On losing

On the way into work today, I listened to quotes from presidential candidates as they conceded that they had lost the election.  The following list isn't from what I listened to this morning - I can't find that - but are quotes from concession speeches:

• Tonight we rejoice in our democracy, we rejoice in the freedom of a wonderful people and we accept their verdict (Walter Mondale).
• I want the country to know that our entire administration will work closely with his team to insure the smooth transition of power (George H. W. Bush).
• I say to president-elect Bush that what remains a partisan rancor must now be put aside and may God bless his stewardship of this country (Al Gore).
• His success alone commands my respect for his ability and perseverance, but that he managed to do so by inspiring the hopes of so many millions of Americans (John McCain).
• Our leaders have to reach across the aisle to do the people's work, and we citizens also have to rise to the occasion (Mitt Romney).
• Senator Jones has just informed me that the returns indicate your election, and I hasten to extend my congratulations. We have summitted the issue to the American people and their will is Law (telegram from William Jennings Bryan, 1896).
• I have great faith that our people, Republicans, Democrats alike, will unite behind our next president (Richard Nixon).
• Our constitutional democracy enshrines the peaceful transfer of power.  We don't just respect that. We cherish it.  (Hillary Clinton).
• I have a deep appreciation of the system, however, that lets people make a free choice about who will lead them for the next four years (Jimmy Carter).

I could go on and on.  I find these speeches to be inspiring and some of the most patriotic statements about who we are as a country and how we function.  Go to google and search for presidential consession speeches.  I think you too will find inspiration.  Just reading John McCain's speech almost made me cry. These speeches are a celebration of democracy, given as gifts during a time of deep personal loss.  They are courageous statements during times of grief for the speaker.

How do we, individually, handle losing?  I'm writing this on election day, and while I do not know what will happen, I know that some of us will be happy, and others will not be.  

Bob Dole, in his concession speech, said of President Clinton, "he was my opponent and not my enemy."  How will we treat each other after the results of the election are known (whether it be tonight, or days into the future)?  Will we rise up to who we are meant to be?  Keep fighting for what we believe is right, but not fighting against each other, as if we are enemies?  Will we be Christians, sharing the love of Christ with everyone? 

These speeches are moments of unselfishness.  A concession speech is not required.  It is a decision made by the losing candidate to put the welfare and higher ideals of the country before his or her own desires.  Dare I say, it is a holy moment?

What will your holy moment look like when the results of this race are known?

Rewriting the Story

How do we respond to people who are experiencing grief? Do you find it one of the most difficult things we do as part of a Church - to try to offer comfort to those in grief? Do you struggle with what to say? To do? I do, and I think we all do. I think this struggle is why people say words that they think might be comforting but really aren't.

Our former pastor tells the story of when his son died. Someone said something to him along the vein of "God must have needed another angel." It wasn't comforting to Jack (our pastor). It made him angry, and he expressed the anger to the person who said it. I can't blame him.

How do we provide comfort? If you are reading this because you think I might have an answer, go find another blog. I don't have one. 

Last year our dog died. She had been at the vet, being boarded, and the technician gave her to the wrong owner. She broke loose, ran away, and was hit by a car. What was comforting during that time was the kindness offered by people, the friends who listened to our story and sympathized. What was not comforting was the person who said, "That's why I always hire a dog sitter rather than board our dog."

Oh, well.

Peter Wallace, in the book, says that Jesus reacted to other people's grief by promising hope, encouraging faith, and by revealing himself. The last one in that list might have been my favorite. Consider the story in Matthew as the resurrected Jesus walks with the two people going to Emmaus. He listens to their story (a loving act), and then rewrites their story for them, sharing it in the light of scripture. 

Comfort in the face of grief rewrites the story. The ending doesn't change, but the experience is rewritten as people show us concern and love.

Jesus and Grief

I remember years ago that a minister who attended our church taught a Sunday school lesson on grief. He said that we can experience grief over the loss of anything. Think about that. One of his examples were the first scratch on a new car. I don't mean to compare the grief we experience over a scratch with the grief a mourning parent feels over the loss of a child, and I don't think David (the minister) meant to make that comparison, either, but the emotion of grief is not reserved for what we feel when someone dies.

Peter (see yesterday's post) provides several examples of when Jesus experienced grief, and what motivated that emotion.

