Defining Bereavement, Grief, and Mourning…and the Blessings Therein.

Actually, I'm rethinking my epitaph.
It might read instead: "This machine
temporarily out of order."

Most North Americans, in my experience, use the words Bereavement, Grief, and Mourning interchangeably. But some of us regularly discuss the experience of loss, its effects, and the means of processing its intrusion and integration into our lives. For specialists in Hospice and other fields like death education and grief counseling, there are important distinctions among these terms. I think that you may find these distinctions helpful, too.

Bereavement = having experienced a significant loss. Whether the life of a cherished loved one, a position of employment, a marriage, a child’s affections, or any other loss, being “bereaved” simply means, “I had this; now it’s gone.”

Grief = our reaction to bereavement. When we significantly value anything (whether positively or negatively), losing it upsets our sense of balance, order, and/or identity. The various elements of these reactions have been traditionally labeled within five categories. “Denial” is that buffer that allows us to process the loss in “bite-sized pieces.” “Anger” may be merely irritability for some, yet overwhelming rage for others, independent of what some might see as the “severity” of the loss experienced. “Bargaining” is our attempt to establish some argument or action that will change the reality of having experienced the loss. “Depression” often results when our mental, emotional, and physical energies have been nearly exhausted by the intensity, the hard work, of these reactions. “Acceptance” is that fluctuating state in which, I would hope, we are able to integrate the valued existence, of whatever we’ve lost, alongside the loss, of whatever existence we previously valued.

Mourning = our proactive response to grief. Most of us process our grief organically, independently, and successfully. Even when we find our way intuitively, though, we generally discover particular techniques that are especially helpful to us, and we practice them repeatedly as we “effectively mourn” the “authentic grief” that results from a “significant loss.” Some of us have specialized in discovering and developing as many of these methods as we can, and are available to help you when you feel “stuck” at some point, or find that some of your reactions are troubling and/or persisting. (If you find that you would like a referral for a grief counselor in your area, please send me an email at deathpastor@frontier.com.)

In addition to discussing death, dying, bereavement, grief and mourning, of course, as “Death Pastor” I also get the opportunity to discuss scripture, theology, and spiritual care just as regularly. In my tradition, as a theologically-conservative Christian, there is an assumption that the answer to every question is supposed to be “Jesus.” (A popular joke offers a Sunday School teacher asking, “I’m a furry gray creature with a bushy tail who lives in a tree. What am I?” After repeating the question twice and getting no response, he directs it toward his most promising student. She replies, “I know the answer is supposed to be Jesus, but it sure sounds like a squirrel to me.”) But as much as we might imagine that Jesus provides direct, even simplistic answers to all of life’s problems, when we actually read what He says, we find that He distinctly complicates our lives.

For example, Jesus says, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4) In my context, I hear that as “Some of us more openly express and process the grief we feel over having experienced a significant loss. When we do so, we invite the compassionate response of those around us to provide whatever comfort they may have to offer.” Again, in my culture, that differentiation makes perfect sense. Many of us choose not to openly express and process the grief we feel. We do not openly mourn. (In fact, too few of us actually mourn privately, either. We follow the usual prescriptions to “get over it and get on with life,” to “be strong for the kids,” or simply to “get a grip.”)

Are we willing to name our reality?

In the testimonies of Jesus’ life and followers, though, there are several words with similar ranges of meaning to our “bereavement, grief, and mourning.” Yet Jesus chooses a word that incorporates all three elements: the experience of loss, the effects of that experience, and the expression of those effects. If I may take liberties to translate one word with three, “Blessed are the bereaved, grieving, and mourning.” Culturally, in what I read of first-century Palestine, there was no need for such careful delineation as I have to practice today. If you lost something, and especially a loved one, then you reacted to that loss and expressed it openly. This “mourning” of which Jesus is speaking is often contrasted with joy, happiness, and blessing. It is seen openly, and recognized, and attracts comforters…or at least fellow-mourners, even professionals who would weep and wail alongside the family and friends—but that’s another discussion for another time.

Where Jesus upsets His culture and mine is in saying “Blessed are those who mourn.” He does not say, “Those who mourn will receive a blessing by being comforted.” We are blessed while we are bereaved, grieving, and mourning. It is not that we will be comforted at some point in the future, but that we shall be comforted in the midst of, and as a part of the reality of our bereavement, grieving, and mourning. That’s not what we may want to hear. It may be very different from what we seek to provide to others, compassionately desiring to comfort them. But the complications Jesus causes are many and varied. This is just one of nine blessings Jesus describes in what are called “The Beatitudes.” (Matthew 5:3-12)

In The Beatitudes, Jesus speaks to His disciples about a realm of existence, the kingdom of God, that seems entirely upside-down to them. The poor, the mourning, the gently, the pure, the peacemakers, the persecuted…these are the marginalized, oppressed and exploited, those who many see as sub-human. Hardly blessed, at least in our eyes. But Jesus says they are blessed. Not will be, not have been, but are blessed. How? Because they recognize the reality to which so many others have blinded themselves.

