Laid bare - what loss exposes (Part 1)

     Loss makes us uncomfortable. It reminds us of struggle, discomfort, a lack of our own control, and of our own mortality. Loss leaves us feeling exposed. It hits a little too close to home. I reminds us of our limitations, humanity, and the possibility that this pain is something we, ourselves, could experience. We don't enjoy contemplating that - it makes us feel VERY vulnerable and VERY uncomfortable. So, often, we avoid dealing with it by filling the awkward, empty space with words that "sound" Christian but reflect very little of the heart of Christ. Christ is not uncomfortable in the face of pain. He doesn't seek to run away from the hurting, the broken, the diseased - He runs toward them. And when He does, He doesn't preach at them - He touches them and heals them.

In the following posts, I want to work through a list of things that loss/grief exposes or lays bare in the hearts of both those who have experienced it and those who haven't. This list is, by no means, exhaustive and will, most likely, be something I continually add to.

I want to examine the pitfalls that we can fall into when we don't know what to say or how to help and how our responses preach louder about what we actually believe than any creed we might recite on a Sunday. I also want to examine the blessings and healing and restoration that can be brought into a painful situation when one seeks to truly imitate the heart of Christ (think, the Good Samaritan). I want to examine what may feel like a barb to the one hurting and what may feel like a balm. I want us to feel uncomfortable on this journey (Trust me, loss leaves you feeling anything but comfortable and in control.). I want us to face that discomfort and ask what that reveals about us, about what lies we've swallowed, about where we can grow, and about the heart of the One who came to rescue, redeem, heal, and bring wholeness to the hurting and broken (and, let's face it - that's all of us). I want us to ponder why He's called, "the man of sorrows and well acquainted with grief." Consider this series of posts a rough draft, if you will, on the topic from my perspective.

(*Disclaimer: Please take the following as my own personal experience and those who have been brave enough to share their own pain with me. Your own     experience and responses will look different, but, perhaps, this is an opportunity to learn from someone else as to what they have found both helpful and not so helpful. Be willing to be a student, especially if you are one who desires to be a trusted comforter to the hurting.)

First of all, some myths we need to consider and debunk right off the bat, are a) that grief is something neat and tidy and easily controlled, b) that grief is linear - it has an expiration date and you just need to keep going long enough and you'll 'get over it,' and move one with your life, and c) that you can walk through the valley of the shadow of death and remain unscathed, indifferent, and unchanged.

First, grief and loss are not neat and tidy - they are a tempest, an earthquake, a tsunami. They cause the shifting of the tectonic plates of the soul. Second, they are not linear - they are incorporated into the very fabric of a life and they are experienced until the point of death. You will always be that person's ____ until the day you die, etc. Third, you can't walk away from loss because your life is unalterably changed by it, for good or ill. You get to decide how you'll respond but you're not in control of what that journey will look like. You will be changed. Period. The intensity of the experience might lessen with time but that path is one you will be on for the rest of your life. Your own loss will cause a shifting in your life and in the lives of others. There will be subsequent ripples of loss as a result of the initial stone thrown into the pool of your soul.

This post will be a rough overview of some of that which I hope to explore further in the coming days. These are things that I am walking through in my own journey of loss. These aspects of grief are in no particular order - remember, grief is messy. It may feel all over the place. It most likely is in my head and heart right now anyway. Please bear with me. See this as an attempt to work through the most difficult season I've walked through yet.

1) Loss exposes the lies we believe about God and some of them are perpetuated by His church.

This should go without saying. Grief strips us of whatever pretense we have built up over the course of our lives and lays us bare to its storms. It can strip us of the "Sunday school answers" kind of faith that we may have been able to get by with up to that point. When God seems silent and indifferent, is that image of Him encouraged or strengthened by those who claim his name when your pain is mentioned? Do His people draw near to you or avoid you when you're hurting? You are reminded, both for good and ill, how those around you define God, not by what comes out of their mouths but by how they live their lives. In the midst of this, you are told that some human emotions are good and 'godly' and some are not. You are told that some of your inner turmoil is 'appropriate' to talk to God about and some is not. This can become a mental trap that teaches the hurting that their pain makes God uncomfortable to be around them. Reading Scripture is one thing, but what can scream at the believer when they are severely broken is the behavior of the church. What does the church really believe about God? Does their 'theology' match their behavior?

