Grief Observed

A topic that has been coming up in my mind and in my life both theologically and practically these last few months is that of grief. I have always had a hard time processing suffering, primarily because God has graciously protected me from any intense suffering thus far in my life. But I know that suffering and grief is a reality of life, and starting sophomore year of high school, I remember distinctly being scared that since I knew so little suffering now, that a big storm will come later and I will not know how to handle it. I don't have the same fears anymore (at least not to the same intensity), because I have faith that God never gives us more than we can handle. So when the big one comes (when, not if), I can't imagine how I will handle it, but I trust that by God's grace, I will. When I hit rock bottom, the Rock will be Christ.

Despite this assurance, starting last year, I began to think more and more that I--and not just me, but most Christians--really don't have a biblical understanding of grief, suffering, and death. Now, you might be quick to protest. We know how to think about this! All grief is a result of a fallen world, but as Christians, our comfort is in Christ. Death is no longer something to be feared because beyond death is heaven. In fact, we should long for heaven! Problem solved.

Yes, all this is true. But think about this: do we ever pray for death? Do we ever pray for an accident to happen, for massacres to occur, for the cancer to spread, just so we can reach heaven? The answer is obvious. Suggesting such prayer requests are ridiculous. Even reading such an idea should be repulsive to you, as it was repulsive for me to even type it. We know there is something very, very wrong with the idea of praying for death. We ALWAYS pray for life, we always pray for healing, we always pray for safety, even while adding on "but may Your will be done." But sometimes from the way we talk about death, such prayer requests don't seem like they would be a far logical stretch. So obviously, there is something flawed with how contemporary Christian culture treats death.

In regards to secular culture, Gene Veith writes, "Our culture does not know how to handle death. We insulate ourselves from it. The dying pass away out of sight. We are terrified of death. And so we sentimentalize it." How much of this quote is also true for Christian culture?

In our almost flippant attitude toward death, we seem to be glossing over something. An unspeakable horror. A dull, unending soreness. Something that almost tastes like despair.

In the words of R.C. Sproul, grief is "a pain that penetrates the skin of a person and plunges to the deepest recesses of the person’s being. It is a pain that grips the soul with a vise-like pincer that brings with the pain an excruciating sense of mourning...The broken heart really describes a weeping soul, a soul that is cloaked in the darkest night."

Are Christians allowed to have "a soul that is cloaked in the darkest night"? Does that preclude the command to "rejoice always"? How do we reconcile these two seemingly irreconcilable realities.

The answer is, I don't know. If we could work out the answer perfectly, then we would no longer struggle in shepherding and counseling and comforting others. But just because we cannot perfectly reconcile grief and glory in our minds (much in the same way that we cannot fully understand how on one hand, sin is NEVER good, yet "where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more"), this doesn't mean that we shouldn't strive to understand how to deal with grief.

So this brings me to the main point of this entry, which was NOT to go on and on about my thoughts on grief. With all this background about stuff that's been floating around in my head, I was very glad to discover this entry from Justin Taylor's blog which linked to various Ligonier Ministry articles (including the two links above) that dealt with grief. Obviously these articles are not a comprehensive study on the subject (they are all only a few pages long), but the content was very insightful, and I'd like to highlight some of its teachings:

This article by Jim Coffield brings up what I wrote earlier about our failure to deal with grief. He writes:

"How then shall we now grieve? The answer to that question is a simple yet critical concept: you will either grieve alone and become internally centered, or you will turn to the one who suffered on your behalf and grieve with Him"

"We refuse to mourn because we cannot wrap our finite minds around the despair and hope that live in loss."

He describes "four common strategies" that we, as sinners, try to use to NOT deal with grief: minimization, spiritualization, rationalization, and criticism. Here's what he says about them:

"Minimization is the process of not living in the truth. We commonly respond, “It’s not so bad.” This will often lead to a wooden faith, a faith that does not foster deep dependence on God. Spiritualization is the act of hiding behind quick religious clichés. We do not really face our doubts or fears. Rationalization is our attempt to explain away the loss by using our reasons and intellect. “God is in control,” we say.  The problem is that we never let the loss touch our heart; we are not honest with God about our struggle. We also tend to criticize, looking for someone to blame or place “fault” upon."

What I find especially true about the above strategies isn't so much that those who grieve uses them, but that those of us who try to comfort uses them. So for those of you who are like me, and really at a loss when it comes to shepherding and comforting others who are hurting because it just seems like everything you say so easily falls into the above four categories, here are some helpful insights from Archie Parrish on empathetic prayer and from Joel Beeke on true shepherding.

It is remarkable that the same Dr. Sproul who described grief in such vivid, harrowing language in the first quote can also write that "every day with cancer is like a day full of sunshine" in another article.

Darkness and sunshine. Suffering and joy. Hope and despair. And perhaps, most importantly, a cross and an empty tomb.