Comfort From Those Who Have Been There

One of my most treasured experiences as part of my grief studies this semester has been sitting down with members of our congregation who have lost someone, whether recently or many years ago, and letting them share their story and their wisdom with me.  I took some time earlier this week to go back and listen to the recordings of our conversations again and pull out some common themes.  Two of these ladies lost their husbands and the third lost her mother, all quite suddenly.  All three were forced to deal with the pain of grief that came out of nowhere, from a loss that was neither expected nor welcomed.  And all three are beautiful testimonies to the goodness of God and the strength and comfort He provides.

One of the questions I asked all three of these ladies was "What would you say to someone now who has just lost someone close to them and is beginning their own journey through grief?"  Two key phrases came up in all three conversations, which occurred separately and weeks apart from each other- to me that says these two pieces of wisdom are worth sharing here.

First, take life moment by moment in these beginning weeks and months.  The realization that someone we have shared our life with is gone does not come all at once- it comes gradually, and therefore painfully, in the little reminders of every part of our day where we once again catch ourselves looking for them or wondering where they are, only to remember they are gone.  Our minds have become so accustomed to their presence that our brain seems to play dirty little tricks on us, wherein we turn to say something to our loved one, suddenly remember they are gone and become emotional for a few moments, then turn and do the same thing again just an hour later.  It is a very painful and gut-wrenching experience these first few weeks as we re-train our minds to no longer look for their face or listen for their voice.  The silence that is left in their place is deafening, especially after the friends and family have gone back to their lives after the obligatory two-week vigil with us.

This painful process of gradual realization requires us to take life moment by moment, to focus only on the step we are on, and to allow ourselves the time necessary to cry, to weep, to mourn, and to miss our loved one each time we are reminded that they are gone.  These are the times where we are the most tempted to go around our grief rather than through it, because the pain is just too great.  And certainly there are times where we need to choose to walk away for a bit and let our minds and our hearts focus on something else.  But as one of these ladies told me:

"I found my tears to be helpful and to be healing because when I cried, it emptied out the fullness I felt of grief so I could have spare [room] to fill up again with peace."

What a beautiful illustration of grief allowing us the necessary act of "emptying ourselves" through tears and sadness so that we can be free to be filled up again with peace, comfort, and hope.  This "emptying" is such an important part of grief, and I believe it is part of the wisdom found in Ecclesiastes 7:2,

"It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart."

If we continually go to the house of feasting, we will deprive ourselves of the emptiness needed to be filled with the "peace that passes understanding" promised to us in Philippians 4:6-11.  Remember, one who is empty can find comfort and peace with God in a way that a full person cannot.

Second, it will get better.  Perhaps the most difficult advice to believe is that, eventually, this ache will lessen, the crying will taper, and the difficulty of simply getting through a day will become lighter.  But all three of these ladies are testimonies to the fact that grief does get better over time.   There is hope to be found, there is light at the end of this dark tunnel, and you will not feel this way forever.  The "emptying" mentioned above will not be needed forever.   Eventually, that peace and hope will remain longer and longer, and the emptiness will begin to lessen, until we come to a place where we are filled in a new way.  We will still have moments where we need to grieve and remember, but we will no longer need to empty ourselves in the process; the peace and comfort we have now stays with us, even in times of sadness.

And in this new "fullness," we have become different person.  We have allowed our grief to shape us, to mature us, to strengthen us and to make us wise.  It has not dominated us completely, but we have allowed it to serve a purpose for us.  We have not ignored our grief or treated it like an illness to be cured- we have given it the time and attention it asks for, and we continue to do so, only in new and less "dominating" ways.  We are filled with hope and peace in a way that we would never have been before were it not for our grief forcing us to empty ourselves so that we could be filled again.  And for that, we are better. 

For all of us missing loved ones around the Thanksgiving table this holiday, may God grant us that fullness, not just the kind that comes from turkey and dressing, but that comes from the peace and hope that only He can grant.

Lion Cannibalism, Theodicy, & The Joker

"You know what I've noticed?  Nobody panics when things go 'according to plan.'  Even if the plan is horrifying!"  -The Joker

This past Sunday afternoon at the Dallas Zoo, a pair of lion brothers fatally attacked a lioness in their pride, seizing her by the throat and crushing her.  Horrified guests at the zoo could only look on helplessly.  The zoo quickly issued a "Code Red" and cleared the lion exhibit, and the remaining lions have been separated from the two attackers.  (The cats will not be euthanized.)

