Tues. Feb. 15, 2022
God Moments
Lizzie Bristow
I have been thinking about loss and grief a lot lately. Some of this I know is prompted by the new year and the recognition that the world is about to enter year three of the pandemic. But it is more than that, or maybe, a more accurate way to describe this, is that is where it starts.
The NY Times published an article December 15 titled “What if There’s No Such Thing as Closure?” which talks about loss and how we never really get over losses. The author beautifully describes ambiguous loss — those losses that are less clearly defined — things like the loss of a job, divorce, the transition from full time parenting to an empty nest, the many losses associated with the pandemic and my personal journey, of what happens when someone we love slips away from us because of dementia.
The practice I have been really needing to help me on this journey I have been avoiding: going back to in-person church. It just felt too sad — the masks, which make it so difficult to recognize people, no touching during the Peace, the restricted singing, the lack of coffee hour. Deep within this for me is also the loss of going to church with my mom. We went to church together almost every Sunday since my father passed away eight years ago.
What brought me back to the sanctuary of St. John’s was the ritual of a funeral. Honestly I had been thinking it would be my mom’s. I realize now that God has other plans for me, so it was my calling to attend the funeral of someone I had never met, but who was married to someone I care about a great deal.
At the service, I was met by one of the matriarchs of St. John’s and seated in a part of the church I don’t normally sit. I was wedged into my pew surrounded by people I didn’t know, but as I looked around there were some backs-of-heads that I recognized with deep affection. The peaceful beauty of the sanctuary welcomed me and the service reminded me of how much I love the ritual of church and how the community bears witness to all kinds of grief and joy, and sorrow and laughter.
We are all changed by the losses in our lives whether they are big or small, ambiguous or not. It is part of our humanness, to know that loss is a shared experience. That I can find peace and comfort at the funeral for someone I did not know, for my own loss, is a blessing and gift I did not quite know I needed until I walked through the doors of St. John’s.
A week later I hesitantly decided to attend the 10:00 service in-person. As I sat in the pew I used to sit in with my mom, a fellow parishioner approached me and told me of their same journey I am currently walking. It was like the hand of God reaching out to me and saying “you are not alone.” It took my breath away.
In the words of Anne Lamott, Help, Thanks, Wow.