Grief and Fear

Tuesday I led the first session of a seven session grief course. My task was to present an overview of the course using as our underlying premise the Christian promise of hope. The course will look at the emotional, physical, spiritual and financial impacts of death as well as a panel discussion about "moving on."

C. S. Lewis, in his book A Grief Observed said he "never knew grief felt so much like fear." Sitting in front of the eight women who came to the first session, I was surprised that three of the eight had lost children. (I was expecting most to have lost elderly spouses.) I was surprised at the multiplicity of feelings I picked up from the attendees. Their experiences--emotional, physical and spiritual--were so intense that, like C.S. Lewis, I felt anxious the whole time we were together.

One participant lost her last sibling, having previously lost her parents and other siblings. She remarked that one person had said, "I guess you're the last left in your family." Ouch.

Much of the discussion that followed my presentation had to do with "insensitive things people say" after the death of another's loved one. One of the women who lost a child said that another member of her church, who had lost her husband three weeks prior, asked her "How are you doing?" She turned to the questioner and said, "How the hell do you think I'm doing?!" Both women were sitting side by side at the class; they had obviously become church friends since that encounter. I thought about the times I've asked my recently widowed parishioners, "How are you doing?" I've expunged that from my list of questions to the bereaved.

Another woman, who lost her husband at a young age, said she appreciated the leaflets sent out by the funeral home--at three, six, nine and twelve months--which gave an approximate list of feelings a widow might experience at each of those intervals. She said it was comforting to know that, for the most part, the feelings were accurate for the interval.

I was shaky when all were gone...anxious. Did I help or hurt? I thank God I don't second guess myself as much as I did when I was a less experienced pastor. In earlier years, I would have interpreted my fear as failure.

On the drive home, I realized that none of us knew who would show up for the class and, having assessed the participants, all the presenters would know better how to develop our future presentations. I also realized I was less interested in talking about "hope" (read "hope in the Lord") in the first session. I didn't know if everyone present was a believer; I didn't know how angry a participant might be at God; I don't feel that "hope" is the first energy to enter one's spirit after the death of a beloved. I reasoned, "If we cant talk about "hopelessness," how can we talk about "hope."

But another of my colleagues felt motivated to say unequivocally that God was with grieving people at every phase of their grief. That God was in control of life and death. I was bothered by that intrusion because I consider myself a spiritually attuned person rather than a religiously attuned person. I wondered if the colleague understood the difference.

I realize I have no control over what the other pastors thought of my presentation. I felt good that all but two of the women felt comfortable speaking in the group setting at least once; this represented to me some modicum of safety. I had given the group permission to speak or not speak at the session; I honored those who chose not to speak.

As I write this, I feel the tension in my body about the experience. I will continue to explore my own reactions to the first session. Have I avoided grief so as not to experience the fear that comes with deep emotion? Am I afraid of the emotions related to grieving? What I know about the Spirit is that I never do anything that is just about other people; it always has much to do about me.