Facing grief
25/02/16 05:29
In our culture it isn’t popular to talk about death and grief. It isn’t politic to speak of loss. Much of what we see portrayed in popular media is only part of the human story. When death occurs on television, which is frequently, it is soon past and the grief is short-lived if portrayed at all. A television story about lives permanently altered by grief wouldn’t sell many advertisements.
There are several problems with this approach. The first is simply that it isn’t realistic. For human beings, life is laced with loss and grief. Being alive means shadow as well as light. Good times come with bad times and triumphs are mingled with tragedies. You don’t need my blog to know that. You know it from your own experience.
Another problem with the failure to confront loss and grief openly and honestly is that such an approach misses the transformation that is possible. Human hearts transform suffering into new life. Resurrection comes from death. If you avoid suffering and death, you also cut yourself off from new life and resurrection.
Suffering that is not dealt with directly can cause a myriad of deeper pain and more complex problems. Parker Palmer has written “Violence is what happens when we don’t know what else to do with our suffering.” He also said, “Show me a person who makes others suffer and I’ll show you someone who’s ‘working out’ his or her suffering by passing along the pain.”
The failure of our society to directly deal with pain and suffering results in an increase in pain and suffering.
This is evident in the state of American politics today. Candidates are cautioned to never show weakness, to never admit defeat, to never expose their vulnerabilities. Advertisements are carefully edited to erase all of the flaws of the candidates. Campaign appearances are carefully orchestrated to always present the candidate in the best light. Winning an election, however, isn’t the same thing as effective governance. The skill set needed to win an election is vastly different from the skills needed to work effectively in elected office. Effective leaders share the pain of those they serve. They admit their mistakes and learn from them. They go to the places of pain and suffering to bring the hope of new life and recovery.
The ability of a leader to show compassion, however, is rarely considered in the election process.
My life and vocation has taught me not to run away from pain and suffering. I’ve spent hours in hospital waiting rooms and private homes and funeral homes and other places sitting with people who are in the midst of grief. I’ve walked with good people as they struggle with the ongoing pain of loss. I believe that I don’t need to mask my own grief and sadness. I prefer to reserve my most emotional displays for private moments rather than public ones, but I’ve broken into tears while officiating at a funeral and it wasn’t the end of the world.
We have been blessed with a capacity to connect deeply with people through the process of sharing suffering. Grief, when shared, can be a place of deep healing. A broken heart is an open heart. Experiences of pain and loss don’t have to lead to cruelty and violence. They can also lead to compassion and caring. Sitting with grief can lead one to become a light-bearer and life-giver in a world of too much darkness and death.
It isn’t easy. Like many important things in life, dealing well with grief requires practice.
It is because I know that I am not the only one who needs this practice, that I find Lent to be an opportunity not just for me, but for the whole world. When a group of faithful people learn to simply sit with grief, rather than push it aside; when we face problems that are too big to be solved with a sound byte or simple answer; when we enter weeks of endurance we discover a new depth of compassion for others and connection with hope that is not turned aside by suffering.
Don’t expect, however, for there to be many news stories about the candidates’ Lenten disciplines.
I know that the journey of Lent isn’t a popular one. I have colleagues who play down the season in their churches because they have discovered that people don’t like to talk about death. I hear the complaints about dreary Lenten hymns. I am aware that the attendance is higher in churches that don’t dwell on this season. I even notice a drop in attendance in our church at this time of the year. I am not insensitive to my own need to be perceived as popular.
The people I serve, however, need and deserve more than fluff. They need and deserve more than a puff of emotion that quickly fades. They are humans who have experienced grief and loss and will experience it again. They deserve an honest approach. They, like me, need to learn again and again that avoiding pain isn’t the way to embrace the fullness of life.
My job is to be there for my people in all of the seasons of their lives. Some of those seasons are long and filled with sadness.
