#3.) SHARE THEIR LOSSES
It’s easy to get stuck in grief. It’s inevitable if I’m a loner and never talk about my loss with someone. It stays an untold story in my head that swims around in a pool of sadness. Everyone needs to share their losses. To do that, we need people who love us enough to ask questions, listen well, respect our silence if we need more time, and those who will empathize and not try to shut our grief down with a pep talk.
When we consider the well known phrase, “I’m sorry for your loss,” the context is usually a funeral. There are so many other kinds of losses to be grieved though. Loss of a home, loss of a job, loss of good health, loss of a marriage, loss of the ability to bear children, loss of trust, even loss of innocence. With each kind there is grieving to be done.
To listen to someone who is grieving, two things are necessary. 1.) I must be willing to engage even if I’m unsure how to respond. 2.) I must believe that it’s good for them to speak of these painful things. While I can agree that it’s important, I still avoid bringing up painful topics at all costs. Think of what happens when the funeral is over. It’s six months after, a year after. How many will tell a grieving widow how much they loved her husband and miss him? It’s considered a touchy subject, a hot topic, one to avoid, one that will make the widow break down and cry. We must ask, and that’s a bad thing? What’s the alternative? To invite her to some social events to try to cheer her up?
After my mother died (I was 30 years old), I witnessed how few spoke of her even though she was well loved. One day, I happened to run into one of her friends in the post office. She saw me and started to cry. After composing herself, she said ~ “I miss your mother. It’s August and this is the time of year we’d pick blueberries together. We knew all the best places for wild berries on these mountains.” Did her story make me cry? Yes, I bawled when I got in the car. But because this woman shared my loss, I was really comforted. I kept saying to myself, “Oh, thank goodness, someone else misses her too.”
As long we we are afraid to bring up the topic of someone’s loss, they will grieve alone. They are denied telling the stories that give release to their sadness. And, they are denied digging deeply to discover the words they might not even know are there. Their feelings stay stuck in a wordless place, never finding a voice.
After Lazarus’ death, Jesus came days later. Though He knew Lazarus would live again, He didn’t reveal that in the midst of the sisters’ grieving. He could have said, “Don’t cry. I’m going to fix this.” But He entered into their loss, listened to their complaint, and heard the accusation about the timing of His arrival. Then He was deeply troubled in spirit ~ then He wept ~ and then He performed a resurrection. Sharing their loss pre-empted the miracle.
Lord, I need not fear other’s tears, nor my own. I’m willing to face what’s uncomfortable. Amen
As I always should, I look to Jesus to show me how He gave empathy first and answers last. The most obvious story is the one where Jesus wept tears of grief at the gravesite of His friend, Lazarus. He didn’t give a eulogy about Lazarus or a sermon on death’s curse. He heard the wailing and entered in to weep deeply with Mary and Martha. Jesus is our great High Priest. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Hebrews 4:15 What’s comforting about that is Jesus knows how I feel because He subjected Himself to life in this world. He could have stayed in heaven, continued to inspire writers to pen scripture, and assure mankind that He knows how the human body handles pain because He created us. That would have been only mildly comforting. He knew I needed more than a God who just understands how I am wired. I needed an Emmanuel who would show me that He understands the complex emotional landscape of human beings. As the incarnate God, He modeled a rich emotional life with displays of grief, joy, and everything in between. I am a stoic by comparison.
Pain isolates us from other people and we begin to believe that no one has ever gone through what we are experiencing and that what we are feeling is unique. We feel lonely. Is there anything worse than believing you are alone and no one cares or understands?
Let me see the beauty of Your heart so that I’m overwhelmed by Your love for me. That You, O Lord, would stoop to offer me a yoke which binds me to You is too wonderful to fathom. Who am I that You would consider me? And yet, You have drawn me to You with cords of love. The cords – a yoke – are they not one in the same? I am captive to Your love.
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