The ABC's Of Grief
Sermon
Sermons on the First Readings
Series III, Cycle C
Object:
Grief is one of the universal experiences of humankind. Its characteristics are recognizable across time and space. Because humanity is finite by nature, there will be a time to laugh and a time to cry for every man, woman, and child on earth.
We have been exploring the period in Old Testament history leading up to the Babylonian exile. The prophet Jeremiah has been our guide for the last six weeks. If it seems that we have been hopping and skipping through Jeremiah, you are right. It would appear that somewhere between the original scribing of Jeremiah and the rendering of those texts into a book of the Bible, some juggling took place. Those who designed the lectionary, the schedule of weekly readings that millions of Christians join in reading in worship, explored Jeremiah carefully for signs of a cohesive chronology from the reign of King Josiah until the destruction of Jerusalem. The order of our readings from Jeremiah, though a bit convoluted, have served to chronicle the story of once-mighty Judah's fall.
Today we depart from Jeremiah for a week to explore a text from Lamentations about the condition of the city of Jerusalem. There were some who formerly believed that Lamentations was also written by Jeremiah, but detailed study of the text shows few, if any, parallels in style or vocabulary with the book of Jeremiah.
It may be that Lamentations was a communal effort, a collection of poetry attempting to console the anguish of a people and their beloved city. The year is 586 BC. The siege is over, the enemy nation Babylon has conquered and destroyed Jerusalem. All the "brightest and best" of Judah's population have been marched off to exile in Babylon. The city is a ghost town, and the beloved temple lay in ruins.
Lamentations is written in an ancient form of lament called a "qina." The "qina" of Lamentations is distinctive because it is written in acrostic form -- that is to say, the first stanza begins with a word beginning with the letter aleph, the second stanza begins with the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet, bet. Each new stanza begins with the next letter of the Hebrew alphabet. This may have made the lament easier to remember, or it may have been intended as a showcase for the poet's writing skill.
So in a very real sense, we have here the ABC's of grief. As I meditated on these first six verses of Lamentations 1, an English A, B, and C emerge as well. Perhaps they can give us a window into the world of a grieving person and guidance into how we might walk with them through it.
A Is For Abandoned
How lonely sits the city that once was full of people! How like a widow she has become, she that was great among the nations. She that was a princess among the provinces has become a vassal.
-- Lamentations 1:1
It must be an utterly strange and haunting experience to walk through the empty streets of a city that had once been bustling with people and teeming with life. We see these images in movies from time to time, but most of us have no idea of what it would be like to be conquered, forced to leave our homeland, or perhaps even worse, to be among those who are left behind to pick up the pieces. I am not sure if there could be anything lonelier than to have been in Jerusalem in the days and weeks after the exile.
Abandonment is one of the keenest pains a grieving person feels. A widow or widower feels as though she or he has been left behind. And even though their spouse had absolutely no control over the time or nature of their death, it is not unusual for the person still living to feel anger at their loved one for abandoning them.
As friends of ours have grieved the death of their parents, nearly all of them at some time or another have used the word "orphaned" to describe their feelings. Generally, the death of our parents leaves us as the patriarchs and matriarchs of our families, and this can be a very lonely and uncomfortable feeling.
The most bitter grief we can bear is the death of a child. Words cannot begin to describe the sense of loneliness and abandonment parents experience when a son or daughter dies. No matter how old we are as parents, I am not sure that anything prepares us for this kind of grief. When a child dies, our dreams for that child's future and the life we would share with them dies, as well.
When a grieving person verbalizes their loneliness, there is a tendency among us to comfort them in their pain by assuring them that they are not alone. Although our hearts are in the right place as we say this, we really aren't comforting them at all. We are telling them that what they are feeling is not valid. We are telling them not to trust what they are feeling. We are signaling to them that we are not comfortable with their pain and anguish.
There is an ancient rite of grief in Jewish tradition called "sitting shiva." To "sit shiva" is to visit with a person who is mourning and generally it is to do so in silence or with only a few words spoken. The mourner is free to express their pain, their anger, their feelings of abandonment, and no one tries to convince them otherwise. They simply sit and listen and share food and grief.
