As a pastor, you spend a great share of your time comforting the ill and the broken hearted. But what happens when a tragic event touches your life? To whom do you go for comfort? And to whom do you confide your fears as well as your hopes?
The purpose of this article is to examine recent research on human suffering. We will explore the stages of recovery and the important role that faith has in the healing process. But we will also suggest practical strategies that can help diminish the pain and assist us in moving into a new era.
The anatomy of a crisis
Crises tend to blindside us at the most unexpected moments. A drunk driver hits the rear of the car, and instantly life is dramatically altered. A physician gives us a bleak diagnosis. A spouse dies, leaving a deep sense of aloneness and discouragement.
How does one recover from such events? Most people recover gradually, in stages. And while each individual's experience is different, certain attitudes, emotions, and hopes are typical among those who have survived a difficult loss.
Stage one is characterized by shock and disbelief. After receiving negative news, there is a paralyzing numbness. Said one individual: "I couldn't believe the diagnosis. I left the office saying, 'This is a nightmare. This can't be happening to me.'" Another person commented: "I don't remember anything after being in formed about my wife's death. I can't even recall who came to see me."
In this first stage we do not want advice. Nor do we want false assurances. What we do want is someone who will listen, identify with our loss, and quietly reassure and comfort us.
In stage two, deliberate activity, we struggle to get life back to normal. It is not uncommon for people to return to work within a few days after a tragedy. I have known ministers who lost a family member, yet preached the next weekend and continued to meet their church responsibilities. And I have known professors who insisted on not missing any classes even though they were dealing with some of life's most difficult problems.
Returning to work can be a positive coping mechanism, for in work we find meaning. And it is there that we often have some of our closest relationships.
Nevertheless, the desire to get back to work can be a way of escaping--a way of not having to think about what has happened. If we escape in this or any other way, the "grief work," as Freud referred to it, will only be delayed.
Another problem with returning to a vigorous routine too soon is that family members may misread what is happen ing. They may conclude that we are cop ing well and do not need support.
Likewise congregations may misread what is happening to their pastor. If their pastor is giving stirring sermons and leading the congregation in a competent manner, they may conclude that expressions of concern are no longer warranted.
Yet nothing may be further from the truth. For even when we appear strong, we may be weak. And even when we are surrounded by people, we may feel lonely.
In stage three, hitting rock bottom, two emotions come to the surface. The first is anger; the second is loneliness. Listen to a 33-year-old man describe his experience:
"Three weeks after our daughter Jenny had died, I awoke from a fairly good sleep. I began the day in the usual way. I had breakfast, read the sports page, and went over my calendar for the day.
"I got into my car and started to back out of the garage. Then I happened to see a fishing pole that my father had sent in anticipation of the birth of his grandchild.
"Seeing that fishing pole really unbuttoned me. I slowly drove out of the drive way. But I stopped the car when I noticed a group of healthy, happy kids waiting for the school bus. Then I saw a neighbor working in her garden. Another neighbor was just finishing his job.
"Everything seemed so normal. That's what I couldn't get over. It was like everybody was happy and enjoying life. I felt like shouting: 'Don't you realize that life just can't go on as if everything is OK?' I just wanted to explode."
Anger seems to hit us at the most unexpected moments. As Virginia Woolf noted poignantly in Jacob's Room, we experience the death of someone we love not at the funeral but when we come suddenly upon an old pair of shoes. And coming unexpectedly upon that fishing pole or that old pair of shoes brings a stabbing pain that reminds us we have lost something precious.
After anger is loneliness. The paradox is that you might not be alone. You might be surrounded by a loving family, good friends, and a supportive congregation. But if you are going through a tragic life event, it is not uncommon to feel that no one really understands your pain and sorrow.
Rediscovering hope
In stage four, the awakening, hope be gins to stir. It is often a hope rooted in faith--a faith that suggests that no mat ter how difficult the experience, you are not traveling down the bitter road by yourself.
I have frequently asked victims of a tragedy whether there was any particular event that gave them hope. It was amaz ing to see their reactions. Those in stage three would get a quizzical look and in effect say, "Of course not! Nothing could make me feel better."
But those who had rediscovered a meaning within their lives would smile. And then they would share an event that had kindled a sense of anticipation and even hope.