Zoo officials and animal experts have called it a "seemingly unprovoked attack."

The reaction to this attack has been interesting.  People who the night before lounged partially amused on the couch watching lions attack each other (along with zebras and gazelles) on the National Geographic channel were suddenly horrified by the same thing occurring in front of them at the zoo.

Why?  Because this wasn't "according to plan."

Big cats in captivity are supposed to be tame (we say), to have their natural instincts slowly worn down.  We go to a zoo to see big powerful lions yawn and spend lazy days in the sun, not tap into their God-given "wild animal side" and kill each other.

But lion attacks on National Geographic on safari, in the wilds of Africa?  No problem.  Horrifying, yes, but also "according to plan."

Now, don't get me wrong.  I would probably have been horrified, too, especially if Nolan (my 3-month old son) was there with me.  As much as I respect the "red in tooth and claw" aspect of nature, I've always had a soft-spot for animals (especially dogs), and it saddens me that this beautiful lioness (described as "clever" and "playful" by her handlers) was taken down in such an unexpected and violent manner.  It really is a tough thing and I feel for those who are mourning her loss.

But it got me thinking about how we, as human beings, react to death and tragedy in different contexts.  The Joker was on to something when he observed that no one really freaks out in reaction to death and tragedy when they are "according to plan."  If the context calls for death and tragedy as a part of the "natural order of things," such as a soldier being killed in a war zone, we react differently than if that same soldier is shot in his stateside army barracks by a fellow soldier, or gunned down outside of his home in a quiet suburban neighborhood.

Or when captive lions in a zoo suddenly kill one of their own.

How we react to tragedy reveals a lot about ourselves as human beings, but it also reveals a lot about our view of God.  Theodicy is the area of the theological study that deals with how we reconcile God and suffering.  It looks at questions like "How can a benevolent God allow all this suffering in the world?" and "How much control does God have over evil in this world?"  And as Christians I think we tend to waiver between two somewhat contradictory views about God and suffering.  When things go "according to plan," i.e. we experience tragedy that is expected or somewhat warranted by the situation, we don't question God, and we chalk it up to things like "natural law" and a "broken, fallen creation."  But when tragedy strikes without warning and doesn't follow our preconceived ideas about how this world should work, we suddenly question God's love, His power, even His every existence, and our faith is dashed against the rocks in a moment of despair and confusion.

So, for example, when we see lions kill each other in the Serengeti or the casualties of war, Christians tend to say "Well, there's Genesis 3 for you.  All this violence in creation- one day it will be righted."  But when we lose a loved one in a freak car accident or see "tame" lions kill each other in the zoo exhibit, we question everything, including God, and throw up our hands in desperation.

This "loss of control" when things go astray from a preconceived "plan" is one of the harshest parts of grief.  The anger that comes with loss is simply our way of saying we are unhappy with the way things are, that we can't control them and put things right.  Our "plan" has not been followed- nothing is stable anymore!  This is one of the dangers of trying to decipher life through the lens of a cosmic order- if your "order" is not correct, it can lead to some terrible thoughts about God, creation, and humanity.

God's Word makes it clear that this world is broken, that life will not be easy, and that suffering will come.  In John 16:33 Jesus promises us His peace, but the fact that we need His peace at all is a sign of what the world has in store for us!  "In this world you will have trouble!"  And in Romans 8 Paul describes the "groaning" of creation and the "bondage to decay" that the world experiences, but also the "glorious freedom" that awaits us as God's children.

In other words, suffering is a part of this "plan" whether we like it or not. 

Part of the "plan" that God is slowly working out involves suffering.  If Scripture is the blueprint for this plan that we keep trying to refer to and figure out, then we need to make sure we understand the whole plan, and not just parts of it.  Liberation, freedom, and heaven are part of that plan...but for now, so is suffering, trouble, and hardship.

When this is the lens we use to view life, Jesus' words take on new meaning and new hope, because Jesus is not sugarcoating the suffering this world will bring, but He looks through it to something better- something only He can give...and that, too, is part of God's plan.  God is many things, including honest.  He does not promise what He cannot give, and He does not keep things from us even when we may not want to hear them.  So when He promises trouble and suffering, I believe Him.  But in the same breath He promises peace and freedom from fear, and when the same God promises both things, it's comforting, because a God who is real about tragedy is also real about the peace He provides.

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.  I do not give as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid."