How to Grieve Redemptively

Second of Three in a Series

Rather than deny, disown, or distance ourselves from grief, we need to own it, to integrate it into our life-narrative, let it become a part of who we are. I am the father of five great children, the oldest of whom died in 1986.

But, I must not simply own my sorrow; I must own it redemptively. How do I do that?

I am owning my grief redemptively when I hold in tension who God is and what God allows. There is a sense in which everything that happens is allowed by God unless God is unable to prevent it. That doesn’t feel right to me. Surely, God could prevent suffering, put an end to evil and death. In fact, that’s what God has promised. It’s kingdom come, the union of heaven and earth, the blending of the realm of the divine and the realm of the material. New heavens. New earth. All things new. What’s the holdup?

I do not know, but when I’m confronted with things I don’t know, I try to remember to fall back on what I do know. God is love: Perfect, self-sacrificial, other-oriented, cruciform love. God, for whatever reason, does not prevent evil, but God absorbs it, feels it, empathizes, and walks with me through it. Jesus sits with me on the mourners’ bench.

I am owning my grief redemptively by sitting with God.

I am owning my grief redemptively by letting it deepen my empathy. For me, that seemed to just happen. I know what it feels like to bury a child. I know what it feels like to see the body of your son in a casket, then lowered into the earth. I know the shock of sudden death and the stigma of death by suicide. I have felt the confusion, fear, sorrow and depression. I have blamed myself. I’ve endured the nonsense of Job’s comforters. If you are grieving, I can empathize. I have no answers, only empathy and love.

I am owning my grief redemptively by working to eliminate injustice in the world. I want to live in a world where no one commits suicide, where no parent buries a child, where no child is trafficked, where there is no racism, xenophobia, or self-righteous judgmentalism. I want to live in a world where criminals are treated with dignity and capital punishment is eliminated. I want to live in a world full of people who love and care for nature. I want to live in a world where refugee and migrant families are welcomed and cared for. I want to live in a world without war. So, I work for justice. I can’t change the world, but I can be a voice for justice, equity, and kindness.

I own grief redemptively by reordering my priorities to focus on what is truly important in life – loving God, all others, myself, and creation. All the stuff I have sought – success, recognition, acceptance – I lay aside. Relationships are what matter. What matters is loving in four directions: Loving God with my whole heart, loving all others (including enemies), loving myself as a child of God, and loving God’s creation.

I own grief redemptively by learning to be present, aware, and savor each moment, paying attention to the butterfly, the cloud formations, the sweet smell of salty ocean waves. I own grief redemptively by slowing done, observing, listening.

Helen Keller told a story of sitting quietly on a bench at the edge of a forest, so still and so aware that birds would land on her fingers and she could feel the vibration of their songs. A young man emerged from the woods, and she asked him what he saw. He replied, “Nothing,” which astounded her. She said she could not enter a forest for five minutes without “seeing” a thousand things. Presence. Awareness.

I am owning my grief redemptively by allowing my sorrow to drive me more deeply into God’s heart. The God of Christianity is a suffering God. God bears our sorrows, feels our pain, weeps with those who weep, wails over our brokenness, but never abandons us to that brokenness even when we entirely cause it.

No one is too broken for God. “Humans, where are you?” (Genesis 3:9) was not the cry of an arresting officer; it was the cry of a heartbroken father. The broken humans hid. God sought them, searched for them like a shepherd determined to find that one stray lamb and bring it home. I am owning my grief redemptively by letting God bring my broken self home to the Divine Heart of Love.

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I’m deeply indebted to my friend Nicholas Wolterstorff (Noah Porter Professor of Philosophical Theology Emeritus at Yale University) for this series on grief. His books, Lament for a Son (ISBN 080280294X) and Living with Grief (ISBN-13: ‎979-8385201006) have touched my heart like no others.