On Grief and Hope

Jesus wept. John 11:35

Lazarus had passed away. Wrapped in linens, he was given into death. Upon the sight of his friend, Jesus, the Son of God and Son of Man, doesn’t just shed a tear. Alongside his dear friends, He weeps.

Death is quite often a verboten topic of conversation, although there are always those older relatives that like to discuss their burial plans or take pictures at funerals. Society, by and large, spends an inordinate amount of time and an odious amount of money avoiding the topic altogether, as though it can be somehow wished away by the magic of medicine or mechanics of surgery. And yet, we all brush against this specter, some far too early in life, and some far too often.

In my own life, death came to visit much more intimately and earlier than I had ever imagined. I lost my father shortly after I turned twenty-one, in the winter of my second senior year of college. While I know there are many who have lost their parents much earlier, the death of a parent before our own middle age isn’t something we sit up and prepare for late at night between the beer and the pizza (and the thesis papers, of course). We lost him over the course of 36 hours after a medical procedure. There was very little time to say goodbye, to say all the things I wish I had said, to live all the moments I had been too busy and selfish to live with him as a teenager. Now I wish I would have gone to the ice show instead of working a late shift as an intern. Back then, I had decades to do all that and it could wait. Lesson learned – it can never wait.

Lately, death has been on the forefront of my mind again. So many people I know are suffering from cancer, some rather aggressive, some taking lives far too young. I am at that age where aunts and uncles now are starting to pass one by one. An overload of grief can become all-consuming if we lose focus on the promise of the kingdom, the promise that a life so much better, so much more complete, awaits us in the glory of the resurrection. We weep, but grief is tempered with hope for those of us who believe.

What of those who do not believe? I am a convert to the Catholic faith. In fact, I entered the Church the Easter before my father’s passing. It is Jesus who has always brought me back from the brink of despair when the nights got too long or the grief hung like a noose around my neck. It is Jesus who sent lifelines when my coping became unhealthy. Jesus was always at my side. Jesus wept when I wept. His pierced heart understood when my heart broke open again as I came out of avoidance and began to actually heal. He carried me when I couldn’t walk anymore. Even at my loneliest over these eighteen years, I was never alone.

My mother is still Hindu, and not really practicing at that. To watch the difference in how we have grieved the loss of my father is astounding. Granted, to lose a husband is inherently different than losing a father, but the process of grief has been so different for the two of us. At so many times, she has felt utterly alone. She clings to the memory of him in an attempt to keep him with her and feel as though she is still loved. She has withdrawn from living with the same fervor she had all the days before his passing, and fear grips her in a way that has in a small part killed her spirit.

I want so much for her to know the God I know, to feel how deeply she is loved. I want so much for her to know she has Jesus at her side to help her balance on that tightrope between grief and hope. Despite her fear and grief, she does hope, even if she dare not speak of it for fear it will be ripped away. I know she has in her heart the hope that she and my father will one day be reunited. Heaven is assumed, contrary to the theology of her claimed faith. It is innate, not based on any theology, but from that seed God has planted in every heart to be reunited with Him. At the same time, she is not confident in her hope.

When we are one with Christ, we can surrender our fear and grief to him. We can hope for heaven with confidence, and amidst our grief we can find joy for the other who has gone before us. Through our tears, we can envision the smiling face of Christ who welcomes each and every one of us home if we let Him. And so we pray. We pray for those who do not know Jesus to surrender their hearts to Him. We pray for those who have passed before us; we pray they may find in death the mercy of God and a fulfilled hope of heaven. We pray for those left here on earth; we pray for peace and understanding and joy to overtake the grief that fills us. Through our grief, and in confident hope, we pray.