Faithful Paradox

The past two weeks have been wrought with one tragic event after another. School and mass shootings, stabbings, a political assassination, endless fighting among people, and on and on. Along with others, I am weary of these tragedies, longing for redemption; longing for the return of Christ to make all things new.

I cried when I heard of some of these events. I am a highly empathetic person but when I hear of tragedy right now, I feel as if I do not have the emotional bandwidth to hold one more piece of sorrow, so I tend to try to move on as quickly as I can. I suppose it’s a measure of self protection; maybe even emotional survival. The past few weeks, however, this has felt impossible.

Grief comes as I think about the wickedness of this world. Sadness ensues when I consider the loss of life. The darkness feels very real and pressing right now. The piece that leaves me grieving most deeply, however, is when I think of the journey that these families who have faced loss are now beginning. I think of the moms and dads who have lost children. I think of the spouses who no longer have a partner. I think of the children who have lost siblings or parents and I ache for them.

Had someone asked me three or four years ago, I would have said I thought I knew what working through grief and loss was like. I now realize I knew far less than I assumed. I thought I understood. I thought I could, in many small ways, relate with those who have faced loss; after all, we have all faced a certain degree of loss, haven’t we? It’s simply the human condition. The truth, however, is that I actually had far less of an understanding of how grueling the road of grief actually is; that is, until I walked it for myself.

I thought I understood loss, but I didn’t understand the constant sorrow that shadows you for months. I thought I knew about grief, but I didn’t understand the triggers and reminders that linger around every corner, coming upon you unexpectedly. I thought I understood endurance, but I didn’t know how much courage it takes to keep showing up when all I wanted to do was hide away. I thought I knew perseverance, but I didn’t know how hard parenting and pressing into marriage is in light of loss. I thought I got the idea of moving on, but I didn’t understand the exhaustion that comes when you realize that you cannot move on, but you must learn to press forward.

I also simply didn’t know how hard it is to grieve when everyone else seems to have moved on. I didn’t grasp the confusion that comes when the sorrow begins to shift and you feel like you’re losing another piece of your loved one all over again. I couldn’t understand how hard it is to grieve in a family unit when everyone does it differently and how this battle in and of itself is incredibly difficult. I couldn’t comprehend how long it takes for life to feel even the slightest bit manageable again. I didn’t actually understand that the grief really never resolves; you just get used to carrying the weight of it.

There is so much about loss that I thought I understood when in all reality, I understood very little. And now, when I hear of these tragedies, when the unexpected loss of life comes across the news, my heart aches with deep intensity for those who are just beginning down this road. I better understand the difficulty of the road they are walking. Their lives have been forever changed by a moment in time. I hate it for them and I ache for these ones beginning this journey.

My hope and encouragement in these times of sadness for others is recognizing that while I did not understand how long and difficult the road of grief is for those walking through loss, I also did not understand the unique comfort of God in the midst of suffering. I used to believe and hope that the comfort of God meant the pain would go away or at the very least, the pain would lessen. I have learned, however, that the comfort of God is quite different than I hoped. While it is not a lifting or even an easing of pain, it is real and present and uniquely given to those who are “brokenhearted and crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

God’s comfort often comes in a small whisper, much like it did for Elijah as he hid in the cleft of the rock (1 Kings 19). There were storms and terror swirling all around and the Lord met him in a still, small voice. Elijah had to strain to hear it, yet its quietness did not lessen its presence. What it did was require his focus and attention to shift. He had to train his ears to drown out the loudness of storms and strain to hear the quiet tenderness of the whisper. I think it’s the same for us. 

God’s whispers of comfort arrive in many ways. He has given me reminders from his word at just the time I needed it. He has shown me how he caused me to endure the thing I thought would crush me. He has reminded me that even as I have been faithless, he has remained faithful. God’s comfort often comes through his people; a rightly spoken word or a moment of feeling understood in the midst of pain. His comfort often arrives through others who have walked a similar road and can offer understanding and a sense of being seen on the treacherous path now traversed. God comforts his own children so that we can in turn comfort others. It’s how things work in his economy. 

I did not understand the path of grief before I walked it for myself. I also did not rightly understand the comfort of God until I experienced it for myself. His comfort has come over and over. Often the noise and loudness of grief can drown out his quiet whispers of comfort, but it’s there when I strain to listen. His mercy never fails. 

Tragedies hit my heart differently these days. They come with the sadness of the reality of living in a broken world, and they also come with a knowing and understanding I did not previously possess. There’s a sorrow that lingers in a new way for those who are now members of “the sacred circle of the sorrowing.” At the same time, I can also attest to the comfort of God. He uniquely and faithfully meets us in our deepest sorrows. He causes us to endure. He gives us what we need to persevere. He brings his people at just the right time as a reminder of his presence; his tender heart towards those who suffer. In these days of so many tragic events, I find comfort in knowing that God will be ever so near to bring comfort to those who now grieve as well.