Winter is a Season

"My life is consumed by anguish and my years by groaning;

my strength fails because of my affliction, and my bones grow weak.

Because of all my enemies, I am the utter contempt of my neighbors

and an object of dread to my closest friends— those who see me on the street flee from me.

I am forgotten as though I were dead, I have become like broken pottery.

For I hear many whispering, 'Terror on every side!' They conspire against me

    and plot to take my life. But I trust in you, Lord; I say, 'You are my God.'”

-Psalm 31:10-14

David, who wrote the above passage, didn't pull any punches. You don't have to wonder how he was feeling when he wrote this. There is something real and raw that is easy to identify with. Then the twist happens. Despite his anguish, despite how low David feels, he is able to find hope and strength in the Lord.

Such is the nature of grief and struggle in this life. Grief is the subject we will be focusing on for the next three weeks at church, and through a couple of staff discussions I've been thinking about the subject a little too. One thing that struck me, as we embarked on a new year a couple weeks ago, was how many people were limping to the finish line in 2012. They figured it had been a crappy year, and if they could just get to New Year's Day — the dawn of 2013 — everything would be magically better. Of course, life doesn't work like that. The problems you face, the struggles you face, and the grief you feel doesn't magically disappear with the turn of a calendar page — no matter how much you'd like that to happen.

It's a process — one by which we grow, even if that's not what we want to hear. And there are a couple things I think about when I think about this process of grief.

First, it's OK to be angry — even with God. He can take it, and it can be a natural part of the process. When I think about this, sometimes I'm reminded of "The West Wing." The show — about a President and his cabinet — starred Martin Sheen, a devout Catholic. His faith in real life informed the faith of the fictional President he played. At the end of the second season, President Bartlett is in crisis. He has MS, and has to decide whether to run again despite the disease. It's at that time that his long-time friend and personal secretary is killed in a car accident.

Bartlett heads to the National Cathedral for the funeral, and is a swirl of emotions. After the funeral, he is left along and he screams at God, blaming Him for all that has occurred. He calls God a "feckless thug," lights a cigarette, smokes it, and stamps it out on the cathedral floor — an act of angry defiance in a holy place.

At the time, the scene drew intense scrutiny and criticism. And it is jarring and difficult to watch. But it's jarring and difficult because it's an emotional response that we can all identify with. Was it the noble or right thing to do? No. But was it the human thing to do? I think it was.

Now, if that scene had marked the end of President Bartlett's faith, or had been some sort of message about there being no God or that God doesn't love us that carried through the series, I might feel differently. But, in the context of the show, it was a moment where a man with a strong faith was angry at God for the hand he'd been dealt. He expressed that anger in a number of ways — as part of a larger time of grief — and was able to move past that.

I think that is a human response. Those that say we risk our salvation when we get angry with God miss the point. David is referred to as "a man after God's own heart," yet time and again in the Psalms we see him crying out in anger and anguish. But the point is those emotions didn't define his view of God — they were part of his grieving process.

I like movies, and when I see a thought-provoking film based on a book, I often will pick up the book to read as well. Such was the case with "The Perks of Being a Wallflower." The book is a series of letters written from a boy named Charlie who is going through a tough time.

Charlie has experienced a lot of heartache in his life. His friend died the year before (likely a suicide), and he's starting high school. But all those things are just the recent traumas in his life. You see, Charlie has been struggling for a long time, but he doesn't know why. His aunt — whom he loved very much — died when he was 7 years old. She died in a car accident while out buying his birthday present, and Charlie very much blames himself for that. It's not rational, but again it's human. But Charlie — and his counselor — can't help but think nine years later there is more to it than that.

The book takes place over the course of Charlie's first year in high school. He makes new friends, has new experiences, and goes through the typical angst of people that age. But underlying it all is something bigger. Finally, his experiences of growing up unearth something that causes all that grief, angst, and guilt to boil over.

Charlie finally able to remember what underlies his problems. His favorite aunt has abused him because she was lonely and had been abused herself. A young Charlie, ill-equipped to process what had happened and a ball of grief, confusion, and guilt, buried that truth. It remained a ticking time bomb until new experiences forced the memories up and he melted down, finally having to face that trauma in his life.

But what could be terrible becomes something else. In the epilogue there is a great sense of turning in Charlie's life. Much like in the Psalm above, where David's woes are interrupted with the great but — that God reigns supreme in all things, Charlie is able to see his grief for what it is. I love this passage near the close of the book:

"And we could all sit around and wonder and feel bad about each other and blame a lot of people for what they did or didn't do or what they didn't know... It's like if I blamed my aunt Helen, I would have to blame her dad for hitting her and the friend of the family that fooled around with her when she was little. And the person that fooled around with him. And God for not stopping all this and things that are much worse. And I did do that for a while, but then I just couldn't anymore. Because it wasn't going anywhere. Because it wasn't the point."

That's the other thing about grief, we have to choose to move past it. That doesn't make what happened good or better, but it makes it a part of the process. Winter is a season, and when it departs spring comes and life blooms again. Grief is also a process, and only when we let go and let it depart can our lives truly bloom again.

And no matter what, God will be there to walk beside us — even when we're too upset to appreciate Him.