Photo by Karim MANJRA on Unsplash
“Give sorrow words.
The grief that does not speak
Whispers the o’erfraught heart
and bids it break.
”
Hearts are breaking world-wide—both in those experiencing loss directly and in those witnessing through news and social media previously unthinkable scenes of desperation.
People are dying without loved ones to surround them.
Health professionals are rationing the use of life-saving equipment. They, too, are becoming ill, some even dying.
The financial impact, especially on those already living on the economic edge, is devastating.
And we won’t know the human toll our social isolation is taking on bodies, minds, and spirits for years to come.
Providentially, it seems, I’ve been grappling with the subject of grief for the last eighteen months.
At the risk of sounding self-promoting, in January I submitted the final edits for a book on preaching into grief: The Gospel People People Don’t Want to Hear: Preaching Challenging Messages (Fortress Press/Working Preacher Books; releasing May 5th).
At the time, I had in mind the grief of our communal losses. As the impacts of globalization, technology, political polarization, climate change, and what appears to be a second Reformation for the Church transform the world into something new and almost unrecognizable, we’re grappling with the passing of old ways of life and being.
I never could have known this treatise on grief would be released in the midst of a pandemic. I could not have foreseen just how dramatically the ways of life we’ve always taken for granted would shift almost overnight.
The lessons are keenly relevant to our new reality, and I want to share a few as you grapple with how to support not only your congregations but also your own spirit in the weeks and months to come.
Normalize Grief: Death comes before Resurrection
Our culture is not adept at grief.
It makes us uncomfortable. We haven’t been taught what to do with such big, unruly feelings.
As a result, repressed grief comes out as maladaptive behaviors: addiction, any one of the -isms that scapegoats entire groups of people, rage, numbing, withdrawal, etc.
Even the Church sometimes fails at helping people grieve properly: we sanitize burials or hold a worship service that is only a celebration of life without also acknowledging the devastation of death.
One concern I hold is that we will rush to celebration when this pandemic ends—or even this Easter—before we have properly “buried” all we have lost.
Yes, grief is uncomfortable and makes many squirm, clergy and laity alike.
But resurrection—new life—happens after death. Not before it.
By all means, preach the joy and hope of the Resurrection of the dead—but first name who and what has died.
To paraphrase a line from The Princess Bride, Resurrection doesn’t happen for the “mostly dead.” It happens for the “all dead.”
How much more powerful will the Resurrection of Jesus Christ be when we hear that all we have loved that has really died can, is, and will be raised to new life!
We must help people bury their figurative—and perhaps literal—dead. And trusted authorities like you, me—preachers—help dignify grief by acknowledging it.
Naming our losses puts us on a path to healing
One of the most helpful things preachers can do for their listeners, then, is to identify and name the losses—small and large—as the world changes.
We may fear that drawing attention to losses agitates wounds or drags people into despair.
However, the converse is true.
If we don’t name and talk about them, as Shakespeare says, our hearts will be o’erfraught and break.
Grief is unique and painful to each of us, and during this pandemic, losses will multiply. If we fail to acknowledge these losses, not only will the griefs compound, they will become entrenched.
They’ll get stuck in our hearts, causing shame that we feel this way, melancholy, depression, resentment, and/or bitterness—unless we provide an outlet.
Paradoxically, acknowledging our losses and feeling the attendant hurt, anger, sadness, and pain is a necessary step toward healing.
Lead your listeners in lament so that their hearts may be restored.
A hierarchy of loss helps no one
One obstacle to acknowledging our grief is feeling embarrassed about our loss because we compare it to others’.
To name just a few of my own losses, I’ve lost the first trip in several years my family and I were to have taken; my quiet, alone time as my husband, college- and high school sons are always at home; and manageable hair as mine gets longer—and therefore curlier—by the day!
Plus, I’ve lost sleep as I’ve prayed for those I know have this virus, or whose loved ones do, and those waiting for a diagnosis.
I’ve also lost energy and focus as the grief of the world seeps into my bones and heart. Yesterday I crashed at 3:00, slept for an hour, but still had nothing in me for the rest of the day.
Why do I name these losses, trifling though they may be when weighed against those who have died?
Because even if someone in my close circle were to die and my grief were to be compounded, it means just that: the grief is compounded.
I will still have to grapple with the other losses.
No loss, even if it’s as small as an ice cube, will melt because it floats next to an iceberg.
Hear me now: grief is grief. And all grief needs expression.
When we as trusted authorities name people’s myriad losses out loud, it lessens embarrassment that we grieve for what may seem “trivial.”
It dignifies and honors what people hold in their hearts, and gives them an avenue to let it go.
And You?
I also want to ask about your losses. No matter how trivial or devastating you feel your losses are:
What is your outlet for them?
With whom are you naming them?
Who is honoring the events and people that matter to you that you won’t get back?
Especially for those of you who feel isolated in your ministry, who listens to you?
I’m here to support you in your preaching during this unprecedented time, and I’d like to invite you to take advantage of a few opportunities for direct support.
Write to Me
No matter how supported or alone you feel, you are invited to write to tell me about your losses at lisa@backstorypreaching.com.
Free Month in Collective/+
Because The Collective+ (Plus) includes our Holy Week/Easter Bootcamp, you may find that group particularly useful. Bootcamp includes daily live support, five days in a row, so you’ll complete all your Holy Week and/or Easter sermon(s) by Maundy Thursday afternoon.
We’d love for you to join us in community as we find our way through these times together.