A Year Later -- Conclusion

As I have been writing this series, it has become clear to me that I could keep writing it for a long time. The lessons of this past year are numerous and growing by the week. Yet, not wanting to drag this theme out indefinitely, I'll bring it to a close tonight. In my next blog, I'll begin a short series following up my sermon from Acts 3 & 4.

As I write tonight, I carry in my heart two families who have had recent traumas. Troy survived 22 years in the military and the 9/11 bombing of the Pentagon where he was working at the time. Upon military retirement, he settled into civilian life as a locksmith. Recently he was the victim of a senseless mid-morning shooting as he was fixing a car door lock in a parking lot. He leaves behind his wife and seven sons, the youngest of whom is only five. An older son serves in Iraq.

Meanwhile, a young couple I am close to went in for a routine ultra-sound. To their great surprise and sadness, no heartbeat was found. The child they were expecting wouldn't be joining their home.

I haven't had to experience the kinds of losses these families have. I don't pretend to know quite how they feel. However, to a certain degree, suffering forms a fraternity. There is a fellowship among those who have suffered that is unique. Regardless of the kind of tragedy one endures, there seems to be a common bond formed with other sufferers. It has been a new and enriching experience for me to enter that "community."

One thing that I have learned in this journey--and the lesson I want to present to you tonight--is that sometimes words have very limited value. There are seasons of our suffering and grief when words are powerful tools and great gifts to us. They carry us on wings of hope. They bring light to dark places. They help us to get out of bed and face another day. Words--Scripture, cards of encouragement, principles and truths, pithy quotes, powerful essays and prayers of faith--words from trusted sources and sincere hearts pour fresh water into our shriveling souls. There are seasons for good words.

However, there are also seasons for silence. There are seasons when words--even the most well meaning--feel more like arrows than gifts, salt water rather than fresh. The most beautiful promise not only doesn't inspire us, it mocks us. The most practical and helpful of truths, rather than serving as a guide, feels like a sledgehammer.

For a few months of my journey this past year, I could hardly pick up God's Word. I did read it most every day out of commitment, but it offered no joy, hope, salve nor healing. It was sandpaper to my soul. (Now my soul did need some sanding, but that's a different point.) I felt very guilty about this at first. I had loved God's Word for a lifetime, how could I be so cold to it now when I needed it most? Gracious people were sending me very kind words that just dripped like rain down the closed window of my soul. People prayed wonderful prayers for me, but I felt like an outsider observing from afar. It was not a season for words. The heart was simply too weary to receive them.

This condition gradually began to subside. In time, I was able to read a book, receive a word of encouragement and re-engage fully into God's Word. But I've come to accept and appreciate that one stage of grief for many of us is a "silent stage." Jeremiah, who was very familiar with the subject of grief wrote, "It is good for a man to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord. It is good for a man to bear the yoke while he is young. Let him sit alone in silence, for the Lord has laid it on him" (Lamentations 3:26-28).

A few suggestions at this point. If you are reaching out to someone in pain and it doesn't seem like they are receiving your words, don't be angry with them or push your words harder upon them. Your words may be good and fine, but your timing might be off. Nothing we can say will bring back the deceased loved one or make the pain of the moment any less. In time, the grief will turn to a new stage and hope will be found in words. In the meantime, your presence, appropriate touch, offer for a meal or another act of kindness might mean more than anything you can say.

And, if you are the person in grief, here's my advice to you: save those words coming to you at this time--Scripture verses, cards, etc.--for a time you are more able to receive them. Don't guilt yourself with a "I shouldn't be feeling this way" message. What you are experiencing will give way to a season when you are able to receive again. At that time you'll have a few words saved up. A friend of mine made a journal list through her horrible crisis of all the ways God had intervened in spite of the tragic loss of her husband. Years afterwards she has found herself returning to those pages. And, finally, please keep cracking open the Word of God, even if for a season you don't feel like it. The Spirit has a way of thawing and healing our hearts even when we are unaware of it. Fill your mind with good thoughts, even when they don't feel good.

There is a season for everything … even silence.

Your Fellow Traveler,
John

PS Thanks for all your prayers for this weekend's preaching. The first two went pretty well (Saturday night). The gift of a "Spit Happens" t-shirt right before the service provided a nice humorous moment. (Thanks, Dawna!) Three more services to go tomorrow. What crazed leader came up with this five service schedule in the first place? Oh, yeah, it was me. Talk to ya soon.