I was curious what had driven my colleague into their wilderness time.
“That and a friend’s faith being different than I thought. Their perspective sent my faith off the rails. I didn’t know what to believe any more. What was okay. What was right.”
They didn’t elaborate on the griefs or the faith shift but I can fill in the gaps with my own.
A friendship that went sideways. One that simply stopped. Another unsustainable. The one that flamed and crashed. The loss of a job prospect, a church, a community. Loss of consistency, friend circles and continuitiy.
The loss of the stability of the faith of youth, young adult hood, or even the solidity of last week’s faith verses this week’s questions and doubt.
Micro griefs
All piling up together
Undermining stability
Hope
Peace
The loss of the every day
Tears are not permitted
Needed
Unsupported
That we should
MUST
Be tougher
Stronger
Hold it together
It’s not a life
After all
Only an idea
An ideal
A dream
This
That The other
Invisible yet visible
Tangible intangibles
Swept into a corner
Under the rubble
Heart pieces
Jagged edges cutting each other
All the relationships
Jumbled and tangled
Soaked in loss
Micro
As with many things, this has stewed within for quite a while. It’s not pretty and I’m giving myself permission to let it be not pretty.
Because I am angry. Not just a little annoyed. Not just a bit pissed off. Genuinely, “Get the @#&% out of my way” angry…
Angry about oppression
Angry about genocide
Angry about the patriarchy and systems
Angry about the loss, the mistreatment, the misogyny, the narcissism and the backstabbing
Angry about the willful blindness, stupidity and cloak of omission
No… the cloak is of ignorance, willfully draped around shoulders too weak or unwilling to carry the weight of grief and pain borne by others
Angry for the lost, the dead, the missing and murdered
Angry for the misplaced, misunderstood and dismissed
Angry about the wars, the hunting, the slaughter
Angry about the putdowns, the hands to the face and the throttling of voices
Voices of the small, the wounded, the women and the queer
Voices of the different and the longing
Angry about the manipulation of scripture in the past
Angry that it continues
Angry that we let it
That we allow our hands to be tied and our voices to be silenced
Because it’s easier that way
Because we’ve been trained that way
Angry that we abdicate responsibility because the light is too hard on our eyes
The truth too hard on our hearts
Angry that we believe the lies
Lies that we are incapable
Lies that we are weak
Lies that we are wrong
Angry for the lies we are told
Angry for the lies we tell ourselves
Ugh. The light off the snow was way to bright. It was searing into my brain making everything unpleasant. Kind of like the season we are in – too bright, too frilly, too shiny, too silly*. Don’t get me wrong, Christmas has its beautiful, wonderful, blessing filled moments but it also slaps faces and throws gut punches to those living in grief, loss and mourning.
It’s that gut punch that makes it hard to breathe. Or perhaps it’s the pressure to maintain an appearance of full function. I remember being teased by a co-worker when I would be out of breath simply moving about the building. In that time of loss I found it took so much effort to hold it all together the act of breathing became expendable. I had just enough strength to do one or the other – hold it together or breathe properly. One or the other, not both. Of course then I’d be completely winded doing a short flight of stairs or carrying boxes from one space to another.
In that time, there were mornings I would picture wrapping strips of duct tape tightly around my heart so I could complete the necessary tasks of the day. It wasn’t a holiday season so even more so, how does one function in a world gloriously celebrating family and friends, gifts and holidays, festivities dripping with joy and brightness? And how does one come alongside someone who’s heart is in pieces held together by duct tape and tears?
Ugly truth alert: we are uncomfortable in each other’s messiness. We don’t like pain or grief or loss or confusion or any of the weighty emotions that are tangled up with grief. To alleviate our own discomfort in the face of someone else’s mess and broken heartedness, we try to cheer them up, pointing to the simplistic, speaking what we intend to be comfort that creates further separation and at worst, deeper wounds.
