Faith and Grieving

If you’re grieving and a person of faith, no matter what religion you follow, you are probably torn between how you think you should feel and how you actually do. You sense a distance between the assurance of faith and the raw emotions of death. 

The Purpose of Grief

Earlier this year, Linda Schreyer interviewed me for Writers’ Talks at Studio West in Los Angeles. In our preliminary chitchat, Linda brought up a number of great questions. We did not get around to all of them during our delightful talk. This is my answer to one of the unasked.

You can listen to the interview at http://t.co/9OWGGScNds

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The purpose of grief is not to put life back together the way it was. Death has taken that option away. Grief is not the enemy. Grief is our taskmaster and guide. It’s also our companion on the way.

In practical terms, grief moves us from dwelling with death to where we can embrace life again. 

            Death is a physical blow to the body that knocks us off our feet, and we find it hard to breathe. It stuns us into mental chaos where nothing makes sense. The gates on our battered and bruised hearts are torn open, and all our emotions come pouring out. If the person who died suffered with a horrible illness, or died tragically, or was young, then death also challenges core convictions of our beliefs. What grief does is give us time to deal with these matters.

In poetic terms, grief translates our loved one into a better language. 

            John Donne said this, and what I think he means is that when we step back and gain distance from the everyday life of the people who died, we are able to summarize their passions and dreams and put their lives into a larger context. We remember the truth of our relationship, and celebrate their unique personalities. Then, of course, we mourn them even more.

In sacred terms, grief helps us create space to honor the people who died.

            We do this through rituals like lighting a candle every month on the day of their death, putting up favorite photos, speaking their names aloud, telling their stories at family gatherings, keeping an empty place at the table, and setting up a shrine with objects that were important to them.

In terms of the heart, grief reminds us that we loved someone deeply. 

            This is why grief never completely leaves. We will always love the people who died, so we will always grieve their loss. Grief is the journey of crossing a barren land from a life that no longer exists to a place where we start a new life that we never wanted.

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This week, Mindful Matter journal published my short essay on the struggle to decide when it was right to remove my wedding ring after my wife died. You can read the essay here:  https://www.holstee.com/blogs/mindful-matter/59888773-on-rings-and-hope

Comfort in a Time of Grief

There is little comfort when we’re deep in grief. When we’re done actively grieving, it’s different. But not completely, and it comes so slowly.

It will never be all right with me that Evelyn suffered for years with physical aches and pains, worked hard to recover and was almost back to full health when she died of an unknown heart problem. She was only in her forties when she died. I was bitter about that then, and I’m bitter about that now.

* If you would like to read the rest of this post, let me know and I’ll send it to you. *

            (A version of this was first published by Refuge in Grief.)

John Donne and the Rhino of Grief

The words by the 17th century poet-pastor John Donne were familiar—“No man is an island.” I first read this poem at the suggestion of my college English professor. Since then I’ve read the book by Thomas Merton with that title, and listened to a number of songs based on Donne’s words—a folk version by Joan Baez, a choral piece sung in church, even a reggae version by Dennis Brown.

 

On September 11, 2001, the words came back.