When we visit with those who grieve, the most important thing we can do for them is to be there. We don't need to offer pearls of wisdom or lofty prayers. They just need us to listen -- in the days immediately following their loved one's death and especially weeks and months later, when they may feel as though their loved one and they have been forgotten, abandoned.
B Is For Broken In Spirit
She weeps bitterly in the night with tears on her cheeks; among all her lovers she has no one to comfort her; all her friends have dealt treacherously with her, they have become her enemies.
Judah has gone into exile with suffering and hard servitude; she lives now among the nations and finds no resting place; her pursuers have all overtaken her in the midst of her distress.
The roads to Zion mourn, for no one comes to the festivals; all her gates are desolate, her priests groan; her young girls grieve, and her lot is bitter.
Her foes have become her masters, her enemies prosper, because the Lord has made her suffer for the multitude of her transgressions; her children have gone away, captives before the foe.
-- Lamentations 1:2-5
Those who grieve experience brokenness in spirit and a sense of defeat. This is different than the sense of abandonment. It is more a sense of anger with oneself, sometimes combined with feelings of regret. "If only ..." becomes part of the lament at this time; "if only I had insisted she see a doctor sooner" or "If only I had been more careful, more thoughtful, more loving."
The broken in spirit assume some amount of blame and guilt for the loss they are experiencing. In the case of Judah's lament, there is an acknowledgment that "the multitude of her transgressions" have led to her suffering. God is included in the equation, as the one who makes her suffer, but ultimately the onus falls on faithless Judah.
How do we care for someone who is broken in spirit? When a person comes face-to-face with their transgressions, confession of sins is good for their soul. Any Christian can hear the confession of another person and remind them of God's forgiveness, compassion, and love. It may be that you can guide this person toward pastoral care by an ordained minister if he or she would prefer to speak confidentially.
It takes time to heal one's spirit. It takes time to regain trust. You can help a friend or loved one by taking cues from them. There will be baby steps, stumbling blocks, and major milestones ahead. Make time to embrace them and celebrate them with him or her.
C Is For Cry
To even speak a word of lament is an act of faith. Even though this poetry expresses disappointment with God for allowing this tragedy to happen, the fact that the poetry speaks of God at all presupposes that God is listening. Lamentations exists because those who grieved Judah's fall trusted that there was still someone beyond them who cared and possibly even someone who would come to their aid. The same is true for anyone who grieves today. We dare to cry out, to reach out, because we believe that someone will hear us.
During the Second World War, in England, there were many infants who were placed in over-crowded hospital wards with few caregivers. Tragically, the caregivers were simply unable to give all the children the attention, let alone the love, they needed. Within a few weeks, the caregivers began to realize that some of the babies were crying less and some had stopped crying all together. Because their cries had gone unheeded for so long, the infants ceased to trust that their cries would bring someone to them, and so they stopped.
We cry because we believe someone will hear us. We reach out in our grief because we want someone to join us. Our lament may be an expectation that someone can or should fix our situation. Have you ever had a day that just begged to be unpacked, processed, talked through, so that you might be able to put the events into perspective and move on? Early in our marriage, when I would come home having had a day like that, I would begin to talk it through with my husband. He would set his wonderful logical engineer's mind to work solving my problems.
It took a while, but together we discovered that what I was really looking for was someone to listen, someone to care, someone who would simply be there for me with unconditional love ... and an occasional insight or two!
Perhaps a person cries out to God, wanting ready relief from suffering and pain. Or she cries out, knowing full well that there is no simple delivery from the mess in which she finds herself. No matter what motivates us to cry out to God, there is something deep inside of us that longs to know that we do not grieve alone. It is that God-shaped space in us that only God can fill. As we are shaped for God to dwell in us, and share life with us, God shares grief and sorrow with us as well. Throughout the prophets' writings we have heard the laments God has cried for God's people. As surely as the people of Judah felt abandonment and broken in spirit, God also felt their pain. In fact, it was God's pain even before it was theirs. They are not alone -- God weeps with them. And God looks to the day when mourning will turn to dancing, and sorrow will be transformed into joy.
Our God is deeply and fully acquainted with grief. God's own heart broke when his Son Jesus suffered and died upon the cross at Calvary. But ultimately God is a God of life, whose love and compassion conquer the grave and grant new and eternal life.
