By Emilie Bouvier
“Ambient heaviness.”
“So disheartened.”
“Feeling amped up.”
These were some of the comments I heard from colleagues today as we spent time checking in with each other after the long weekend. There seems to be so much swirling right now: the immense tragedy of mass shootings in Buffalo, Orange County, and Uvalde; the conflict and pain in the Sierra Pacific Synod, ELCA; the anniversary of the murder of George Perry Floyd; the remembrance and loss felt in honoring veterans; the flashpoints of local and national politics that intensify divisive rhetoric. Collectively, we are reeling.
I personally don’t spend a lot of time on social media, but from the glimpses I’ve caught and what I’ve gathered from others, I know it’s been getting pretty ugly pretty quickly on all these topics and more.
“With everything that’s stirring right now, it’s clear that we’re all grieving.”
Don’t get me wrong, there is so much to be rightly angry about and so much to lament, that is most certain. But how it all comes out reminds me a lot of what it’s like to be at a family funeral.
I’m sure you all have been there. Just mentioning “family funeral” in conversation with a few folks evoked many horror stories, mostly involving shouting matches, tearful meltdowns, and fights over heirlooms.
IN MY OWN FAMILY after two big losses in quick succession a few years ago, I remember just how tumultuous the family dynamics were getting leading up to the funeral. Things were not going well but, in a moment of stepping back from my own inner tumult, I suddenly had a moment of clarity. I had this very real conversation with myself that I very much needed to make it through the 24 hours that followed.
“Oh, I see it now. Everyone is grieving. They’re sad, angry, and processing in their own ways. Ah yes, that’s the thing, they each have different expectations and need different things. One person wants all those gathered to be joyful in remembering, but another wants to be alone and sit with their own sadness. Another wants attention and affirmation of what they’re doing to help, and yet another prefers to give care, but isn’t listening to others’ actual needs. Oh, and the last one is about to implode because they want to keep the peace, but all the needs are conflicting and tempers abound.”
“Don’t get me wrong, there is so much to be rightly angry about and so much to lament.”
With everything that’s stirring right now, it’s clear that we’re all grieving. And many of us are grieving lots of different things at the same time and in differing ways.
How do we be gentle with each other while we are finding our best selves? How do we make space for our grief while remembering everyone’s humanity? When is leaning into righteous anger the appropriate response? When is it time to walk away or take a break from the turbulence of so many grief responses? How do we direct our frustration and anger into meaningful action from a deep well of faith and from our best self? What brings us back to presence when we become reactive out of our own hurt, frustration, or weariness? Where does God show up for you in all this? Where does God show up for us in community when we’re collectively a mess?
I don’t know the answers to all this, but I hope this invitation to ask the questions serves you. Sometimes it’s enough just to pause and feel your own breathing, to notice the tumble of emotions in your belly, and to hold yourself and those around you in a little more grace as we make space for it all.