Ellen Bass’ poem, “The Thing Is” explores the depths of grief:
"The Thing Is"
from Mules of Love
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
The thing is, we all need to delve deeply into the reality of grief in order to emerge into the power of love.
And so our Lenten journey continues.
There are several problems with this approach. The first is simply that it isn’t realistic. For human beings, life is laced with loss and grief. Being alive means shadow as well as light. Good times come with bad times and triumphs are mingled with tragedies. You don’t need my blog to know that. You know it from your own experience.
Another problem with the failure to confront loss and grief openly and honestly is that such an approach misses the transformation that is possible. Human hearts transform suffering into new life. Resurrection comes from death. If you avoid suffering and death, you also cut yourself off from new life and resurrection.
Suffering that is not dealt with directly can cause a myriad of deeper pain and more complex problems. Parker Palmer has written “Violence is what happens when we don’t know what else to do with our suffering.” He also said, “Show me a person who makes others suffer and I’ll show you someone who’s ‘working out’ his or her suffering by passing along the pain.”
The failure of our society to directly deal with pain and suffering results in an increase in pain and suffering.
This is evident in the state of American politics today. Candidates are cautioned to never show weakness, to never admit defeat, to never expose their vulnerabilities. Advertisements are carefully edited to erase all of the flaws of the candidates. Campaign appearances are carefully orchestrated to always present the candidate in the best light. Winning an election, however, isn’t the same thing as effective governance. The skill set needed to win an election is vastly different from the skills needed to work effectively in elected office. Effective leaders share the pain of those they serve. They admit their mistakes and learn from them. They go to the places of pain and suffering to bring the hope of new life and recovery.
The ability of a leader to show compassion, however, is rarely considered in the election process.
My life and vocation has taught me not to run away from pain and suffering. I’ve spent hours in hospital waiting rooms and private homes and funeral homes and other places sitting with people who are in the midst of grief. I’ve walked with good people as they struggle with the ongoing pain of loss. I believe that I don’t need to mask my own grief and sadness. I prefer to reserve my most emotional displays for private moments rather than public ones, but I’ve broken into tears while officiating at a funeral and it wasn’t the end of the world.
We have been blessed with a capacity to connect deeply with people through the process of sharing suffering. Grief, when shared, can be a place of deep healing. A broken heart is an open heart. Experiences of pain and loss don’t have to lead to cruelty and violence. They can also lead to compassion and caring. Sitting with grief can lead one to become a light-bearer and life-giver in a world of too much darkness and death.
It isn’t easy. Like many important things in life, dealing well with grief requires practice.
It is because I know that I am not the only one who needs this practice, that I find Lent to be an opportunity not just for me, but for the whole world. When a group of faithful people learn to simply sit with grief, rather than push it aside; when we face problems that are too big to be solved with a sound byte or simple answer; when we enter weeks of endurance we discover a new depth of compassion for others and connection with hope that is not turned aside by suffering.
Don’t expect, however, for there to be many news stories about the candidates’ Lenten disciplines.
I know that the journey of Lent isn’t a popular one. I have colleagues who play down the season in their churches because they have discovered that people don’t like to talk about death. I hear the complaints about dreary Lenten hymns. I am aware that the attendance is higher in churches that don’t dwell on this season. I even notice a drop in attendance in our church at this time of the year. I am not insensitive to my own need to be perceived as popular.
The people I serve, however, need and deserve more than fluff. They need and deserve more than a puff of emotion that quickly fades. They are humans who have experienced grief and loss and will experience it again. They deserve an honest approach. They, like me, need to learn again and again that avoiding pain isn’t the way to embrace the fullness of life.
My job is to be there for my people in all of the seasons of their lives. Some of those seasons are long and filled with sadness.
Ellen Bass’ poem, “The Thing Is” explores the depths of grief:
"The Thing Is"
from Mules of Love
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
The thing is, we all need to delve deeply into the reality of grief in order to emerge into the power of love.
And so our Lenten journey continues.