of a funeral is carefully chosen to unite, not divide the congregation. I work hard to craft language that brings people together for shared experience.
Once again we find ourselves in the midst of a time of national grief. The media headlines are filled with reports of the tragedy in Orlando. In what appears at the moment to be the actions of a severely troubled and heavily armed individual 50 people died in what is being labeled the worst mass killing in recent history. Scores of families are left with the deep pain of unanticipated loss. Sudden and traumatic loss can lead to a lifetime of continuing grief and ongoing problems. People around the world are affected by the violence and overwhelmed by the tragedy.
It is, in my opinion, a time for language that brings us together and unites us in our grief. It is a time for serious questions about what we might do to prevent future tragedies. It is a time for accurate investigation and deep searching for the causes of so called “lone terrorists” who bring such incredible violence to so many others. What can we learn from this tragedy that might help us prevent future tragedies?
Yet there are leaders and those who seek positions of leadership who are already using their positions to divide people. Division isn’t difficult in a world where there are so many different ways of thinking.
I suppose it is natural to look for differences between “us” and “them.” We don’t want to imagine that we might become victims so we look for ways in which we are different from those who were attacked. That kind of thinking, however, does little to ease the burden of grief for those who loved the victims. And make no mistake about it. The families and friends of those who died are every bit as much victims of the crime as are those who died.
The grief work that we need to do as a nation is not about difference and division, however. It is not about who is gay and who is straight, about who is Latino and who is EuroAmerican, about appearance or choice of entertainment or any other of the myriad complexities that make us different from one another. It is about standing with the victims and sharing the grief. Grief really does become more bearable when it is shared.
Campaign advisors may be telling candidates that they need to show strength and power and use tough words to respond to this situation, but those are not qualities that impress me in this situation. I’m looking for compassion and the ability to stand with the victims. I’m looking for leadership that brings us together in our common loss and reminds us of the inherent strength of community.
That kind of leadership is tough work. I know how hard I work on an individual funeral to find just the right words to respond to the grief of a congregation gathered in the midst of the loss of an individual. Multiply that effort by 50 and it is apparent that no single leader, no matter how powerful or well-recognized, can address the mass of grief which is overwhelming us. We need leaders who can lay aside their differences and work together.
I pray for that kind of leadership in Orlando. I fear when those who seek national leadership fall short of that ideal.