With a twinkle in his eye, a 66-year old widower recalled how he had met a friend at church: "She smiled at me from across the aisle. It sure surprised me. She looked friendly and I reckoned that she was about my age. I knew then that God had not forgotten me."
Or I think of a 33-year-old woman who was not able to bear children. One day she received a telephone call from an adoption agency informing her that she was about to be a mother to a 3-year-old Asian-American. "I was so excited that I couldn't remember my husband's telephone number at work. But I got a hold of him and told him that he was a father. He was so choked up that he couldn't talk."
Such incidents have a way of dramati cally altering our perception of ourselves and our heartbreak. Sometimes it takes a mind-blowing event to convince us that we can in fact pick up the pieces of our lives and move into the future.
But most of the time our lives are refocused by small events--a call from a friend, a trip that awakens our sense of gratitude, a new focus on our ministry. One father who had lost his child told me that the turning point for him was in acknowledging his blessings:
"One day I thought about all the things I had going for me. I could see Julie reading in the den, and I thought about how much I loved her, even if I hadn't shown it much lately. And I looked at our living room and thought about how much I enjoy our house. I got up and looked at our backyard and got a good feeling as I saw the firewood stacked neatly by the fence. And I said to myself, 'With God's help I'm going to make it. I don't know how, but I am going to make it.'"
The final stage of healing is acceptance. But one must be clear as to what acceptance means. Acceptance does not mean forgetting--as if to deny the significance of the heartbreak. Acceptance does not imply glossing over the hurt. Nor is acceptance shrugging one's shoulders and saying "What else can I do but accept the situation?"
Acceptance is predicated upon forgiving both the injustice and any person who may have caused the pain. It means remembering all of the joys of one's past life. It implies an affirmation that one's work on this earth is not completed. And it implies an affirmation of the future a future that will have new joys, new commitments, and new purposes.
How does one know when one has reached the fifth and final stage of heal ing? There seems to be one characteristic of all survivors of a heartbreak: they can look toward the future with optimism, knowing that while the pain of their trag edy will be with them for years, it is still possible to find new mountains to climb, new books to read, and new missions to fulfill.
Survival strategies
If you have recently experienced a major loss, you may find the following sug gestions helpful. Most of them are prob ably not new to you. In fact, the advice might be similar to that which you give to members of your congregation who are hurting. But each suggestion is important in its own right. And if you practice all four of these suggestions, you will be able to find new hope and joy.
1. Be gentle with yourself.
Remember that it takes time to re cover from a major loss. How long? One survey found that it took most people approximately two years to regain their hope and to find a renewed spirit of optimism and direction in their lives.
Pastors tend to rush their grieving pro cess. Part of this is because of the pressure of needing to help others. But part of it stems from a belief that if they had enough faith they would be able to put the tragedy behind them quickly.
It is important to remember that human pain does not loosen its grip at one point in time. Rather, it works its way out of our consciousness over time. There is a season of sadness. A season of anger. A season of tranquility. A season of hope.
But these seasons do not follow one another in lockstep manner. The winters and springs of one's life can be all jumbled together in a puzzling array. One day you feel as though the dark clouds have lifted, but the next day they have re turned. One moment you can smile and encourage others, but when alone the tears emerge.
If you are recovering from a loss, be gentle with yourself. You may find your self taking two steps forward in your j ourney, only to take one or more steps back ward. But such is the nature of healing.
2. Confide your hopes and fears to a friend.
If you want to survive a tragedy, you need a friend. At least that is the experience of individuals who have withstood some of the stiffest challenges that life can bring.
Michelle King is a 16-year-old Michigan girl who survived months of punish ing chemotherapy. Each time she re ceived an injection, her best friend would be with her. "I would lie on my back after those treatments, emotionally and physically exhausted. But my friend would hold my hand and softly repeat, 'You're going to make it. I know you're going to make it.'"
Kahlil Gibran remarked that we can forget those with whom we have laughed, but we can never forget those with whom we have cried. Most friend ships worth their salt are nourished in human struggle. When you have suffered together, you have established a bond that the passage of time does not sever.
Who can serve as a sympathetic friend? A spouse can lend an understand ing ear. And there are special people in every congregation who would willingly give their pastor support.
But spouses tend to be caught up in their own struggles, and church members often have difficulty accepting the humanness of their pastor. For these and other reasons it is often best to turn to another member of the clergy for sup port.
What are the characteristics of true friends? First, they are reluctant to give you a lot of advice. And when they do give you advice, it is given as Samuel Taylor Coleridge once observed, as snow. "The softer it falls the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into the mind."
The second characteristic of good friends is that they are optimistic. A good friend is one who can enter into our misfortune and understand its complexity. But a good friend will also affirm that life has not ended and that the future can once again be bright. As Dr. Elton May said: "One friend, one person who is truly understanding, who takes the trouble to listen to us as we consider our problem, can change our whole outlook on the world."
3. Don't go to bed at night without hav ing a plan for the coming day.
What should be in that plan? You should write out your objectives for the following day in three areas: work, family, and recreation.
Why is it so important to write out your objectives? It is not uncommon for individuals to slip into depression in the months following a major loss. It might not be severe enough to necessitate professional counseling, but it may hinder your effectiveness as a pastor. One of the best ways to handle depression is to plan your next day in a way that maintains a healthy balance in the vital components of life.
Play is important. You need to keep up with avocations and hobbies. And it is particularly important to exercise. In fact, research on exercise has now documented its power in breaking gloom. In one study, completed at the University of Wisconsin, researchers compared the benefits of running and long-term psychotherapy. Individuals who were depressed were placed in one of two groups. Some were assigned to 10 weeks of running therapy and 10 weeks of psychotherapy. This group met with their therapist and exercised three times a week. The other group had only psycho therapy.
When the experiment was concluded, the patients who ran showed the most improvement. More important, a year later most of the joggers were still run ning and were free of depression.
If you feel discouraged, take out a piece of paper. Divide the page in three columns. On the left-hand side, write out your work priorities for the following day, making certain to include ample time for meditation. In the middle of the page, write out what you would like to do with your family and/or friends. And then on the right-hand side, write out a few things to do that will bring a smile to your face. Before you go to bed, read over the list. Do so again in the morning. In so doing, you are giving life direction. An4 in all likelihood the depression will begin to lift.
4. Let your disappointments become a foundation for a deeper faith.
Those who have survived heartbreak have engaged in what Dag Hammarskjold once referred to as "the longest journey, the journey inward." The journey inward is difficult, for it may call into question the very foundations of our faith. Questions about the goodness of life and the meaning of faith, which were perhaps last explored in a seminary class room, now have a new urgency.
Cherish the questions. Verbalize the questions. In fact, become a friend to the questions. As Rainer Maria Rilke said: "I want to beg you as much as I can... to be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves."
What happens when we love the questions--those searing inquiries about the meaning of life and the meaning of faith?
On the one hand, we become more sensitive to individuals who struggle with the meaning of faith in their own lives. But equally important, we enrich our own faith.
Individuals often comment that one of the positive outcomes of their grief experience was that they were forced to come to terms with difficult questions that they previously had either avoided asking or never taken the time to answer. One minister told me: "My wife's death forced me to slow down. It forced me to meditate. It forced me to look to God in new ways. And although I wouldn't ever want to go through this experience again, I know that I am now a more compassion ate pastor and perhaps a better expositor of God's truth."
There is one last suggestion that will enable us to transcend our heartbreak, and that is to see God in simple acts of kindness.
There is a story that points to the importance of seeing God's strength in the mundane. A man was warned that the spring floods would soon encompass his house. A neighbor drove by and beckoned him to flee from the home, but the man replied that he believed God would see him through the flood. The waters rose higher and the man moved to the second floor. Another neighbor came by in a canoe and tried to persuade him to leave. But he turned down the offer of help and climbed to his rooftop. The rains continued, and soon the water lapped at his feet. A rescue helicopter came by, but even then he refused to accept help.
The man drowned. In heaven he approached God with bitterness: "Why did you let me drown?" God replied, "I was there with the friend in the car and the friend in the canoe. It was I who sent the helicopter. But you did not see Me."
How do you survive a major loss? Be gentle with yourself. Entrust your feel ings to a friend. Plan each day with care. And find God's strength in the simple acts of kindness done by others. In time the pain recedes. And in time you will discover renewed purpose and joy.
