Love and Grief

A few weeks ago, I wrote about my friend, Emmett, who was coming to the end of his long battle with esophageal cancer. On June 9, 2011, he was called home by our sweet Lord. As his wife, Wendy, wrote that day, "the hardest part of Emmett's journey was over while my hardest part was just beginning."

In those few days while he was in hospice, a friend from my community group wrote a note on grief and brought up the idea of grief as an expression of love. I paused. Huh. That made sense, but was certainly a new lens through which to look at grief.

As part of the close community at Grace Community Church, I have had the privilege to cry with friends, process death, and observe others grieving. I count it as divine intervention that I was in the States at this time and was lucky to have the time to travel to Nashville last weekend for the memorial service. Certainly, it is sad to see any friend depart their earthly life, but I didn't expect to hit such a wall of grief as I entered church on that sunny Saturday afternoon.

Emmett Stallings was so loved. As I watched his friends worship through heavy tears, it was evident how deeply they loved their friend. In that moment, they were not crying out of anger or misunderstanding or despair. They simply, deeply missed their beloved friend.

In C.S. Lewis' "A Grief Observed," (a compelling journal of his grief after his wife died that I would recommend to anyone in the wake of personal loss), he writes about how "bereavement is a universal and integral part of our experience of love...It is not a truncation of the process but one of its phases...If it hurts (and it certainly will) we accept the pains as a necessary part of this phase."

That's hard for me to swallow. There are so many people I love so deeply. To know that I will undoubtedly lose some of them in this short life is humbling. At the very least friendships will drift, people will move away, breakups will happen...there are so many ways for us to grief the loss of love. I suppose this is why so many people distance themselves from it and only know and are known on the surface. I'm tempted to try that. I'm tempted to distance myself from love so the pain isn't as all-encompassing when it comes.

Why does grief seem so much more present in these years? Is it because I'm older and notice it more? Is it happening more often? Have I lived enough years that my heart is big enough to feel that kind of pain? A parent with cancer, a classmate from my hometown, a neighbor's husband, a friend...sudden car wrecks, suicides, long illnesses...

But for as much as love may be seen as a risk, it's painful to imagine a life with no love at all:
No overjoyous reunions with friends after a long absence.
No belly laughter.
No meaningful bear hugs.

In fact, our sweet Lord loved this world so much that He gave His only Son; His only Son whom He loved. How great the pain of searing loss. We are not alone in grieving those we love, and we are allowed to grieve so deeply because we were created to love so deeply.

"Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another...there is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear." (1 John 4:11, 18). When our love for God, the perfection of love, surpasses our love for any person or thing of this world, we cannot find fear in that love, even though we know the depth of our grief will be great. We accept death as part of life's process and recognize that our deep grief is simply an assurance of our great love.

I choose love, no matter how deep the grief often runs.

"My prayer for all of us is that we will learn to meet suffering with mercy, despair with hope, and fear with truth. I pray that we would dwell in the mysteries and paradoxes of suffering with a realness that despises trite answers, embraces sorrow, and plants hope. In other words, may we be people who trust and love, even when it is difficult." - Wendy Stallings (read more about the Stallings' journey)