On Things Hidden and Things Seen…

Tags

empathy, God, grace, grief, hidden, journey, pain, pandemic, seen, strength, struggle, suffering

Photo credit: https://psychcentral.com/blog/how-to-sit-with-painful-emotions/

October is reserved for awareness about many issues:  infertility and child loss; breast cancer; domestic violence; and mental health.  What I noticed about all these issues is they are hidden – issues we do not talk about, have shame about, or are labeled as “private” and therefore off-limits.  And while I always like to respect people’s privacy or private grief, when we do not talk about these issues, we end up ignoring people’s pain or worse, robbing them of our empathy and support.  By hiding these issues away, we can do more damage than the issue itself.

I have seen a similar pattern with the Coronavirus.  Because we are physically isolated, we struggle to make space to honor the physical, emotional, spiritual, and financial strain of this time.  In my pastoral conversations, I have heard the grief of people who are physically or financially secure but are overcome with anxiety and depression.  I have talked with those who have lost jobs and are struggling with a sense of failure that has nothing to do with their abilities, effort, or achievements.  And I have reflected with others on how things slowly returning to a semblance of normalcy as we progress forward in phases of regathering in our communities makes them feel even more stress – as if they should feel normal too, but cannot seem to operate at full capacity.

In times like these –in infertility, infant loss, breast cancer diagnoses, domestic violence events, and mental health strains – but also most certainly during this pandemic, many of us are trying to show strength or an ability to power through, so much so that we avoid taking our suffering to God.  But that is not the kind of God we worship.  God does not expect an ability to be stronger than the pain and suffering of this world.  Instead, God longs to be invited into our pain, journeying with us, giving a comfort the world cannot provide.  This kind of relationship involves vulnerability and honesty – something that may be difficult for us.  If you find yourself in the midst of that struggle to trust God enough to show your weakness, or if you are feeling shame for your lack of empathy lately, I invite you to pray Psalm 139 with me this week, especially the first twelve verses.  I leave them here for your prayers, inviting you to be gracious with yourself, with your neighbor, and with the stranger.  Even if we do not know their struggles, God does.

Psalm 139.1-12

1 O Lord, you have searched me and known me.

2 You know when I sit down and when I rise up;

    you discern my thoughts from far away.

3 You search out my path and my lying down,

    and are acquainted with all my ways.

4 Even before a word is on my tongue,

    O Lord, you know it completely.

5 You hem me in, behind and before,

    and lay your hand upon me.

6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;

    it is so high that I cannot attain it.

7 Where can I go from your spirit?

    Or where can I flee from your presence?

8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there;

    if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

9 If I take the wings of the morning

    and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,

10 even there your hand shall lead me,

    and your right hand shall hold me fast.

11 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,

    and the light around me become night,”

12 even the darkness is not dark to you;

    the night is as bright as the day,

    for darkness is as light to you.

On Fragility…

Tags

cycle, death, fragile, God, hidden, life, loss, prayer, pregnancy, thin space

Photo credit:  www.extremetech.com/extreme/191233-new-nanoparticles-get-us-closer-to-artificial-photosynthesis-mass-carbon-capture

I have talked before about how, as a priest, the life cycle is ever present in my work [see post here].  Simultaneously celebrating new life and honoring earthly death can sometimes happen within days or hours.  But this week I have been reminded of how sometimes we do not even see or think about that thin space between life and death because, all too often, we have the privilege of not having to think about it.

This week, one of my close friends celebrated the fifth anniversary of the birth and death of her child.  The baby died in utero around twenty weeks.  That event was formative for our entire community of friends.  Suddenly, pregnancy was no longer a happy, idyllic time, when everything always turns out okay.  We all began to see the dark side of pregnancy, and understand how much we take a “normal pregnancy” for granted.  In thinking about baby Ella this week, and the impact she had on so many of us, I find myself humbled by how much her death gave us.

And like any other cyclical week in the priesthood, what news should I learn but of a friend who was surprised to discover she is pregnant after having lost her first pregnancy over a year ago.  I was equally elated and terrified.  Elated, because I knew how much the couple hoped that maybe, just maybe, they might be blessed with a successful pregnancy and birth.  But terrified because they, and I, know how fragile these next thirty-four weeks will be.

So this week, my prayers are with all of those who walk through the journey of life, death, and pregnancy.  I especially lift them up, because all too often, their joy, grief, and anxiety are hidden.  For fear that life will not be viable, many couples elect to keep their pregnancy quiet for as long as possible.  Whether they share or not, the couple faces consequences.  When everyone knows about a pregnancy that is lost, the couple can have to retell the painful story over and over again.  When no one knows about the pregnancy, the couple can feel isolated and alone in their grief, because to share their story, they have to tell you that they were pregnant and are now no longer pregnant.  There are no easy ways forward, and so for those in our midst walking the path of longing to create new life, fearfully growing new life, birthing new life, and mourning lost life, our prayers are with you.  You live in a fragile reality that we honor and hold with love and that we lift to God.  You are not alone.