Sitting With God on the Mourners' Bench

Our core being, what Jung referred to as the Self, is what might be seen in traditional Christian theological terms as the regenerated spirit, or Christ in us. The Self is a part of the Universal Self, which we call God. It is from this inner core, this Self, that arise numinous and unitive experiences, as well as a deep sense of purpose, mission, calling.

The Self is largely unconscious, ignored in the daily scurry of jobs, families, tasks, activities, recreation, and friends. It is possible, especially in an affluent culture, to go through life unaware of our souls until some disruptive event occurs. It might be the death of a loved one, a sudden loss of position or identity, or a life-threatening illness. Not always, but often, such events usher in existential angst and force into consciousness the big questions – Why am I here? What’s the purpose of my life? Is there a God? Is there life after this life?

When we are challenged by a real or potential loss, we still have a choice. The Ego, our conscious minds, can choose to say “yes,” or “no.” In the face of existential angst, we can choose to vociferate against what we perceive as an injustice, or we can embrace the suffering redemptively.

After my son died by suicide on my 35th birthday, Nicholas Wolterstorff (Noah Porter Professor Emeritus of Philosophical Theology at Yale University) handwrote a most gracious personal letter to me (Nick and I share a seat on the mourner’s bench – his son Eric died at a young age in a mountain climbing accident) in which said, in part:

“Everything in American culture teaches us to disown our suffering. I think we must own it, make it a part of who we are. But struggle then to do so redemptively rather than intuitively. It seems to me that you, and I too, are beginning to do that. Yet the challenge is never finished. The world that we see through tears is not more beautiful; perhaps, though it is more holy.” (emphases his)

We struggle to make sense of grief and loss. We struggle to integrate it into who we are. We struggle to grieve redemptively.

In grief, the Ego can choose to suffer redemptively or nonredemptively. The latter yields bitterness, anger, acrimony, and long-term depression. The former produces compassion, connectedness, and empathy.

Choosing to suffer redemptively is part of what Rumi meant when he wrote: The Guest House:

This being human is a guest house.Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,some momentary awareness comesas an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,who violently sweep your houseempty of its furniture,still, treat each guest honorably.He may be clearing you outfor some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,meet them at the door laughing,and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,because each has been sentas a guide from beyond.

(Rumi: Selected Poems, trans by Coleman Barks with John

Moynce, A. J. Arberry, Reynold Nicholson (Penguin Books, 2004)

When I ceased ranting and when I, after many years, was able to lay aside guilt and shame, I was able to invite God, creator, redeemer, and sustainer of all that is, into my grief. There, I rediscovered that God is Love, a person of sorrows and personally acquainted with grief, a Divine Being who empathizes with us, weeps with us. Under us are the everlasting arms. A heartbroken God holds me close, sits with me on the mourner’s bench.