• Jesus' experience of grief was linked to compassion. Wallace says that the Greek root of the word compassion means "love, tender concern, and grief." That resonated for me. Often our compassion for someone else is linked to grief at their situation.
• Jesus experienced grief in reaction to what religious leaders were doing. I asked the class if they could think of modern examples of this; all of the examples they gave were connected to the government, which surprised me (not that I don't agree with them). I was thinking modern examples might include how some churches might exclude from the community those who are divorced, or those who have a different sexual orientation. I think of churches that don't allow women to have leadership roles. 
• Jesus experienced grief when he was sad. The best example would probably be when he cries at Lazarus's tomb. I always surprised when people try to explain this away. Why wouldn't we expect him to be saddened by the death of a friend?

Another ah-ha moment for me in the chapter is the paragraph Peter writes about the beatitude: "'Blessed are those who grieve, for they will be comforted.' Of the nine Greek words used for grief in the Christian scriptures, the word used here is the harshest emotionally. This is the heart-wrecking, soul-rattling sort of mourning for those who are dead, a grief over the most intense loss."  I think we can find solace in both the idea that Jesus experienced that kind of grief (think of him standing outside of Lazarus's tomb, or retreating to be by himself after the death of John the Baptist) and that God is present with us even in that heart-wrenching time in our lives.

The Passionate Jesus

Our Sunday school has been reading and discussing the Peter Wallace book, The Passionate Jesus. The premise of the book (as I would state it) is that we need to be aware that Jesus was an emotional person. The book explores how Jesus experienced emotions such as love, grief, anger, joy and fear, how he reacted to them, and how he can serve as  role model for us as we deal with these emotions.

I lead the discussion on the grief chapter, and in subsequent posts, I'll dig into that, but I wanted to first explore a few questions with you.

First, do you imagine that Jesus was passionate? Does Peter's thesis surprise you? Do you disagree with it, or does it resonate with you? I think I've always considered that Jesus was a passionate person. My first encounter with that idea would be the story of the clearing of the moneychangers from the Temple. For me, this shows how Jesus could be angry, and how he would express that anger. I think if a person read that chapter in the gospel, he or she would be hard pressed to NOT see Jesus as a person who had passionate emotions.

I do think, however, that we teach our children about a calm, sedate Jesus, who was almost British in his outward emotions. Think of the artwork in a children's Sunday school room. It might include Jesus as a shepherd, carrying a sheep  or Jesus surrounded by children, looking angelic. Even crucifixion artwork would show him quietly dying without -- well -- screaming at the pain of it all. I'm not sure how we would teach children differently, but I think we do foster the idea of an emotional-less Jesus.

Secondly, do we consider our emotions to be a part of us, created in the image of God? And if that is the case, why would we ever expect that the person who for us is the best reflection of God we have to not have emotions. I'm glad Jesus experienced emotions. If Jesus is to be my advocate, I want him to have experienced anger and fear, joy and grief.

And if Jesus experienced emotions, then who better to serve as a role model for how to deal with what can be difficult?

Death in Forgiveness

Forgiveness is difficult for all of us, I think. And yet, God calls us to forgive others. Remember in a previous post, when I talked about the darkness of the wilderness that happens before the promised land? That happens with forgiveness, I think. There is the difficulty that is like a wilderness before we reach forgiveness.

Why is that?

Brown (in Rising Strong) says, "In order for forgiveness to happen, something has to die. If you make a choice to forgive, you have to face into the pain. You simply have to hurt.... Forgiveness is so difficult because it involves death and grief."

That was an ah-ha moment for me as I read the chapter.

Grief is very difficult for us. It is a time of hurt and pain - a dark wilderness. To forgive someone, we have to choose to enter that wilderness. We have to experience the death of expectations, or of resentment, or of self-righteousness. We have to give up being "right." Any and all of that has to die in order for us to forgive.

Brown says, "Given the dark fears we feel when we experience loss, nothing is more generous and loving than the willingness to embrace grief in order to forgive. To be forgiven is to be loved."

Three Days in Grief

Still reading in Hamilton's Not a Silent Night book, and still thinking about the story of Mary and Joseph leaving Jesus in Jerusalem.  Hamilton brought forth for me a couple of ah-hah moments.

First, read this verse:  After three days they found him in the temple... (Luke 2:46a)

Did you ever notice that they search for Jesus in Jerusalem for THREE DAYS?  I don't ever remember paying attention to that before.  Imagine searching for your child for three days.  When my boys were small, if I turned around and they weren't where I expected them to be, even for a moment, my stomach dropped.  I can't imagine searching for three days.

According to Hamilton, the word Luke uses in verse 48 that is translated as "great anxiety" is the Greek word odunao. This word is used again in the book of Luke as part of the story of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-30) to mean the torments of hell.  I think we can understand why Luke would use that word - why Mary might use that word to describe their state of mind during those three days.

