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My minister
spoke glowing words at Dad’s service, but there were problems with Dad
and I am not sure I can talk to my minister about this.
I believed
and I prayed, and still God took my baby away. I don’t want to believe
that, but people keep saying that I should feel “blessed” because Jesus
chose to take my baby to heaven to be in his heavenly choir.
My rabbi sat
Shiva with me, but as soon as the “job” was done, he disappeared.
I rejoice
that Mom is with Dad in heaven. I really believe the wonderful promises
of God, but why did she have to suffer so long with cancer, and then
Alzheimer’s? There is so much injustice in the world. Why was so much
dumped on Mom, and on all of us?
I might risk
believing in God again, some day, but prayer–– it doesn’t mean anything.
In fact, the few times I go to church, I want to shout aloud when the
prayer petitions are announced, “Don’t waste your time. God can’t or
won’t do anything about your problems!”
The above
statements are not fiction. They are comments shared with me and others
(though many feel forced to keep to themselves) by the bereaved men,
women and children who continue to struggle with the issues of life and
death, and have often felt everything from frustration to strong
resistance in trying to translate the “Why’s” of their sorrow into a
meaningful pathway to peace that is a long and personal journey for the
bereaved.
In a short
form of this essay, I will introduce three themes regarding the
spiritual dilemmas of the bereaved. Four additional themes focusing on
the clergy role in bereavement are not included.
Grief is a
profoundly spiritual experience, however experienced and expressed by
that person
In his book,
How We Grieve; Relearning the World, Thomas Attig reminds us
that the task and opportunity placed before people who experience loss
is to embrace the world as it now is because of that loss. He writes,
“When someone in our world dies, we remain postured in that world as we
were before the death, but we can no longer sustain that posture. We are
challenged to learn new ways of feeling, behaving, thinking, expecting,
and hoping in the aftermath of loss. As we learn these things, we cope”.
(page viii). Grief touches us from top to bottom, reshaping and
redefining life as it was, as it feels now (realizing those feelings
change faster than the weather) and whatever it will become for us far
down the road of this grief journey. Loss has embraced us, and
everything about us, and that is true of our spirituality and our
religion.
First, some
basic definitions: Spirituality is something all of us have and are. It
may or may not sound particularly reverent or religious, but for the
bereaved, the languages and dialects vary but the needs are usually the
same. When assaulted by loss we are pressured to find meaning, search
for some inner strength when empty seems to be our neighborhood,
struggle to find values that bind us as we are tossed to and fro in our
sorrow, and a world view that transcends all that we are and experience
with something that is eternal or beyond ourselves.
Simply put,
religion moves beyond the “I” of a person’s spiritual quest, enabling us
to find others of similar experience and understanding for mutual care
and support. Religion is about rituals, creeds, cultic activities,
mission and mutual respect and support. From my book, Heart Peace;
Healing Help for Grieving Folks come these words:
I am
different, Lord I am bereaved. Nothing is the same; everything is
different. I feel different. People treat me differently. Loss has been
thrust upon me. I may even hold you responsible for that loss. I now
must grieve, and I crave a word, a hint of hope and healing. Help me,
Lord, to know that you are ever the same, ever constant in my life.
Amen.
(page 17).
Spirituality
can be as redefined as life itself when we are grieving. “God so loved
the world” may offer a modicum of comfort at the time of a death or
funeral, but what does that love represent to a mother and father whose
child has just been killed by a drunk driver? What do the words of
Christmas, pictures of the Holy Child, and God’s care for children mean
to struggling young parents whose child was stillborn? “The Lord is my
shepherd” may not be enough for the single mother whose young child,
skipping along the debris- laden sidewalk between the projects and the
school, and is gunned down by a stray bullet shot from a a gun held by a
ten year-old who was meeting the ritual obligations of his or her gang.
How might the promises of eternal life spelled out in John’s revelation
comfort the recently widowed woman who is terrified of life without her
spouse of sixty years? Sometimes it feels like the only option is to
give up and die, to be rejoined in heaven. This is where people often
struggle in their sorrow, and for many reasons, including their own fear
or shame, often suffer in silence.
None of us
are experts in grief because this loss is always different from previous
losses.
Most bereaved
who seek counsel are in search of clarification. “Tell me I am not
crazy!”––and a measure of guidance––“Will you stay with me awhile?”
Grief is demanding, it is overwhelming, it is hard work, and, just as no
two people grieve alike, we seldom grieve alike for different losses
within our own journey. This journey is different because my
relationship with this person is different than those of other losses.
Grief
shatters our foundations, our traditions, and the roots which become the
veins through which the gracious love of God flows. Like the hardened
arteries of bad dieting or the many forms of heart disease, the veins of
grace become blocked by this lack of clarity, by the continued
loneliness of feeling abandoned by God and fellow believers. And if our
past spiritual resources have been ill-defined, misguided or neglected,
the turmoil will be even more pronounced Grief is a powerful filter that
can redefine and maybe spoil faith as we know it.
It is
intriguing that we can understand filters in our body, filters that we
use when cooking, and the many filters in our automobiles, but we seem
unable to translate this concept to the process we call grief.
When we find
ourselves in the deepest holes or valleys of the grief experience we
experience the raw power and vulnerability of grief. The deeper the
pain the deeper the spillover (filtering) into the rest of our story.
Thus, we say that grief filters our whole selves, physically, socially,
emotionally, sexually, and, yes, spiritually.
At the same
time, another filtering is going on. These are the filters that
influence how we do or do not grieve. Some of those filters are gender,
ethnic or cultural expectations, the nature of the loss, past
experiences with loss, and, yes, spirituality and religion.
Spirituality
and religion come with many definitions and personal nuances
individually formed and shaped. It also can be well defined, but then
compromised by the “packaging” of those providing the care. When a
minister thinks or says, “You should be over this (grief) by now”, that
is not only ill-timed and manipulative, it is also abusive.
Spirituality
is meant to be nurturing, enabling and facilitating, not controlling.
Guilt is common in grief, emerging from within as we try to give meaning
to the events going on in our lives. Shame is not the same as guilt,
emerging from external pressures (an abusive parent or spouse, peer
pressure, demands of the workplace, and, yes, spirituality and
religion). “Jesus died and rose again for your uncle. He is in heaven.
Don’t you believe that?” The bereaved now face a dilemma. “How do I
say, ‘Yes, I believe, but I miss him so very much? I still don’t want
him to be dead.”
Because grief
is a filter we must ever be mindful of the fact that everything we
observe as a griever is manipulated by the profound sense of loss, and
the topsy turvy whirlwind of grief.
“Yea,
though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” (Psalm
23). It is a very lonely and frightening walk through the wilderness we
call grief. It is personal, it is long-lasting, it is demanding, and it
is a mine field of explosive feelings, detours and disappointments.
The Rev. Dr.
Richard B. Gilbert, BCC, is the executive director, The World Pastoral
Care Center and Director of Chaplaincy Services at Elgin, Illinois. Dr.
Gilbert welcomes any opportunity for further dialog. You may contact him
directly at dick.gilbert@shermanhospital.org. Visit our website:
www.twpcc.org. Printed with permission. Rev. Gilbert wrote this article
for our Summer 2002 issue of Wings. ©April 1, 2002
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