New Years Week

 

Alongside the joy of s’mores I talked about yesterday, I led more funerals this year than I have in any other year before.  Wait.  Don’t quit reading, yet.  I know this may sound like a topic you would prefer not to read, but in keeping with Richard Rohr’s quote on great suffering being a teacher, I want to share five lessons I hold from being with people in grief this year.  I pray these words will resonate with you as truth from this year.

1. Grief is hard and we are all grieving.  Some of you are grieving the death of a spouse or family member.  Some are grieving the loss of a way of life.  Some are grieving relationships.  There is anticipatory grief where we know that someone we care about is about to die.  There is ambiguous grief, like a divorce, where the person still is alive, but we no longer are connected.  There is a cultural/collective grief around the pandemic, systemic racism and discrimination, and still lingering with the election.  There is good grief where we cry cathartic tears. There is grief where we push down the pain and refuse to deal with it.  Yet, we need to name and claim our wounds and wants.  Our brains are wired and will shout, “Don’t!! It is too difficult!”  I would suggest that having a safe space with a few people to check in on how your soul is doing can be one of the most important gifts we can offer each other.

2. Grief can be cumulative and past wounds will come up when you start to share with others.  The cliché about opening the flood gates is true.  You name and notice one pain and suddenly all that is unprocessed within you will raise its hand wanting to be called upon.  I still grieve my mother’s death over six years ago.  It is there within me and has become a part of me.  Walking through her death and all that was unresolved has begun to help me in moments like this year when I am swimming in so much grief with others.  I try to listen, and I especially try to love and remember that grief can make us feel isolated but we are not alone!  Others will walk with us through the valley.

3. This year, there were a fair number of funerals for people who loved to be on the water.  I often returned to this quote, “Sometimes God calms the sailor.  And sometimes God calms the storm.”  Sometimes God gives me strength to navigate my boat even as the storm rages on outside my control.  Sometimes God causes the storm to pass and calm waters around me to arrive.  Both are a gift.

4. There is a playbook for grief.  You can Google Elizabeth Kubler Ross or David Kessler to learn more.  There are patterns to grief like feeling the brain fog of disorientation; moments when waves of grief knock you over unexpectedly; and times emotions come up and out at the most inconvenient times. Secondly, there exceptions to everything I just said.  Your grief is as unique as your fingerprint.  To hold the beautiful tension of the ways we are connected to each other in shared grief and that we never, never fully know exactly what someone else is feeling are both true.  Finally, if I could, I would forever tear up and toss out the phrase, “I know exactly how you feel.”  We don’t, but we can offer the space and grace to listen alongside someone as she or he tells us (as imperfectly as the words may feel) what their soul is trying to express.

5. Finally, grief is fierce and faithful work.  I think of Elizabeth in Luke’s story.  Elizabeth lets loose with a joyful shout and blesses Mary.  Elizabeth knew grief well.  Year after year of not being pregnant after trying and realizing there is much beyond her control.  The layer of thick dust on the dream of being a mother.  The pain of an ache as she went to baby showers or held the infant of another.  Grief comes in many forms.  Grief calls us to the fierce and faithful work of our souls.  Your grief is paint longing for a canvass.

My prayer is that these insights might awaken within you wisdom from your own soul into how you are painting your grief on the canvass called, “Your life” in these days. 

Prayer: God who heard Jesus cry from the garden and the cross, listen to our tears this day we pray.  Amen.