Embracing and Sharing Grief

by Dr. Dorothy Hunse

Grief is especially relevant right now as we face losses during the global pandemic – losses that include life expectations, hopes, dreams, and milestones, like graduations, weddings, and, of course, funerals. But, due to COVID-19, we are not able to grieve in the usual way. Whether we live down the street from our friends and family, or across the country, many of us are unable to gather in the same room with our loved ones to put a supportive arm around a shoulder and hug. That’s why it’s even more important to talk about how we help each other to grieve.

What is grief?

To answer this question, some will think of words like ‘process’ and ‘journey’ and ‘letting go’. Others may consider Elisabeth Kubler- Ross’ five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. And many will think about funerals, memorial services, celebrations of life, receptions, and internments. Grief theorists refer to it as an adaptive process, a process that helps us adapt to the reality of the loss that we’ve experienced—whether we’ve lost a loved one, a job, a hope or dream, a beloved pet, or our sense of community in the days of COVID-19 and physical distancing.

Much could be said about grief: how we define it and how we deal with it. I’d like to focus on two: grief needs to be embraced (no matter what the loss) and grief needs to be shared.

Grief needs to be embraced.

In the book A Grace Disguised, Jerry Sittser recounts his experience of a terrible and tragic loss. The loss involved the death of his wife, his mother, and his four-year-old daughter in a head-on car crash

at the hands of a drunk driver. The crash also left one of his other children seriously injured.

Sittser describes the terrible darkness that descended on him the day before the internment of his beloved family members, and his deep desire to run from the pain and anguish of his loss. This desire to run manifested itself in a dream, in which he found himself running frantically and desperately after the setting sun, trying to hold on to its light and warmth, only to find that he couldn’t do it. Despite his

efforts to keep up, the sun slipped over the horizon and he was left alone in the gathering darkness with his pain and exhaustion. He shared this dream with his sister who, in a flash of insight, reminded him that the shortest way out of the darkness is to plunge into it—not chasing the sunset west, but turning to the east and into the growing darkness that comes before sunrise. In a remarkable expression of courage and faith Sittser made a choice to “walk into the darkness rather than try to outrun it, to let [his] experience of loss take [him] on a journey wherever it would lead, and to allow [himself] to be transformed by [his] suffering rather than to think [he] could somehow avoid it.” (42)

Loss, and the grief that follows, is something we need to turn towards—it is something we need to embrace. This is no easy task. It is not in our nature to welcome darkness and pain. And, in a sense, rightly so. But this is not the only reason we avoid our grief. North America and other Western societies tend to be grief avoidant. Grief researcher, Darcy Harris, goes so far as to argue that persons in Western capitalistic societies who are grieving are oppressed. The high value these societies place on productivity means that bereaved individuals often face pressure to mask their grief to maintain their functionality in the workplace and community. (Harris, “Oppression of the Bereaved: A Critical Analysis of Grief in Western Society,” Omega Vol 60(3), 241-253)

Within the church, we sometimes think that if we truly have faith in God, we shouldn’t need to grieve. We turn grief-avoidance into a spiritual badge of honour. And yet, turning into the grief, giving space and time to it, choosing to welcome it, is really the only way through it. Another way to say this is, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4 NRSV) Comfort does not come as we avoid or seek to put our grief behind or away from us. Comfort comes in the midst of our mourning, as we surrender to it.

Because this grief-avoidant tendency can be so ingrained in us, it’s important to be assured that grief is not antithetical to faith. To grieve is not to lack faith. To grieve is to be human, as it is the natural and God-given process by which we adjust to, and process through, the pain of our losses (Hastings, Where Do Broken Hearts Go). Jesus modeled this when he wept at Lazarus’ death, when he wept over Jerusalem, and when he agonized in the Garden of Gethsemane. And the Old Testament writers modeled this as well, when they expressed their grief about various losses through lament (an expression of grief, complaint, anger, and protest), not because they lacked faith, but because of their deep faith in a powerful and faithful God (Bilman and Migliore, Rachel’s Cry).

Grief needs to be shared.

Let’s just say it. Many of us are not very good at sharing our grief. And many of us are not sure what to do when someone around us is grieving.

When living with grief, we often find ourselves wanting to protect others from the burden of our grief. We don’t want to be a “downer”. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves and our pain. We think we should have been over it long ago and assume that others are thinking this too.

And similarly, when someone around us is grieving, we often don’t know what to do or say. We want to offer care, but we feel awkward and uncomfortable and fear saying the wrong words. In a sense, fear and awkwardness are the result of our desire to do good. We want to be able to help people, to fix things, and to take away the pain. We don’t want to get things wrong. In another way, our fear and awkwardness have to do with being reminded of our own finiteness and mortality.

Yet research tells us that healing comes not so much as we grieve alone (although this will be a part of the process), but as we dare to share our grief and seek the support of others.

Scripturally, we know that as brothers and sisters in Christ we are called to be like Jesus, and to come alongside those who are sorrowing and weep with those who weep (John 11:35; Romans 12:15).

Nicholas Wolterstorff wrote an account of his journey with grief following the untimely death of his 24-year-old son in a mountain climbing accident. In his book Lament for a Son, he describes his desperate need to share his grief and his desperate need to have others share it with him.

“If you think your task as comforter is to tell me that really, all things considered, it’s not so bad, you do not sit with me in my grief but place yourself off in the distance away from me. Over there, you

are of no help. What I need to hear from you is that you recognize how painful it is. I need to hear from you that you are with me in my desperation. To comfort me, you have to come close. Come sit beside me on my mourning bench.” (34)

The way to become a comforter in grief, someone with whom others feel safe to share their grief, is to let go of the illusion that we can help, that we can fix it, or that we can take away the pain. There really isn’t anything we can do to make it better. But we can offer care, by sitting close to the one who is grieving, by letting their grief touch and impact us, by asking how they are doing, and by giving them the opportunity to communicate whatever they might need to share in that moment.

In addition to the ongoing losses that comes with living this life, this has been a particularly difficult year: tragedies, violence, COVID-19, physical distancing, job loss, as well as the postponement,

modification, or cancellation of key life events. As you experience loss, consider drawing near to your own grief. Turn towards it. Give space to it. Honour it. Embrace it. And be willing to share it with someone else, trusting that as you do God the Father of all comfort (2 Corinthians 1:3) will draw near to you in the midst of it. And, if you know someone who is grieving, pray for them, and pray for the grace and courage to draw close to them and their grief. Sit down beside them on their mourning bench and marvel at the wonder that you can be as Christ to them.

Dr. Dorothy Hunse is the Assistant Professor of Pastoral Care at Acadia Divinity College, and the Director of the Charles J. Taylor Centre for Chaplaincy and Spiritual Care.