May you and those with whom you share the joys and sorrows of life know the peace of a God who promises relationship where there has been abandonment and healing for broken spirits. And may you know with certainty that your cries will always be heard.
In the name of Jesus. Amen.
We have been exploring the period in Old Testament history leading up to the Babylonian exile. The prophet Jeremiah has been our guide for the last six weeks. If it seems that we have been hopping and skipping through Jeremiah, you are right. It would appear that somewhere between the original scribing of Jeremiah and the rendering of those texts into a book of the Bible, some juggling took place. Those who designed the lectionary, the schedule of weekly readings that millions of Christians join in reading in worship, explored Jeremiah carefully for signs of a cohesive chronology from the reign of King Josiah until the destruction of Jerusalem. The order of our readings from Jeremiah, though a bit convoluted, have served to chronicle the story of once-mighty Judah's fall.
Today we depart from Jeremiah for a week to explore a text from Lamentations about the condition of the city of Jerusalem. There were some who formerly believed that Lamentations was also written by Jeremiah, but detailed study of the text shows few, if any, parallels in style or vocabulary with the book of Jeremiah.
It may be that Lamentations was a communal effort, a collection of poetry attempting to console the anguish of a people and their beloved city. The year is 586 BC. The siege is over, the enemy nation Babylon has conquered and destroyed Jerusalem. All the "brightest and best" of Judah's population have been marched off to exile in Babylon. The city is a ghost town, and the beloved temple lay in ruins.
Lamentations is written in an ancient form of lament called a "qina." The "qina" of Lamentations is distinctive because it is written in acrostic form -- that is to say, the first stanza begins with a word beginning with the letter aleph, the second stanza begins with the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet, bet. Each new stanza begins with the next letter of the Hebrew alphabet. This may have made the lament easier to remember, or it may have been intended as a showcase for the poet's writing skill.
So in a very real sense, we have here the ABC's of grief. As I meditated on these first six verses of Lamentations 1, an English A, B, and C emerge as well. Perhaps they can give us a window into the world of a grieving person and guidance into how we might walk with them through it.
A Is For Abandoned
How lonely sits the city that once was full of people! How like a widow she has become, she that was great among the nations. She that was a princess among the provinces has become a vassal.
-- Lamentations 1:1
It must be an utterly strange and haunting experience to walk through the empty streets of a city that had once been bustling with people and teeming with life. We see these images in movies from time to time, but most of us have no idea of what it would be like to be conquered, forced to leave our homeland, or perhaps even worse, to be among those who are left behind to pick up the pieces. I am not sure if there could be anything lonelier than to have been in Jerusalem in the days and weeks after the exile.
Abandonment is one of the keenest pains a grieving person feels. A widow or widower feels as though she or he has been left behind. And even though their spouse had absolutely no control over the time or nature of their death, it is not unusual for the person still living to feel anger at their loved one for abandoning them.
As friends of ours have grieved the death of their parents, nearly all of them at some time or another have used the word "orphaned" to describe their feelings. Generally, the death of our parents leaves us as the patriarchs and matriarchs of our families, and this can be a very lonely and uncomfortable feeling.
The most bitter grief we can bear is the death of a child. Words cannot begin to describe the sense of loneliness and abandonment parents experience when a son or daughter dies. No matter how old we are as parents, I am not sure that anything prepares us for this kind of grief. When a child dies, our dreams for that child's future and the life we would share with them dies, as well.
When a grieving person verbalizes their loneliness, there is a tendency among us to comfort them in their pain by assuring them that they are not alone. Although our hearts are in the right place as we say this, we really aren't comforting them at all. We are telling them that what they are feeling is not valid. We are telling them not to trust what they are feeling. We are signaling to them that we are not comfortable with their pain and anguish.
There is an ancient rite of grief in Jewish tradition called "sitting shiva." To "sit shiva" is to visit with a person who is mourning and generally it is to do so in silence or with only a few words spoken. The mourner is free to express their pain, their anger, their feelings of abandonment, and no one tries to convince them otherwise. They simply sit and listen and share food and grief.
When we visit with those who grieve, the most important thing we can do for them is to be there. We don't need to offer pearls of wisdom or lofty prayers. They just need us to listen -- in the days immediately following their loved one's death and especially weeks and months later, when they may feel as though their loved one and they have been forgotten, abandoned.
