Friday, February 19, 2010

A Grief Observed

In his book A Christianity Worth Believing, Doug Pagitt responds to the claim he's heard for years, namely that feelings and circumstances should occupy no place of honor in the life of a disciple of Jesus simply because they are transitory and cannot be trusted to partially or fully convey anything that has to do with the God we follow: "What is the point of a Christianity that doesn't involve our circumstances? The Bible is full of stories that are about faith lived out in particular circumstances. I got into Christianity because I wanted it to interfere with my circumstances. They have everything to do with faith."

When Judy died, Jessica bore the brunt of the gracious litany that demanded she not fall prey to the the tsunami of despair and hopelessness that rushed onto the shores of her heart as she "dealt with" the death of her mother. Time and again she was admonished to trust God, to hold out hope for a better tomorrow. As I listened to all of this, I was struck by the sheer audacity of it all: who are these people to deny my wife's tears? Who are they to think that they will not have to deal with her grief if they can get her to do the same? How can they possibly think that there is a single scrap of good theology in adopting a stoic stance and acting as if denying God-given emotions is a hallmark of spiritual maturity?

Jessica defied all of these expectations not for the sake of playing the rebel but for the sake of reality and for the sake of healing. I've watched her dive into the chasms of her own sadness and read the grief of her heart like they were lines of poetry written by the finger of God himself. I've listened to her question the care of God, doubt the well-meaning but seriously misplaced words and intentions of his people. I've seen her embrace the onslaught of her grief only to come out with more doubts, more fears, more questions, and more burdens.

And more faith. In the middle of all of this, she has come through with a vision of God who cuts and comforts, a God who wounds and heals, a God who shares the darkness and confusion of our sorrow.

Paul said to grieve, but not without hope. While his words to the Thessalonians are as timeless now as they were two millenia ago, it is the last half of that verse that many gravitate towards: have hope. Absolutely. The resurrection of Jesus means that my wife's tears will one day be wiped away as her resurrected body stands beside those of her Saviour and her mother. Oh, my wife has hope.

But, until that day, she will also carry on with the first half of Paul's admonition: she will grieve. How can she not? How can she deny the gaping hole, the mother-shaped absence in her heart? How can Jessica not miss her best friend, the one whose very blood flows through her veins, whose voice rings out in her laugh, and whose motherly love lives on as Jessica cares for our five-year-old son?

Jessica's life has not changed. Her circumstances surrounding the loss of her mother have not changed, and they never will on this side of the veil. But they have embraced wholeheartedly the gospel of loneliness, hurt, and despair. Yes, the gospel is full of those things. Or do you only see a smiling face when you look at the cross?