Grief & Hope & Love

Beloved, 

This fall as we prepare for Thanksgiving and as we sit with the results of the election, many of us are in a season of both/and. It's a time of both grieving and fighting for hope. Both catching our breath and knowing there's still much work up ahead. Both resting and acting, lament and joy, exercising faith and thankfulness for so much while never rushing past the profound loss and injustice already bubbling up. I confess this last week I've mostly avoided the news and tried to not think too much about the national stage, but then I feel the urge to jump in start to plan how we could organize advocacy efforts and strategize for what is coming; the both/and of giving space and time to hold grief, while also feeling the need for the collective action that is ahead of us. It is tiring, holding the both/and, knowing it’s all driven by the weight of grief.

I have also been honored to hear from many of you, and together share and hold each other's fears, anxieties, and sense of betrayal, as well as our solutions to finding light, and places we've sought refuge and joy. The work of grief is ongoing, to be sure. It is also, as one LaSaller put it to me this morning over coffee, clarifying: grief makes us honest, she said, it helps lay bare where we really are, what we really love (thanks Emily!) That poses to me a new question, and I wonder: what might I see anew in the honesty of grief this season? What could I learn if I really feel, really look at, what is revealed in the grief of what is loved, what has been lost, and what remains?

Our family suffered a huge personal loss this week as well. Peter's mom, Karen Johanson VerHage, unexpectedly passed away on Monday, November 11, after heart complications and a very short stay in the ICU. The sharp pain and numbing surprise of loss was a sure sign that grief is again our companion; we grieve because we love, we feel because we had something that was good, we mourn a gift, a grace that's been lost. As I listen to Peter just begin the work of processing, feeling, caring for his dad and family, and becoming aware of his own deep loss, I have also been surprised to hear so many spaces of generosity, care, community, and faith being laid bare. Underneath this still gut-wrenching loss is much love, friendships, and connections that I didn't even know were this extensive, casserole deliveries and food in the freezer and four loaves of homemade bread left on the counter. What's showing up are cousins letting themselves into the house, large tables being set for meals, thoughtful plans for engaging kids in the funeral service, and personalized support being offered to others even through the exhaustion. What is under the grief is what the root system has always held: midwest hospitality, extended family presence, kindness and simple graces, a dad thoughtfully calling and sharing the news with others even as he grieves. Here in our own nuclear family we also had friends text and call all night long, lasagna and fruit hand-delivered, and inconvenient rides for kids quickly covered, prayers and plane trips offered long distance - we had the root system of those who love us revealed, simple graces laid bare. Under the grief, there is the honesty of love. I am so very thankful for what is under all the grief.

This season as a church, we will have to engage in the long work of grieving, and the both/and work of fighting for light and hope, of focusing on life and not despair. The world around us will be shifting to some degree, and it will ask new things from us, and take more from many of us as well. And these shifts and losses and injustices are not - let's be clear - a gift from God sent to mold us or teach us. But these griefs are clarifying. What might be revealed underneath our grief, what honesty exposed? Where will we see more clearly, and what will we know about who we really are, what we really love? I see this already in our congregation, in our staff conversations and plans, in God speaking through you all. Grief makes obvious that we love one another, we feel each other's pain, and we are a connected people. Grief makes plain that our political realities impact our families and our trans kids, our Black and Brown kin, our undocumented friends, our daughters, sisters and friends. This grief makes plain that we need each other, we need to care well for ourselves and our neighbors, rest and recover, focus and plan. And it is so plain - that we need the goodness, patience, courage, stamina, and wisdom of our good, loving, and life-giving God.

Beloved, I hope you're finding ways to hold the work of this season, and to see spots of love clarified under all the grief. I pray you know you are not alone, you're seen and your laments heard, by our good God and by us as a community. I know that we will keep learning through our grief, and then send lasagna and prayer to one another when it's needed! Remember that even our deep grief is not the end of the story, it is not the end of so much goodness and grace. Thanks be to God. -Rev. Liz