The Stewardship of Pain: Grief

By Ali Chappell-Deha

The following words are a sermon I preached on March 10, 2019 on grief. These words aren’t poetic, they aren’t academic, but they’re close to me and I think they will be for a long time.

Psalm 31:7-10 and Matthew 26: 36 – 39 (included at the end of this post).

Mastery Orientation is defined as having the goal of learning and mastering the task according to self-set standards. The learner is focused on developing new skills and improving. This sounds great, right? I want to learn, and master tasks, and develop new skills and improve, who doesn’t?! Well, this idea of mastery orientation has caused many of us, even if we don’t know it, to constantly search for solutions to problems. This is actually a wonderful thing for many reasons – it’s brought us technological innovation, medical breakthroughs that were once thought impossible, and it’s brought us Netflix…
The reality is, this culture we live in, is one that sees almost everything that poses a challenge as a problem to be fixed. Actually, this mindset leads us to see many things that aren’t problems at all, as problems that we must amend. So today as I start talking about grief, I want you to remember this — because many of us (myself included) tend to see grief as something to fix or make better. When in reality, grief is not a problem and it’s can’t be fixed, nor should it be. Grief can only be lived and walked through.

If you’ve seen many Disney movies, you might know that there is a fairly common formula to them. A blogger I know wrote this recently: “Disney movies tend to follow a certain recipe – one handsome prince; a doe eyed princess; a pinch of too-adult-for-the-kids humor; a dab of peril; simmer until you have happily ever after; and voila you have movie magic.” However this blogger was not focusing on the happy things that make Disney movies Disney movies, she was writing about the dark thing that permeates many storylines that come out of the magic kingdom – death.

An example of this is in Frozen when Princess Ana and Elsa’s parents are lost at sea – this happens in a span of about 45 seconds and after that 45 seconds the movie flashes to Ana and Elsa as teenagers in a much happier and less grief-y time. Well, this is a kids movie, some might say, but I think that there are ways this can be addressed in children’s movies and literature in a way that doesn’t sweep all of the uncomfortable-ness of it under the rug. A wonderful example of this is the new-ish movie Mary Poppins Returns.

If you haven’t seen the new Mary Poppins, here is the setting. 25 years has passed since Mary Poppins first visited the Banks family in 1964. Michael Banks is now grown, but he still lives at 17 Cherry Tree Lane with his three children, Annabel, John, and Georgie. As the movie begins it takes only a few minutes for the audience to realize that Michael’s wife and the children’s mother, Kate, has died. Later in the film you discover that she had died within the past year from a debilitating illness and that Michael is floundering under the weight of medical bills. On the day Mary Poppins floats into the Banks’ life again, it seems like everything is just about to fall apart.

Although this is a typical Disney movie in lots of ways; whether that’s the impromptu breaking into dancing and song or the magical bowl that takes Mary Poppins and the children to a magical realm, it is atypical in the way that it addresses but does not attempt to fix the grief of Michael and the children.
The blogger I mentioned earlier wrote this about Mary Poppins Returns: “Though Kate died earlier in the year, she is as present as any other character from the very first moments of the movie.  The children talk about her often, making choices because that’s “what mother used to do” and wondering “what would mother have done?” when things are uncertain.

Time and time again, this movie reminds us that though those who die may be physically gone, they remain psychologically present in many ways. People who are grieving often have to fight against the misconception that people move on from deceased loved ones and put them in the past. As a grief professional and as a human who loves someone who’s died, I’m grateful that this movie acknowledges and normalizes the ongoing tole deceased loved ones continue to play in the lives of their family members and friends.”

The topic of grief is taboo. I would argue that it’s less taboo than it used to be, but still, it’s not easy to share how we feel about loss when society often doesn’t know how to validate us. I often fear that my words of honesty about my grief will instead be seen as dramatic, my feelings of despair instead perceived as a masquerade for attention. In some Christian circles, grief can be seen as lack of faith, as weakness, or the absence of a relationship with God. To these circles, I might suggest that maybe grief is not in opposition of faith, but that grief can and does comes alongside us in our relationship with God. Grief is another traveler, maybe temporary/maybe not, on this earthly journey.
I also want to mention that bereavement, or grieving a death, is only one type of grief. Divorce, aging, illness, loss of job, life transitions, natural disasters, changing relationships, and loss of independence can all cause deep grief in our lives. When we talk about grief, we are often referring to grieving a death, but grief is and can be so much more than that.

As many of you know, my life has been full of grief and grieving in the past year. However, my whole life has been peppered with grief, as I assume many of ours in this room have been as well. Today I want to share a little bit more of my story than some of you might know. I do want to place a disclaimer here though. I am sharing a bit of my experience and my personal experience only. Every person’s grief is different, each grief journey is different, and that is OK. This is another reason why it is important to be good stewards of our pain in both sharing with and listening to others, so that we can acknowledge the many ways that grief manifests itself in our lives.

My dad, Carey Russell Chappell, was at one time a very fit young man. He went by the nickname “Rusty.” He was a football player, a track star, he said he was the boy that all of the girls wanted to date (my mom and I would regularly get annoyed when he would say that). He started college, decided to take a break, and then entered the Navy. He loved being in the Navy, specifically because of all of the traveling he got to do, and hoped to become an officer. On his way to Officer Candidate School in the early 80’s, he was talking with some friends in a parking lot on the naval base and an 18 wheeler truck came speeding into the parking lot. The driver tried to brake to avoid hitting the men, and luckily most of them saw the truck coming and ran out of the way. My dad, however, was faced away from the entrance to the parking lot so he didn’t see the truck coming. He was hit head on and was in the hospital following the accident for a year and a half. He didn’t walk for a year, and doctor’s considered it a miracle he was able to walk again at all.