Perhaps then permission for those in loss – permission both from themselves and from others – to sit in the time of loss. To mourn how they need to mourn. If that means no tree, no lights, no decorations, minimal interactions with the public, so be it. Do what your heart needs you to do. For those in a position to love and care for them, permission to do the above and invitation to simply and sometimes silently be present. Permission to yourself to feel uncomfortable, to not have the right words, to lean in and be present. You don’t, you can’t and you shouldn’t fix it. But your love and presence means the world.
In a nutshell, grief is heavy. Holidays can hurt. It is hard for everyone. Be gentle with yourself, with others. Love deeply and don’t rush to fix it.
*Think Berenstain Bears Old Hat New Hat is hard to expunge from this mom’s brain…
For help navigating grief and loss, consider joining a GriefWalk community.
I’m watching, waiting for the sun to break through the skeletal trees standing as sentinels along the horizon. On most occasions waiting coffee with in hand is peace-filled, anticipating the day ahead, the world and I waiting in silence together.
Today as I watch and wait, I am challenged to find exactly where the sun will break through. There are no clouds to reflect the grow of the sun as it breaches the gap and I am left to my memory of the day before for both time and location.
In the waiting I am reminded this is the liturgical season of Advent, the time the church sets aside waiting for the arrival of Christ. Four Sundays designed to remind us of the journey and the generations the Jewish people waited for the arrival of the prophesied messiah. We have an advantage – we know how the story progresses. We know the baby will arrive from a teenage mom at an unlikely time in an unlikely time.
As the sun finally peeks through I realize how far off my prediction was. The glow broke though much further west than expected. Still glorious but where I was looking was wrong. Even more, while I was expecting the first light to break through 12 minutes before the hour, it was another 10 before the barest glimpse made it through the undergrowth. Not only did I have to wait for the place to be revealed, I had to wait even longer for it to actually happen.
I was wrong about the where and I was wrong about the when.
With the tradition of Advent we have the benefit of knowing where and when and I’m drawn to how complex things would have been for the Jewish community when Jesus entered into it. A whole people group waiting ultimately looking for the wrong thing in the wrong place and possibly at the wrong time.
I wonder if that time of waiting for the messiah would have been more akin to our waiting and longing for the end of this pandemic? The people then were waiting for someone powerful to arrive, to fix everything, defeat this enemy, remove this oppression once and for all. Is that not akin to what we face now every day in a pandemic stricken world?
Last fall I attended a leadership conference in Edmonton. As we wrapped up our final evening a prophetic invitation was issued calling us to the spiritual front line. Today this came to mind – this need for those that are equipped and able, to step into the fray on behalf of those who cannot. That there is a spiritual battle looming, if not yet already engaged, for which a vast army is needed. The church has – WE HAVE – been sleeping, lulled into complacency by comfort, pride and idolatry. Not obvious idolatry in the old school golden calf kind of way but in the subtle, distraction, addiction, soul numbing kind of way – those things that we pursue because they feel good and, even if only temporarily, fill a void. That in our apathy and complacency we are like dry bones in Ezekiel’s desert:
“The hand of the Lord was upon me, and he brought me out in the Spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of the valley; it was full of bones. And he led me around among them, and behold, there were very many on the surface of the valley, and behold, they were very dry. “And he said to me, “Son of man, can these bones live?” And I answered, “O Lord God, you know.” (Ezekiel 37:1-3, ESV)
Those of us then called to armour up and enter into the fray are those listening to Jesus, through the Holy Spirit as He instructs us:
“Then he said to me, ‘Prophesy over these bones, and say to them, O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: Behold, I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. And I will lay sinews upon you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live, and you shall know that I am the Lord.’
So I prophesied as I was commanded. And as I prophesied, there was a sound, and behold, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. And I looked, and behold, there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them. But there was no breath in them. Then he said to me, ‘Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to the breath, Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe on these slain, that they may live.’ So I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived and stood on their feet, an exceedingly great army.” (Ezekiel 37: 3-10, ESV)
Ezekiel did the work as asked by God. He spoke the words and called the dry bones to life. It must have seemed absurd. The bones were old – “behold, they were very dry”. How could speaking words be sufficient? And yet he did, and they were and breath came into them and they were an exceedingly great army.
