I wonder how often we view church as a place solely for joy. It seems to me—in all of my great wisdom as a 39-year-old—that people (including myself) sometimes think church attendance and engagement is only appropriate when ‘everything is fine’. Of course, there are plenty of folks attending church regularly without the previous statement being applicable; I’m aware of that and thankful for it. But some fear that their hurts and struggles will show, that the others will see them in pain, and choose not to come until they can ‘get it together’.
I don’t have anyone in mind, right now, except for a few people—me, my wife, and a couple of others. Recently, my personal family group—a group of which I include close friends—has experienced a catastrophic and life-changing loss. Life as we know it will never be the same, and we’re all in the beginning stages of grief. There are no words to console this ache, no actions that can take place to overcome it, nor are there any plans to set in motion in order to gracefully move through it. It’s going to be hard. It’s going to take time. It’s going to hurt. And it isn’t even directly about me or Nicole—it concerns people so close to us that we feel the shockwave as though we’re standing within the blast; our hearts are shattered. With nowhere else to seek safe haven, we have but one place to turn.
God.
But that turn doesn’t look like the movement that most would assume. This isn’t a happy-go-lucky turn…no. It’s a “Why. Why this?” type of turn. I’m not angry with God, I’m confused and hurt; and God is the only entity to whom I can turn and beg for grace and comfort. But in order to do that, I have to get up every day, put my shoes on, and step into God’s house. I have to approach the altar and lay bare my anxieties and trauma, seeking God’s comfort, hoping for the restoration of a new normal. Alas, it will take time; but if I don’t come here and do that, if I don’t allow my prayer life to remain awake, then it will take even longer—if ever—to proceed. And I need you. All of you. I need to focus on this, but in doing so, focus on everything else around me, realizing that the world still spins, even if I will it not to do so. Without this community, overcoming the deepest valleys of faith would be an impossible upward march. Without God’s grace, stepping toward God’s warm embrace would feel excruciating, because of the leaden shoes of grief and stubborn resistance. Without your smiling faces and your stories of normal life, I’d forget that life isn’t all bad, and that joy comes in the mourning...in the listening…and in the fellowship of those around me.
I wonder how many of you are experiencing something like this. I wonder how many of us struggle in screaming silence, railing against the same grace that would see us through. I wonder how many of us wander into the depths of despair, refusing to look up and search for that guiding force that we otherwise give all glory, laud and honor. If you are like me…and those for whom my heart breaks…please hear this: You are not alone, you are beloved, and if you simply reach out, you will be covered in support and love from this community—from this household of God—that seeks to lift you up and see you to the other side of the valley of the shadow of death.
Grief and despair don’t disappear just because the holidays arrive. This season is just like any other in terms of everyday life; the unimaginable happens whether we expect it or not. However, we can use this season—this time of anticipation—to look toward better days. We are not the sum of our fears or failings, but rather the perfected creation of God who holds us in an unrelenting loving embrace. For those going through pain, God sees you. For those grieving recent or decades’ old loss, God sees you. For those in joyful transition, God sees you. For those walking the normal moments of life, God sees you. Whatever comes tomorrow, God is willing to walk alongside you (and me) if we’ll allow it. And God has sent prophets in disguise—the people sitting next to you, calling you, or missing your presence—to help with the work of restoration and that ‘new normal’. Today and every day hereafter, know that the Holy Spirit is speaking to you through the breath of those around you, if you would have ears to listen. My prayer for anyone going through the impossible is that we realize one truth: With God, anything is possible, without God nothing is worthy, and without one another, we are denying the chance for our better selves to emerge changed by grace.
As you love me, know that I love you. And God loves us all.
Onward into Advent,
Fr. Sean+