What St. Paul did say was “…so that you may not grieve like the rest, who have no hope,” 1 Thessalonians 13. If you are going to use scripture as a sledge hammer, get it right before you swing. I could absolutely eat through the dry wall sometimes when I think about the guilt levied on bereaved parents.
That first year, thanks to shock, it was all rather nice to think of Justin in heaven, yes, we nodded, of course isn’t it wonderful that he had such a strong faith, yes, isn’t it good to know he is safe. By that second year, something changed. Oh, you still nod and smile when fed well meaning scripture and pat phrases, but your heart is screaming heaven? really? and I am supposed to be okay with him dying because it is all sunshine and roses?” The conflict starts, the confusion, the voice in your head that says “but I am not okay with his death, I don’t really care about heaven, I just want to see my child.” Ah, the conclusion must be that I had no faith to begin with, for if I did, I would not feel such deep grief. To tell someone not to grieve is to ask the impossible of them, you screw with their heads, you cause more trouble. So stop it. We need that freedom to grieve and mourn without the guilt of failing at our faith.
I will tell you the thought process towards the end of that first year and entering into the second. You have heard enough about God’s will to strangle a horse, it has been pointed out to you how gracefully the Blessed Mother withstood her son’s crucifixion because she had such faith, you have been told point blank that you need to move on and get over Justin’s death, and the benefits of heaven have been widely promoted. So much so, that you start to wonder why am I continuing with this pain I must deny? If heaven is so much better, why aren’t we all linking arms and seeking solace in death? Why stick around for the rest of the rumpus? Not because you want to die, you just want to find your child and make the pain stop. Remember, this is a pain you have been told you shouldn’t have if you were “faithful,” if you had “trust,” follow the logic, see where it leads. It can even be intimated that you weren’t “good” enough, that you must have done something wrong, because bad things don’t happen to “good” people, right? So if I have failed at parenting, and if I shouldn’t be in pain from my child’s death, then I have even failed at grieving! Do you see where you might wake up in the morning and your first thought is WTH?
We are screwing people up with our ignorance on the natural progression of grief. From health professionals to clergy, we are making a muck of it. There is an entire component of spirituality that comes from the grief, mourning, and bereavement process, and it is being ignored! There is a treasure of truths to be explored, and few have the courage to crack open their idol that they have made of their God, their religion, their precepts to allow that the bereaved have a unique perspective on life. And that as we undergo this suffering, this purifying fire, the way we live our faith probably won’t resemble a “good” practicing Catholic or Christian…whatever that is. Right? Because we are either “good” or “bad” or “marginal” or only show up on Christmas and Easter which makes us rat bastards.
Guilt upon guilt. Confusion not consolation. Complicated faith, absent of joy, absent of mercy. Full of judgement. St. Paul said don’t grieve like those who have no hope. You know it is pretty hard to cling to hope when you struggle with getting to Mass, or if you miss Mass, holy crap now we are in mortal sin, if we die we go to hell and never get to see our child who is supposed to be in heaven? And this encourages us to have hope, how?
Maybe we have to re-define what hope is. Hope is a theological virtue, infused in the soul by God, a gift. What if, God is re-writing in our hearts a new definition of hope? Have you never unwrapped a gift and wondered what it was? Or what you were going to do with it? Did you struggle to recognize its purpose? Is it not possible that God has gifted us with hope, but we don’t recognize it yet because it is so very different then what we thought hope would look like? God is probably big enough to be patient and wait for us to slowly integrate our pain and His new gift of hope in our lives. Why aren’t his people? Why the rush for us to dispense with this grief in six weeks, or six months?
I always pictured the church as having an enormous backyard. Some kids stay very close to the house, some wander all the way to the back, they might come in when called for dinner, they might not…but they were still in the yard. I am at the back gate and ready to step out of the yard. I am not sure I can find what I am searching for in Catholicism anymore. I am not sure I can take the stress of being “good” anymore. For I am full of questions and don’t recognize the God I thought I knew – not that we can ever know God, but I thought I knew a little bit of the heart of God. All I am getting now is that He is a dreadful crank whom I am mostly likely offending by my lack of faith.
There is a solitary voice that keeps me from throwing the gate latch open, I saw this quote on Facebook earlier.
“Without truth, love falls prey to fickle emotions … Without love, truth becomes cold and oppressive.” –Pope Francis
Our new pope intrigues me. I long to sit with him for just a moment. I can imagine his first concern would be if I had eaten, would I join him for lunch? And he would not care if I couldn’t sit through Mass, he would ask for a story of Justin, maybe he would cry, but then his eyes would smile and he would tell me of a Father’s love bigger than my weariness, able to embrace all the messiness of life and grief. Without love, truth becomes cold and oppressive. How does he know what I am feeling in my heart? Maybe I will hang out at the back gate awhile longer, wait to catch another glimpse of what Pope Francis might reveal, maybe I will wait to see what he will teach me of the heart of God.
