Holding Grief in a Holy Space

One thing I appreciate about Lent is how this season invites us to hold difficult human experiences in a holy space. As we walk through these days, we encounter temptation, brokenness, sin, and, this Sunday, grief. I understand why people don’t love the idea of focusing on suffering and why some use Lent as a chance to simplify life and increase prayer. In fact, I often try to simplify and pray more during this time too. However, it can be healing to reflect on the meaning of suffering and maybe even consider my own hard times. If you hear this invitation too, let’s get into it, shall we?

When I read the Gospel story about the raising of Lazarus, what I notice is grief radiating from everyone in the story — Mary and Martha, of course, the crowd, and even Jesus. When Jesus and the disciples arrive in Bethany, both Mary and Martha say to Jesus, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.” I hear a subtle accusation, one born of the anger that comes with grief. They’ve suffered through fear in the face of illness, and to their heartbreak, there was no healing, only death. Apparently, even if you’re a close friend of Jesus, you can’t escape uncertainty, fear, and grief. And even if you are Jesus, you can’t escape those things either. Jesus is the son of God, and although his friends and followers all profess that, they don’t believe he can rectify this situation. I wonder what it’s like for Jesus to realize those closest to him still don’t believe in him with their whole hearts.

The story does have a happy ending, if you look at Lazarus being raised from the dead as the ending. It’s not, though, is it? He’ll continue on with a longer life, but the saga of grief isn’t over. For one thing, the trauma of losing Lazarus is still with them, just like it is whenever we go through something hard. The awareness of the fragility of life lingers, and the memory of loss is still present in body, mind, and spirit. Traumatic events change us, and we carry them with us. Also, partly because we read this story during Lent, we see how it relates to Jesus’s own suffering and death. We know that everyone in this story still has to make a journey to the cross with Jesus.

How does this relate to us? Do you draw any connections to your own hard times? Maybe you’re grieving the loss of a loved one or the end of a relationship.

Things in the United States, and throughout much the world, are pretty destabilized right now. With that comes a lot of uncertainty and distrust in systems that used to seem like they kept people secure (even if some were never secure in that system). When everything seems chaotic and topsy-turvy, it can be easy to disengage and numb out or bypass it all, and while a certain amount of that can be a necessary coping strategy, it doesn’t bring much resolution. What would happen if we went deeper into our reactions and thoughts and feelings, acknowledged and even welcomed them? And what if we allowed them to also move us toward taking action? I also think of the personal losses we may be dealing with and all that comes with those. I’ve heard it said that, when it comes to grief, the only way out is through, and that’s probably true. It is for me.

I don’t love dealing with difficult emotions myself, truth be told. However, it can be very helpful to name my losses and all of what I’m feeling these days as I try to move through it. And moving through it, difficult though it may be, is exactly what I have to do. Denying loss is simply a bypass. The only way through grief is, well, through it.

You may have heard of the stages of grief, developed by Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her book, On Death and Dying. There’s also a helpful article published in the Harvard Business Review called “That Discomfort You’re Feeling is Grief,” and it’s an interview with David Kessler, a grief expert. He advises us to simply move through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, sadness, and, finally, acceptance. “Acceptance, as you might imagine, is where the power lies. We find control in acceptance.”

It’s denial or bargaining to say, like Mary and Martha, “If only. “If only you had been here.” For us, it might sound like, “If only things could go back to the way they were before this administration in the US.” “If only our money situation was more stable.” “If only things weren’t so uncertain,” and on and on. When I find myself moving through “if onlys,” as well as anger and sadness, it’s helpful to name what’s happening. It’s normal to feel those things, even if feeling them is painful. It’s also an interesting twist that power lies in accepting our powerlessness in a situation, but there it is. And I do feel better when I can work on what is in my power – my response to a situation.

Kessler suggests some things we can do to cope, like staying in the present moment, acknowledging our feelings, letting go of what is out of our control, being compassionate, and reminding ourselves that this is temporary. We never know how long any hard time will last, but life keeps moving and changing, and another stage will eventually emerge. After a crisis has subsided, we might, like Lazarus, come stumbling out of the tomb bound and bleary-eyed. We may not know what to make of the new life that emerges, but how we respond is up to us.  

To those gathered around the tomb of Lazarus, Jesus says, “Did I not tell you that if you believe you will see the glory of God?” Glory is not the first thing I look for when I’m going through a hard time, but I hope I can eventually find the presence of God through life’s hard experiences. Although it’s true that traumatic events stay with us, it’s also true that we grow and find strength through difficulty. After something happens to us, we are changed. If we allow it, we can also be transformed.

So, why is important to hold a space for our grief, sorrow, and pain — especially if we’d rather look away or just go about our lives as if those emotions were there? Because they are a part of life, but despite their difficulty, hard times offer us a chance to grow and to grow closer to God. And they allow God to touch us in these tender, achy places. Our struggles give God a chance to show us God’s love and to show us that we have cause to hope. And we do have cause to hope. Maybe hope is what God’s glory feels like.

By Sister Leslie Keener, CDP

Sister Leslie Keener, CDP is the director of God Space, a vibrant spirituality ministry building community in Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky. A Sister of Divine Providence, she holds a Master’s in Ministry and a Certificate in Spiritual Direction and Retreats from Creighton University. Sister Leslie guides retreats, offers spiritual direction, and nurtures vocations within her community. Passionate about helping people encounter God in everyday life, she delights in meaningful conversations, dancing, and spicy food.

Berinato, Scott. “That Discomfort You're Feeling Is Grief.” Harvard Business Review. Harvard Business Review, March 23, 2020. https://hbr.org/2020/03/that-discomfort-youre-feeling-is-grief?fbclid=IwAR0VnKHwz-sKerjZ3gx26Gbqwu0qHNiIobCy4cemF5Oq7apwHk_mHsJ2iiY.