Although he had a miraculous recovery, this accident dramatically altered the course of his life, and unfortunately caused me (and my mom) to only know the fit runner known as Rusty through stories that we’ve been told from both my dad and other members of our friends and family. Some of my earliest memories of my dad are of him being sick. I remember as a toddler going to the hospital to see him after numerous back surgeries. I remember the day in middle school that my dad stopped being able to reach to put on and tie his shoes, that job soon became one of my mother. I can’t recall a time when he was really “healthy.” There was always something going on, some bone/muscle injury that needed to be fixed or new symptom that couldn’t quite be explained. His back and neck injury led to immobility, which led to diabetes, which led to kidney failure, which led to a perfect storm of many other things that ultimately caused his death.

In many ways, I had been grieving the loss of him for a long time, because anyone who paid attention could see that he was steadily declining. It all ended last year on February 19tht. I remember drinking a glass of water early that morning and thinking “this is the first time I’ve ever had something to drink without my dad living on this earth.” I also remember sitting in Five Guys @ 10:30am that day with my mom eating a burger and fries and crafting the Instagram post I would share letting people who’d been following my dad’s illness that he had died.  Weird, I know, but we wanted burgers, so we got burgers.
Although I had anticipated his passing, the deep sadness and emptiness I’ve felt over the last year has been inexplicable. I’ve tried to maneuver living life and moving forward while still creating space to recall the things I loved about him, and still voicing confusion about why this all had to happen in the first place.  I have begged God to hear my cries of grief and my fears for the future without one that I loved so much. While nothing can and will take away the pain of this loss, I do feel that I have been privileged in having friends and loved ones who have listened to me both laugh and cry. I’ve also been surprised when I’ve shared publicly about my grief journey, how many people have reached out and said “me too” or “I’ve never felt like I could say that, but now that you did, I think I might be able share honestly without being judged.” If there’s anything I’ve learned this past year, it’s that grief is universal.
Today, in our scripture from Matthew, we see Jesus grieving. This account of Jesus going into the garden of Gethsemane after the Last Supper is included in all 3 of the synoptic gospels; Matthew, Mark, and Luke. The story we heard today from Matthew is very similar to the narrative in Mark, but with slight changes that shift the focus from the failure of the disciples to the teaching and grieving of Jesus.
Jesus goes to the garden of Gethsemane and tells his disciples that he’s going to go to a different area to pray. He takes along Peter, James, and John. Then, Matthew tells us that Jesus “plunges into agonizing sorrow” and that Jesus says to Peter, James, and John “This sorrow is crushing out my life, stay here and keep vigil with me.”

Here, Jesus lays out his most personal emotions to 3 of the 12 disciples. He says that he is in anguish, and then requests that they stay with him as he prays. The one who came to this earth as Emmanuel, God with us, asked for his disciples that night to be WITH him.
What does it mean for us that Jesus grieved? What does it mean for us that Jesus cried out to God in despair?

I think that this is significant for us in two different ways as we talk about being good stewards of our pain.

I think it’s interesting that Jesus took didn’t share this with all of his disciples. He took aside a few and shared with them honestly. But the one who Jesus shares with most vulnerably is God.  So after Jesus spoke with his disciples he turns to God and cries out in prayer, asking if his fate might be changed. Some say that this is shocking, that Jesus had this moment of “weakness,” but I don’t think it should be called weakness at all. Grief, yes. Lament, yes. Weakness, no. Hare suggests that “More than anything, Jesus’ asking if this cup could pass him by reminds us all that to God we can offer any prayer, lodge any concern, confide any hope, for this God understands us fully and completely because this God really did become human.”

David Garland wisely notes that “In the Jewish lament, one’s prayer is not to be “fully controlled or strained with politeness.’ Rather in a rush of emotion, complaint, and even recrimination, the believers honestly pour out their hearts to God.” If we think back to the old testament this should be no surprise to us. Our old testament scripture this morning is an example of this – the Psalmist says in honesty and despair:

9 Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress;
my eye wastes away from grief,
my soul and body also.
10 For my life is spent with sorrow,
and my years with sighing;
my strength fails because of my misery,
and my bones waste away.

The meaning of the word Gethsemane is “Olive Press.” “In Gethsemane, Jesus is pressed out, beaten, trampled.” Although he is pressed out, beaten, and trampled, and even though God did not allow the cup of death to pass Jesus by, God is present for Jesus in his suffering. Although we are pressed out, grieving, and feel as though there is nothing more to give, God is present with us in those moments too. There is hope for each and every one of us in this room because God is present and God is love.
2.5 million people die, in the U.S., each year. On average, every person who passes away leaves behind 5 individuals who grieve them deeply. This means, that each year approximately 12 million people are in their first year of grieving a death of a loved one. Adding to this, the average grieving period of deep grief is 5 – 8 years (sometimes much more), which means that at any given time there are about 60 million people grieving the loss of a loved one. That’s a lot of people. We are pressed out, beaten, and trampled. My prayer for each and every one of us this morning is that we can be good stewards of our pain by being honest with God and being honest with ourselves, as Jesus himself was, about where we are in relation to our grief. We are pressed out, beaten, and trampled, but God is present ; and God will remain so.

Psalm 31:7-10 (NRSV) 
7 I will exult and rejoice in your steadfast love,
    because you have seen my affliction;
    you have taken heed of my adversities,
8 and have not delivered me into the hand of the enemy;
    you have set my feet in a broad place.
9 Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress;
    my eye wastes away from grief,
    my soul and body also.
10 For my life is spent with sorrow,
    and my years with sighing;
my strength fails because of my misery,
    and my bones waste away.
​
Matthew 26: 36 – 39 (NRSV) 
36 Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” 37 He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be grieved and agitated. 38 Then he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.” 39 And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.