The world lives in the midst of an incalculable loss. Every day, every life experiences the longing for that which we were created to be and to enjoy. The environment, the economy, our relationships, and our own minds and bodies—these and so many other evidences remind us that something is not quite right. In fact, it is far from being merely satisfactory. Just as there are alternatives to each of the other categories Jesus addresses in The Beatitudes, those who mourn are blessed because they can name the reality they see. We are bereaved. We grieve. We mourn. And we are comforted in knowing that there is hope for the broken and damaged world, just as much as there is for us as broken and damaged persons. But only if we stop refusing to see things as they are. Before we can get angry, or begin to bargain, or deal with our depression, we must overcome our denial.

We are broken. And blessed. Not just because Jesus said so. But because Jesus is here to say so, to us.

“Be Healthy, Happy, Wealthy, and Wise!” – Is that how we choose to comfort the afflicted? Where does that leave the “Man of sorrows, acquainted with grief?”

In Paul Louis Metzger’s “Uncommon God, Common Good” blog (The post in question is found here: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/uncommongodcommongood/2015/01/blessed-are-those-who-mourn-not-those-who-are-spiritually-comfortable/.), he has embarked on a series of posts on The Beatitudes (a part of Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount” as recorded in Matthew 5:1-12). This series is of special interest to me since I believe that the Sermon on the Mount most clearly explains the foundational ethics of our lives as subjects of God’s Kingdom. The Beatitudes fall behind only The Great Commission and The Great Commandment as priorities for the life and ministry I pursue in answer to the question, “What would Jesus have me do?” I recommend the same for you, and offer here a little of how that works, at least regarding this particular Beatitude.

Some afflictions are obvious, except that we hide them away.

For a long time I have considered The Beatitudes as counter-intuitive statements. In them, I see Jesus stating what is not immediately evident, or what is, in fact, contradicted by the patterns of our attitudes and behaviors. But some might see an exception in His second Beatitude, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” After all, who can look upon someone who is mourning and not feel compelled to comfort them? Unfortunately, as I've written elsewhere, our attempts to comfort others often result in unfortunate misstatements. But it is not our compulsion to comfort the mourning that supplies the contrast in this Beatitude.

The “normal behavior” being confronted by Jesus is this: we avoid the causes of mourning as much as possible.

Even those who make deposits get significant withdrawals.

The inescapable reality of grief does prompt us to mourn our own losses. Even then, however, our closest supporters often try to alleviate their own discomfort by encouraging us toward “closure,” imagining that we can “get over it and get on with life.” Through a variety of means, we may also self-medicate, employing various means of denying the truth of our loss. Eventually, we find that there is a blessing in mourning; we reminisce over aspects of our loss and gradually integrate both the valued existence and its loss as equally true aspects of our ongoing lives. Again, though, I don’t think that’s all that Jesus has in mind here.

Sometimes we have to really hear what's being said around us.

In addition to our individual losses and personal spiritual brokenness, Jesus regularly addresses the world’s structural and systemic brokenness and its endemic effects on us and others. Here, He does so in confronting our avoidance of mourning. We need to recognize and accept the intense contrast between the blessing of mourning and our desire for its opposite. This contrast is most evident when applied among those who live as though the Christian’s "default" experience is being “healthy, happy, wealthy and wise.” Too many of us view anything less than a life of continuously triumphant celebration as an aberration, a malady to be confronted and corrected, generally through prooftexts and other platitudes.

The "widows and orphans" include orphans and their children.

In such an environment, it becomes far too easy to imagine that I am free to be comfortable, so long as I share some portion of that comfort with the afflicted. When I am afflicted, it's easy to imagine that somehow the comfortable are responsible to share some portion with me. In either case, the goal we seek is a return to that “good life” in which our robust health, giddy enjoyment, material wealth, and creative imagination are ever-escalating.

But the "Man of sorrows, acquainted with grief" willingly took on the brokenness and pain of a damaged and dysfunctional creation. If I am His follower, then it stands to reason that I will end up in those places where the comfort I have received in the midst of my affliction must be made available to those I find in any affliction. (That's the logic of II Corinthians 1:3-5, as I see it.) So when I openly acknowledge and mourn the reality of this life, I do receive comfort, but not for the sake of my own return to "the happy norm." Instead, the comfort I receive is to be applied to the hurts of others, so that they, too, may share comfort with all those they find (indeed, seek out) in any affliction. This is what I understand to be the pattern of Christian ministry, a cruciform, sacrificial servanthood pursuing solidarity with the afflicted, at least until we all find ourselves comforted in the immediate presence of Christ.

Intervene today in the "supply-and-demand" equation.

So, comforting the afflicted does not increase the ranks of the comfortable. (Would they then need to be afflicted?) Instead, it draws even those being comforted into solidarity with others who have yet to experience anything but the affliction. But it all starts by being willing to mourn the current conditions in a sin-damaged world, even as we look forward to the ultimate comforting when all our afflictions are over.

On a personal note: Amidst a life devoted to the contemplation of bereavement, grief, and mourning, the past eighteen months have been a season in which my desperate dependence upon Christ’s comfort has reached depths that were previously unimaginable. For all the condolences and sympathies that have been offered, the greatest comfort I have received during this time has been found in the lives of others. It has been the comfort that God has provided to others in the midst of their afflictions through me in the midst of my afflictions, and seeing their comfort, that has most comforted me.

Especially if your recent experiences have tended toward triumphant celebrations, but even if that has been far from the case, I would urge you to follow Christ into the lives of the afflicted around you. As you do so (or have done so), I would welcome your comments, stories, and experiences of what He is doing through you in this area. Feel free to email them to me at deathpastor@frontier.com.