Another trap that is presented to those that are hurting is that of shame - shame used to silence them as they seek to walk through this valley. Christians can be presented with a sterile, neat and tidy, 'God approved,' 'acceptable,' and 'appropriate' model for what grief needs to look like and those who don't fit this model are viewed sideways and avoided. They're shamed into silence. And, not only is there an 'appropriate' and, some consider 'godly' way to grieve, but there is also an 'acceptable' and 'appropriate' length of time in which to do it. This goes back to the myth that grief is something you 'get over' and not something that is incorporated into the fabric of your life. (We can dive into what this has looked like in my experience in the days ahead as well.) Given these false narratives, what should one grieving conclude about how God sees their pain and the length of time it takes to work through it all? What does it mean that God is patient? What does it mean that, although we have no sense of His presence, He never leaves us alone? We'll take a look at how theology has influenced my process and how it's reforming.

2) The 'well-intentioned' often have Biblical truth to 'share' with those who are hurting. Scriptural truths can often be too heavy for the hurting to hold onto. Don't throw Scripture at hurting people. Give them the gift of presence and, if need be, silence. Don't expect them to have the strength to hold much doctrine or Biblical truth in this season. We often take things in crumb-sized portions and we're doing well to hold onto those. Let God decide what those crumbs need to be and when we need to hear them. It is often enough just to know that we are held by Him because we have no strength to hold onto Him or our faith or 'heavy' truth right now.

Instead of burdening us with a lecture, a sermon, or a list of all the lessons you think God is trying to teach us right now (think, Job's companions), sit with us, hold us, be willing to endure both silence and our need to fill that space with our words - not yours. When the one hurting has no strength, even holding onto Scripture can feel beyond our ability. Preaching even Biblical truths to the one who feels desperately broken feels too heavy, when they don’t even have the strength to do anything beyond just lying there. Rising can be an impossibility for the soul to achieve. Be aware of this possibility. Tread gently and patiently with the hurting. We can feel easily overwhelmed and overburdened by a lot of Biblical truth. God knows what we need and, sometimes, that's silence. (*Truth: Pain can inform how one responds to others who experience it. I've found that those who have walked through the valley of the shadow of death, this side of eternity, are generally much less likely to preach than those who haven't - there are exceptions. It's obvious who has experienced great loss and who hasn't and it's nobody's fault. It's just reality.)

Be ready to interact with a version of your friend who is exponentially weaker and less capable than the one you knew before the loss. Be patient. It will not always be this way. This is a more intense season in which their abilities are greatly reduced. Be willing to take them at the pace they are able to walk, crawl, sit, lay there. Also, be aware that the one who comes out on the other side of this valley, this season of more intense grief will not quite be the same as the one who went into it. Be prepared for that. Loss changes you and you can't go back to the way you were before.

You will be invited to speak when we have the capacity or desire to hear what you have to say. Be willing to let someone else be our comforter. You don't need to be our rescuer, superhero or savior. You can't 'make it all better.' Let God and those whom He has chosen to do so, do so. You may be one of those people, but you might not. Be aware of that and tread lightly and with great patience, gentleness, and, if need be, silence. Think about the words you speak, if possible, before you release them. Seek guidance from Holy Spirit concerning the timing, appropriateness, and necessity of them first. When you don't know what to say, "I'm sorry you're going through this," may not feel like very much but it's better than filling the air with words sharp with indifferent, trite, self-righteous barbs that leave more pain in their wake.

3) Loss exposes how others have handled their own pain and their ability to either be a comfort or one from whom you want to run. When you expose people to pain, you see who they are in technicolor instantaneously. You learn so quickly whether they have been humbled and rendered more compassionate to the hurting than before or whether they have been hardened and embittered by the unfortunate situations they have lived through. If people you know of are hurting but are not seeking you out, consider prayerfully both the role the Lord would have you play and if, perhaps, the reason for their avoidance might have something to do with your response to their pain. If this is true of you and they are brave enough to say so, listen without defending yourself, accept correction, and be willing to change. Humility is crucial to one who desires to help others well.

4) The loss of others can remind you of your own. Be willing to be honest about your pain, if asked. Be transparent about your struggles, your doubts, your questions, but do so with great gentleness and tact. This will also inform the one hurting of your trustworthiness with their own hurt. If you present a polished, 'have all the answers,' or a glib and indifferent portrait of an incredibly deep valley that you walked through (trust me, they'll know), the one hurting will be less likely to trust you with their own raw, jagged edges and questions. If you 'have it altogether,' what business do they have ruining your 'perfect' life with their mess? Be willing to share at the pace at which they ask for this information (Remember, we can be quickly overwhelmed, especially with the pain of other people. Our capacity is near 0 to hold another's pain right now. So, take it at our pace.).