Still in Boston, struggling to reclaim my faith.

“Struggling to Reclaim My Faith” — that was the title of one of the workshops that we attended at The National Conference of The Compassionate Friends. A part of me is still sitting in that room. Pastor Dennis Apple, the workshop room where Doug and I were sitting, it is a clear photograph in my brain. I am still sitting there in that same chair, the people around me blurred, the sound muted now, but I am still there. I am still holding the workshop handout in shock, I did not anticipate that I would ever have my experience validated. The time passed by so quickly, I could have sat with that gentle pastor all day. His son died at home, had been diagnosed with mono, died in his sleep at only 18, that was twenty two years ago. It was as fresh to that father as if it was yesterday, his eyes filled, it is hard to put into words the communication that takes place when a bereaved parent allows their vulnerability to be seen. It gives a voice and an affirmation to your own grief. Pastor Apple spoke so candidly of his resentment and anger at God, how it built up and grew – even as he continued to serve as Pastor.

I have no notes from that session, just the handout which I stared at the entire time. I will share the first line I read, from the back page, I always start from the back and work my way to the front.

Suggestions for Re-entry to Your Place of Worship: Re-entry? That must mean that some people do feel the need to retreat, to separate and seek a quiet place. I quickly jumped to the next bullet.

Be patient with yourself. It may take several weeks, months, or even years before you become comfortable enough to worship in public.  And this is why I am still sitting in Boston. It was with a curious mixture of relief, anger, and tears that I read this line. Someone understood. It is horrible to worship in public some days, some months, some minutes. And no one seems to understand that. I was screaming inside my head, Yes! I am not alone. This vise starts to crush your chest and your head, you feel the dreaded pressure that signals tears, the hymn is the hymn that your son’s casket was processed in with, and you realize you have an entire hour to get through, and your brain is playing out his funeral Mass. You have enough wadded up sodden tissues in your pocket to fill a trash can, you aren’t sure you restocked your purse, and there you are, trapped like a rabbit. And you really just wish everyone would stop talking about God, and God’s will, and being happy in heaven, your mind shouts – Enough!

If you are fearful about returning, try slipping into the place of worship late and leaving early. Call ahead and ask an usher to hold a back seat for you. Bahahahaa! Being late and leaving early are usually grounds for reprimands and nasty condescending looks. What if such charity existed? What if such suggestions were made to the bereaved? Such compassion extended to them? You would change the world, one broken heart at a time. We tie our people in knots and then wonder what is wrong. We blame their lack of devotion, “if they really believed who was here, they wouldn’t be so quick to leave” – really, do you really believe that of your fellow pilgrims in this life?  Are people scolded at a field hospital for coming in wounded? Are they reprimanded for being bloody? I kept reading.

Be patient with yourself with regard to spiritual practices such as prayer, singing, or spiritual readings. It may take several YEARS before you can to this again.  Again, this theme of mercy towards yourself, be patient, recognize that this is normal. I cannot explain why, but I can no longer sing. Gone. Doesn’t happen. And prayer, yeah, interesting dialogue these days. I find it best if I just simply pray for mercy. I don’t pray for God to watch over my loved ones anymore, I just pray for mercy. See, if I pray for protection then the conversation rapidly goes downhill as I remind God what a great job he did protecting Justin, you know, protect others, but not how you kept Justin safe, okay? And then I usually end the conversation with more sarcasm and anger. That’s when I believe in God. Sometimes, I am like, yeah, whatever, whoever is out there, if you are out there, somewhere.

Brace yourself and be aware that others will be uncomfortable with your grief and will try to “fix” you.

Give yourself permission to struggle with questions about prayer and the existence of God. Keep in mind that Jesus and St. Paul both prayed three times for an answer….but were denied.

Remember that Jesus Christ cried out from the cross, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me.”

Pastor Apple talked about scripture texts that are used to “persuade or bully” grievers out of their pain. You know the ones, all things work for good, give thanks in all circumstances, there are plenty to chose. He shared how angry they made him, and I can relate. You don’t bully people in a field hospital into walking if their legs are broken, you don’t bully people into a marathon if they are missing their heart.

He shared very brokenly that he worked with bereaved groups before his son died. He wishes he could go back to every single person and apologize for what he said and what he expected of them. His eyes glistened with tears, his sorrow so profound, so genuine. While it is admirable to want to lead or form a grief support group, humility is the greatest asset in this work. Humility in asking if you are truly suited for authentic grief work. I don’t care where you studied, or what your degree is in, or what “training” you had, I will want to know who you buried. Sound brutal?  It simply is the truth.

I hope I get to visit with Pastor Apple again next year in Chicago, and his book is on my list to read. In the meantime, I keep holding on to his handout knowing I am not alone.

 The Compassionate Friends was founded over 40 years ago when a chaplain at the Warwickshire Hospital in England brought together two sets of grieving parents and realized that the support they gave each other was better than anything he, as a chaplain, could ever say or provide. Meeting around a kitchen table, the Lawleys and the Hendersons were joined by a bereaved mother and the chaplain, Simon Stephens, and The Society of the Compassionate Friends was born. The Compassionate Friends jumped across the ocean and was established in the United States and incorporated in 1978 in Illinois.