Three days in terrible, wrenching grief.  Three days of not knowing where their child was - not knowing if he were dead or alive.  It won't be the last time Mary has this experience.

Not right now

I was reading the blog An Unfinished Symphony, and was stopped by this post.    It's about Jason Gray's song called Not Right Now.  The first link it to the blog post, and there you can read the lyrics.  The second link is to a YouTube video of the Jason singing the song, if you would like to listen to it (go listen to it).

Sometimes, I think, when a friend is hurting, we don't know what to say.  Sometimes, I think, when  friend is hurting, we just want to FIX it.  This song reminds us that there are times - perhaps more often than we know - that the best thing to do is to be present and just listen.  Offer no judgement or answers or reasons - just listen.

Think about Job and the visit of his friends.  At first, before they started talking, they just listened.  They were quiet.  They were present.  It can be a reminder to us of the necessity and possibilities of just listening.

From Jason's song:

While I wait for the smoke to clear

 You don’t even have to speak

 Just sit with me in the ashes here

 And together we can pray for peace

 To the one acquainted with our grief

I know someday

 I know somehow

 I’ll be okay

 But not right now

Longest Night

Today is the winter solstice -- the longest night of the year.  Many churches have Longest Night services on tis evening for those who have experienced loss during the year and need a different kind of worship service.

The part of the Longest Night that we don't often remember is that the light is coming -- sooner tomorrow than today, and sooner the day after than tomorrow.  The light returns.

It's hard to remember that on the Longest Night.

I wonder if that is one of the reasons that God gave us the church -- each other -- to be reminders to each other of the return of the light.

Storm on the horizon

I was reading a post by Songbird. She was talking about seeing a dog that reminded her of a dog who is no longer with her. A sentence she wrote caught my attention:

It's a sort of thundershine, the remembering of something lost, the recognition that some times and people and loves in our lives cannot come back yet have the power to appear as sharply as the little storm on the horizon, summoned by the senses.

That rang with reality for me. Haven't you had that happen? Haven't you been surprised by the memory of a time in your life, a project you had a part in, or even the spirit of a loved one? The thought come unprompted and as a surprise, and bloom in your mind at superspeed, bringing longing and grief?

I've never thought of it as thundershine, whatever that is, but the phrase, "a little storm on the horizon, summoned by the senses" makes sense. Summoned by the senses, or a memory, or an unrelated conversation.

Like a storm, the memory drifts away in time, and the remembrance of it is not as sharp once again.

Good Grief

I'm on an email list called "Sound Bites." Each day, I receive an email with a short thought to consider. Last week sometime, one arrives about grief and mourning. It was a quote from someone named Brenda Wilbee, published in Guideposts 2003. She talks about the idea that our Christian community will sometimes discourage us from mourning, but saying things like, "It was God's will," or that our loved one is in heaven -- why be sad?

Is it true that sometimes we are told that grief is unChristian? That lamentation "reveals a bankrupt faith?"

I get pretty angry when I hear phrases like, "God needed another flower in his garden" and "God had need of him in heaven."

I don't believe God takes our loved ones from us. I believe people die. I'm grateful they go to be with God, but that doesn't eliminate my grief.

Have your read the psalms? Have you noticed Job in the Bible or Lamentations? There is a time to cry. Blessed are those who mourn. In grief, we can find God, just as we can find God in joy, in laughter, and in every part of life, but I don't believe that God causes pain to make himself known.

I think that we are not safe in this life because we are Christian. I don't believe that we will escape sadness. I do believe that we will be comforted, that we will know God, that we will have strength we didn't realize we had.

Jesus cried. It's OK for Christians to cry, too.

Answering Grief

The RevGalBlogPals offer a question each week for pastors to answer. They are often about unrest in the church, or how to handle the "politics" of church life, but this weeks was very sad.

A woman in my parish unexpectedly lost her adult daughter a few months ago. She has been experiencing severe, paralyzing, debilitating grief compounded by alcoholism. ... I feel helpless to help her. .... I really don't know what to do.

To read the entire quote, go here.

It's a very tough question. I doubt any of us face grief and its response that is that tough to answer, but I imagine many of us have faced the question of what to say or what to do to help someone who is dealing with a terrible loss.

It's hard. I never know what to say or what to do. I always feel inadequate to provide an answer -- whether it is in words or deeds. I never really know if what I have done or said is of any help at all.

I see some people who seem to know what to do or say, and I wonder how it is that they are so certain in their responses. Do they ever feel uncertain like me? Do they hide it? Or are they truly able to respond in confidence? Is it from experience?

No answers tonight. Just questions.