Loss and the mourning that follows
Last night at 20Something we talked about mourning, the subject of the second Beatitude in Matthew 5. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
The most obvious time that we mourn is following the death of a loved one, but mourning happens anytime we experience loss. I could argue that I mourn after the Indianapolis Colts lose a football game, but I'll spare you that. I mourned the loss of an opporutnity at work this week and although it was painful, it was theraputic at the same time because it allowed me to renew my focus on the big picture. Loss is not the end of the world. It is not as final as we make it seem. And it doesn't mean that God is using our loss to point out that we are being forgotten or punished in some way. Loss happens, and if anything the mourning that follows proves not that we are insignificant or undeserving, but rather that we are expressive and alive. As many 20somethings said last night, mourning leads to growth and healing.
It would be nice if mourning was not necessary. But it's impossible to get from a painful point a to a healthy point b without a healing process, and mourning is it. Jesus compares mourning to childbirth in John 16:21 when he says, "A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world." There is a light at the end of the tunnel.
As GLBT people, we often have to mourn the loss of our own dreams. I grew up in rural Nebraska thinking I would marry a nice guy someday and settle down with three kids and a couple of crock pots like many Midwesterners did, but as I matured and realized that I could never marry a man in good conscience, I had to let go of that dream. Parts of it remain intact. Angela and I talk about having children and we use the crock pots for queso and lil smokies at football parties with our lesbian friends. So maybe it's better to say my dream for my life had to evolve, and not disappear completely.
My parents' dreams for my life had to change as well. My dad had to come to terms with the fact that he would not walk me down the traditional aisle. Both of my parents had to let go of the idea of a son-in-law, and as they grew to know Angela and me as a couple they probably had to reorganize their thoughts about same-sex relationships. They have come to terms with the way things are now, and they love their "daughter-in-might as well be-law." But this didn't happen overnight. They had to go through a mourning period and so did I. But the mourning did produce healing, and we are all better off having gone through it.
So much about mourning is tied to expectations. If I had known better and not routinely expected that I would grow up to be heterosexual when I was homosexual the entire time, I would not have experienced loss. If my parents had not expected me to turn out to be heterosexual, they would not have experienced loss. God never did have heterosexual expectations for me, so it goes without saying that God did not experience loss when I turned out to be a lesbian. But as humans when we expect something to turn out one way and it doesn't, we have to adjust.
As I've grown closer to God over the years I've discovered that God is not the one who places the bulk of the expectations upon me. I'm the one who does that. God desires for me to draw nearer and to respond as the Spirit refines me and works to further extract the gifts I've been given, but God doesn't experience loss when I make a mistake or don't meet some of these self-imposed expectations. God's love is too perfect for that. It's almost as if God is standing behind me, enveloping me with love and pushing me forward in that security, rather than standing miles ahead of me with a set of preconceived expectations and grieving when I don't journey toward them properly. God has plans for each of us and certainly desires for us to take the high road, but we are complete without meeting arbitrary expecatations. This is grace.
As GLBT folks, the world places plenty of expectations upon us. In the eyes of the less progressive ones, we fail miserably. But that doesn't mean that our failure is truth. Our failure originates in them--not in us--so let them own it. In the meantime we can work toward more fully accepting our inherent completeness in God. We won't be free of mourning, but if we enter it fully aware that our identity is in God, we will be able to move through it much more freely and it will produce much more thorough healing.
The most obvious time that we mourn is following the death of a loved one, but mourning happens anytime we experience loss. I could argue that I mourn after the Indianapolis Colts lose a football game, but I'll spare you that. I mourned the loss of an opporutnity at work this week and although it was painful, it was theraputic at the same time because it allowed me to renew my focus on the big picture. Loss is not the end of the world. It is not as final as we make it seem. And it doesn't mean that God is using our loss to point out that we are being forgotten or punished in some way. Loss happens, and if anything the mourning that follows proves not that we are insignificant or undeserving, but rather that we are expressive and alive. As many 20somethings said last night, mourning leads to growth and healing.
It would be nice if mourning was not necessary. But it's impossible to get from a painful point a to a healthy point b without a healing process, and mourning is it. Jesus compares mourning to childbirth in John 16:21 when he says, "A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world." There is a light at the end of the tunnel.
As GLBT people, we often have to mourn the loss of our own dreams. I grew up in rural Nebraska thinking I would marry a nice guy someday and settle down with three kids and a couple of crock pots like many Midwesterners did, but as I matured and realized that I could never marry a man in good conscience, I had to let go of that dream. Parts of it remain intact. Angela and I talk about having children and we use the crock pots for queso and lil smokies at football parties with our lesbian friends. So maybe it's better to say my dream for my life had to evolve, and not disappear completely.
My parents' dreams for my life had to change as well. My dad had to come to terms with the fact that he would not walk me down the traditional aisle. Both of my parents had to let go of the idea of a son-in-law, and as they grew to know Angela and me as a couple they probably had to reorganize their thoughts about same-sex relationships. They have come to terms with the way things are now, and they love their "daughter-in-might as well be-law." But this didn't happen overnight. They had to go through a mourning period and so did I. But the mourning did produce healing, and we are all better off having gone through it.
So much about mourning is tied to expectations. If I had known better and not routinely expected that I would grow up to be heterosexual when I was homosexual the entire time, I would not have experienced loss. If my parents had not expected me to turn out to be heterosexual, they would not have experienced loss. God never did have heterosexual expectations for me, so it goes without saying that God did not experience loss when I turned out to be a lesbian. But as humans when we expect something to turn out one way and it doesn't, we have to adjust.
As I've grown closer to God over the years I've discovered that God is not the one who places the bulk of the expectations upon me. I'm the one who does that. God desires for me to draw nearer and to respond as the Spirit refines me and works to further extract the gifts I've been given, but God doesn't experience loss when I make a mistake or don't meet some of these self-imposed expectations. God's love is too perfect for that. It's almost as if God is standing behind me, enveloping me with love and pushing me forward in that security, rather than standing miles ahead of me with a set of preconceived expectations and grieving when I don't journey toward them properly. God has plans for each of us and certainly desires for us to take the high road, but we are complete without meeting arbitrary expecatations. This is grace.
As GLBT folks, the world places plenty of expectations upon us. In the eyes of the less progressive ones, we fail miserably. But that doesn't mean that our failure is truth. Our failure originates in them--not in us--so let them own it. In the meantime we can work toward more fully accepting our inherent completeness in God. We won't be free of mourning, but if we enter it fully aware that our identity is in God, we will be able to move through it much more freely and it will produce much more thorough healing.
posted by Jen Austin at 2:55 PM
1 Comments:
I wish I could write like you.
I love queso, football, and little smokies. And I am a lesbian...can I come watch a football game with y'all some time?? :)
Seriously... my therapist, while working though my coming-out process, talked to me a lot about grieving the life I was expected to have, the life I thought I would have if I had continued the lie and married a man, and grieving the rights that I may never have as a GLBT. It was wonderful because I dealt with my pain and could then look at my parents' pain and have sympathy and compassion for them.
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