|
Friends United Meeting |
 |
December 2001
Salt and Light
Cultivating Simple Grief and Powerful Hope
By Bruce Bishop
In a time of worship soon after the events of September 11, I was able to name my emotions:
I grieve. It is a dead, gray mass in the pit of my stomach. A mass weighing more than I do. A mass beneath which crushed hope strives to grow again. But to no avail. It is a cold, lifeless mass weighing me down, sapping my energy, causing me to drag my feet against the concrete of the sidewalk. It is here, inside me. I don't occasionally leave it behind or stumble upon it again. It sucks away the heat of my body, the strength of my bones, the life of my thoughts. Sometimes it rises up and becomes bigger than I.
And I dread. There is a dread of unchecked, self-righteous anger; a dread of being isolated with my desire for peace; a dread as to what this will mean for future acts of hatred against us; a dread as to the long-term implications both emotionally and spiritually.
Along with naming my grief and dread, what I realized is that God stands with me in my grief, grieving with me. God, too, feels the twist in the gut, the weight of a deep sadness. God is with me in my grieving and feels it to a much greater degree than I. It is more appropriate, in fact, to say, "I am with God in God's grieving," rather than the other way around.
But God feels no dread.
When I succumb to dread, I do not accompany God's emotions. Dread is a fear God does not feel. While God can minister to me in the midst of my dread, God cannot stand with me in it and experience it with me. God's perspective always maintains that Truth is true, and will rise triumphant over the gray landscape. There are no dead ends, no crushed hopes in God's panorama. God knows there is hope because God lives in the reality hope points to. God is able to grieve without despair, without dread of tomorrow.
In some ways, this knowing is helpful and challenges me to let go of my dread. It encourages me to not go beyond where God is going. God grieves with us today, knowing that tomorrow holds hope.
In my grief, I have God's companionship and ministry to me. When I pile on fear and dread, God gently encourages me to set it aside—to, in fact, have hope. Right now, I can't yet have hope. But at least I'm beginning to put aside my dread, a good step toward eventual hope.
And I know hope is possible. I experienced a brief flare of it when a prayer at a morning worship service recently gave thanks for "movement away from the abyss of retaliation." A strong spike of excitement shot up my chest. My body relaxed just a bit, and I rested momentarily in hope.
In God's economy, in Christ's values and perspective, there is room for hope, for restoration, for peace. God is already living in that reality now. My task is to step away from my dread, and cultivate simple grief and powerful hope, both of which can be experienced fully with God, and communicated to others.
The Child that grew to be our Savior was a small, fragile hope, planted by God in a most vulnerable way. God has a way of honoring fragile hopes and walking with them to maturity. May we each experience that parenting of our own tentative hopes.
Bruce Bishop is field secretary for leadership development in Northwest Yearly Meeting.
Copyright (c) 2001 Friends United Meeting
Return to December 2001 Contents page