B Is For Broken In Spirit
She weeps bitterly in the night with tears on her cheeks; among all her lovers she has no one to comfort her; all her friends have dealt treacherously with her, they have become her enemies.
Judah has gone into exile with suffering and hard servitude; she lives now among the nations and finds no resting place; her pursuers have all overtaken her in the midst of her distress.
The roads to Zion mourn, for no one comes to the festivals; all her gates are desolate, her priests groan; her young girls grieve, and her lot is bitter.
Her foes have become her masters, her enemies prosper, because the Lord has made her suffer for the multitude of her transgressions; her children have gone away, captives before the foe.
-- Lamentations 1:2-5
Those who grieve experience brokenness in spirit and a sense of defeat. This is different than the sense of abandonment. It is more a sense of anger with oneself, sometimes combined with feelings of regret. "If only ..." becomes part of the lament at this time; "if only I had insisted she see a doctor sooner" or "If only I had been more careful, more thoughtful, more loving."
The broken in spirit assume some amount of blame and guilt for the loss they are experiencing. In the case of Judah's lament, there is an acknowledgment that "the multitude of her transgressions" have led to her suffering. God is included in the equation, as the one who makes her suffer, but ultimately the onus falls on faithless Judah.
How do we care for someone who is broken in spirit? When a person comes face-to-face with their transgressions, confession of sins is good for their soul. Any Christian can hear the confession of another person and remind them of God's forgiveness, compassion, and love. It may be that you can guide this person toward pastoral care by an ordained minister if he or she would prefer to speak confidentially.
It takes time to heal one's spirit. It takes time to regain trust. You can help a friend or loved one by taking cues from them. There will be baby steps, stumbling blocks, and major milestones ahead. Make time to embrace them and celebrate them with him or her.
C Is For Cry
To even speak a word of lament is an act of faith. Even though this poetry expresses disappointment with God for allowing this tragedy to happen, the fact that the poetry speaks of God at all presupposes that God is listening. Lamentations exists because those who grieved Judah's fall trusted that there was still someone beyond them who cared and possibly even someone who would come to their aid. The same is true for anyone who grieves today. We dare to cry out, to reach out, because we believe that someone will hear us.
During the Second World War, in England, there were many infants who were placed in over-crowded hospital wards with few caregivers. Tragically, the caregivers were simply unable to give all the children the attention, let alone the love, they needed. Within a few weeks, the caregivers began to realize that some of the babies were crying less and some had stopped crying all together. Because their cries had gone unheeded for so long, the infants ceased to trust that their cries would bring someone to them, and so they stopped.
We cry because we believe someone will hear us. We reach out in our grief because we want someone to join us. Our lament may be an expectation that someone can or should fix our situation. Have you ever had a day that just begged to be unpacked, processed, talked through, so that you might be able to put the events into perspective and move on? Early in our marriage, when I would come home having had a day like that, I would begin to talk it through with my husband. He would set his wonderful logical engineer's mind to work solving my problems.
It took a while, but together we discovered that what I was really looking for was someone to listen, someone to care, someone who would simply be there for me with unconditional love ... and an occasional insight or two!
Perhaps a person cries out to God, wanting ready relief from suffering and pain. Or she cries out, knowing full well that there is no simple delivery from the mess in which she finds herself. No matter what motivates us to cry out to God, there is something deep inside of us that longs to know that we do not grieve alone. It is that God-shaped space in us that only God can fill. As we are shaped for God to dwell in us, and share life with us, God shares grief and sorrow with us as well. Throughout the prophets' writings we have heard the laments God has cried for God's people. As surely as the people of Judah felt abandonment and broken in spirit, God also felt their pain. In fact, it was God's pain even before it was theirs. They are not alone -- God weeps with them. And God looks to the day when mourning will turn to dancing, and sorrow will be transformed into joy.
Our God is deeply and fully acquainted with grief. God's own heart broke when his Son Jesus suffered and died upon the cross at Calvary. But ultimately God is a God of life, whose love and compassion conquer the grave and grant new and eternal life.
May you and those with whom you share the joys and sorrows of life know the peace of a God who promises relationship where there has been abandonment and healing for broken spirits. And may you know with certainty that your cries will always be heard.
In the name of Jesus. Amen.