Which are you? Are you part of the bones in the middle of the valley or are you, like Ezekiel, being given “words to speak”, a task to do? Are you waiting to receive breath, to be brought to life? Are you waiting to speak, to move, to act on His command?
How can we – individually and corporately – bring life to our community, our city, our country, internationally and globally? What does this look like for our churches What does this look like for us as individuals? What is Jesus asking you to do?
There was an article on Facebook a week ago, written by a nurse who watched parents bring their children into the PICU (Pediatric ICU). There was a pattern to the process of a beginning, during and after phase which paralleled what we’re going through currently under COVID restrictions. The start of the process, the beginning phase we are looking the situation head on, dealing with the immediate, the panic, the crisis reaction of radical change to life patterns, processes and realities. A shift of thinking about priorities and, well, everything.
The “During” phase is where we are now. During is full of unknowns. The end is unknown. What will happen “during” is unknown. Who will make it through to the end is unknown. Will I catch this? Will someone I care about? What do you mean now my pet could catch this? My neighbour? How will I shop safely? Can I just go for a walk?…
The underlying stress and anxiety of the during phase colours everything like an abstract sort of baseline onto which everything else piles. The Everything else includes general life – groceries, work, school for the kids, music lessons, pet care, putting in the garden, running a business, [insert usual activity here]. Each of these things has a coating, a wrapper of added time, considerations and sanitizing called “COVID-19” increasing the time each things takes and increasing the level of stress each thing induces.
It’s this during phase where who we are starts to show more clearly. How anxiety and stress play out in our behaviour becomes quicker to surface.
As Jesus often does, this coincidentally came in my feed:
For some, this is tears, others, sharp tones, others try to take control of anything and everything, some turn daily living into check lists, others hide in video games or literature, others lash out at everyone around them. Yet others still smile, still show grace. There is love and lightness in their words, their eyes and their activities. What is inside of us is what splashes out when we are bumped.
Jesus, I bring my heart and my mind to you. I offer you my self, this vessel that you have built. Holy Spirit, will you show me, in a picture, a word, a memory, or in scripture, what is in me that is spilling out? Lord show me the good things as well as those I need to change. I especially ask you to show me where my sins, where my habits or thought processes are discouraging or hurtful to those around me. Now, please show me the things that are godly, the gifts of the Spirit that you are growing in me.
Lord Jesus you are my example. Show me how to grow these blessings that they are the things that splash out in this time. The things that are jostled out onto others that bring joy, peace, love and hope.
Stepping into obedience the first time cost little in comparison. Yes I gave up time. A LOT of time. And I gave up freedom to do what I wanted when I wanted to but I gained so much in that same space. I gained a knowledge of the Holy Spirit. Of how he moves and works and gifts. I gained insight into missional work and what it means to give thing up in order to serve someone else. Even when that someone else is unknown to me. Unknown to many. Unseen and unloved.
It cost me innocence but gained wisdom and a deeper connection to Jesus. More time in prayer. More time in praise. More time just being.
The second step into obedience was not the same. The second stepping in was a stepping out. Stepping out of the life that had been built. Stepping out of the community I’d come to love. Stepping out of the routine our family had come to know.
Stepping into obedience the first time was joy, light, excitement and nervousness at moving beyond anything I’d done before but knowing Jesus was asking it, that he would equip me regardless the challenge.
Stepping into obedience the second time was pain, sorrow, mourning and reluctance at moving out of familiarity, joy and community. It was like my heart was forcibly ripped from my chest. Yet Jesus was asking this too, same as he had the first.
In my darkest times, I lament the cost. In the brighter moments, I know his cost was much, much higher. And I rejoice through the sorrow.
Why do I settle? Why do I put up with the crap, the pressure, the ignorance, all those things that people foist upon me? I settle for their indifference, for their distain, their inability to see truth or even acknowledge the presence of someone they don’t understand. I settle for this bad form of attention because at least it’s attention? Any attention is good attention I guess. And yet rarely was it even attention. A shrug a nod if I’m lucky.
I settle for non-existent praise
I settle for misplaced affection
I settle for doing the best I can because it’s the best I can.
My presence there wasn’t for them. It wasn’t about settling for them it was about settling for me. For what I can do. For what God asked me to do.
The father had very specific instructions for me. Settling for that truth was motivational. inspiring. About following, serving, living life to the fullest. Being who Jesus wanted me to be. Wants me to be. I settled for relationships that were convenient and tried to make them richer. Tried to make them what they needed to be for me but I settled for what they were. I SHOULD have made them what I needed them to be for me. My brain doesn’t work that way. It filters, processes, finds excuses for why others are how they are and how I can and should adapt rather than expect better, ask for better, create better. No more will I settle. No more will I settle for lack of thanks. For lack of acknowledgement for lack of tact or for the lack of gender. I no longer will change who I am for others to settle for what they expect but will push for what I expect. want. Need to thrive. It is my time.
There it is again. That ache. The pain. The reminder of loss, of things left behind. Of people, lives, relationships, goals, passions and dreams altered. Separated. Not because of physical loss but spiritual, emotional. One act of obedience that changes the path and leaves a portion of your heart on the side of the road.
It’s a pain that eventually fades. Changes. Mutates. Moves from grief to sorrow. The stabbing lessens to a dull ache, fades to a tender spot. The tender spot the enemy loves to poke with impeccable timing. Those moments when joy starts to shine through, when purpose is forming like an ethereal dream, that’s when he jabs his boney finger right into the most delicate space. That tender spot that awakens the sorrow, stirs the tears and squeezes the heart.
The poke, the pressure, that ache that rises and casts a grey pallor over everything, creating doubt shadows where each decision, each moment, comes with a backpack full of questions, doubts and second guesses.
Earlier this season I attended the local Town Hall gathering for The Meeting House. Included with the expected information was the introduction and subsequent conversation about Jesus Collective for which the initial launch and development path is pastor/leader focused.
One of the attendees voiced a concern that for them, an initial launch of pastor/leader focused resources and networking created an “us and them” environment s/he couldn’t support.
Being a “9” (see “The Sacred Enneagram and/or The Enneagram Institue“) it took some time for me to assess why this reaction bothered me ultimately determining the hackle raising aspect being how much the comment echoed today’s self-centred, consumerist mentality. It unfortunately reflects the culture we currently live in. A “what’s in it for me”, “we should all have access to everything”, “I want that”, “I deserve to have what they’re getting” culture that expects everything from everyone without obligation to give back.
In considering whether this cry for equal access is valid, these questions come to mind: Are we truly loving our pastors? Are we loving them well? Do we give them all the supports, encouragement and resources they need?
Given the number of churches folding, of pastors burning out or leaving their ministry in either disarray or disgrace, is there any answer other than “No”?
From the outside, the life of a pastor looks tough, exhausting really – who would pick it voluntarily? The standards to which they are held is higher than the average person or Jesus follower, and if they’re a teaching pastor, scripturally so (see James 3:1). Plus there is an expectation of always present, always perfect, always giving, always loving, always listening, always agreeing and not ever showing weakness, doubt or fatigue. Simply listen to the grumblings after a service or of someone thinking to leave a church or community. Their words are likely to be unfair but represent the pressures, spoken or otherwise,
Not every community should be painted with the same brush – there are many pastors with strong healthy connections and relationships within their communities and some with amazing supportive relationships with friends/fr-amily beyond their congregation that make their work energizing and fulfilling.
But what about those who don’t? What about those who stand alone, serve alone, struggle alone? In isolated regions or environments? Those for whom the current social pressures could divide their congregation beyond repair? Where reaching out locally isn’t an option because there isn’t a “locally” to reach out too? Or language is a barrier? Or ethnicity? Persecution? Where going against cultural norms is a life threatening choice? Where the parent denomination enforces practices that are counter to the teaching of Jesus?
At its heart, this goes beyond a single online resource. It’s about overcoming the “I want that too” sense of entitlement that pervades and choosing to dig in, to lift up the people Jesus has commissioned to be on the front lines. To stand alongside them – financially, prayerfully, emotionally. It is about choosing to sacrifice our indulgent need to have everything and give of ourselves. Just like they do.
