The Unimaginable

There are moments that the words don’t reach.
There is suffering too terrible to name.
You hold your child as tight as you can
And push away the unimaginable.*

Nobody wants to be in this club. Whether suffering happens because of natural disasters in the Hill Country of Texas or the mountains of North Carolina, or because of human evil manifested in school shootings, the suffering is indeed too terrible to name. And it happens in accidents and through illness. The unimaginable.

What do we do when our hearts break with these families, but it hasn’t happened personally to us? We still have our children and grandchildren. We still have our loved ones who’ve miraculously survived somehow.

We’ve been told what not to do, but we forget. Bless Kate Bowler for reminding us, but still we are imperfect and clueless empathizers.

It can’t happen right away, but I wonder if – at some time – we can share stories together. This strikes me as the role of Church in times like these.

It’s not the role of Church to fix a grieving family or expect them to bounce back or use this holy time to recite platitudes. We provide some food. We offer to run errands. We ask them how today is going – even years later, because yesterday might have been horrible but today is better.

Sharing stories seems to be one opportunity to provide space for grieving – not today, not next week and maybe not ten years from now. But maybe sometime. Maybe we who have not experienced such a depth of grief can learn from shared stories, remembering that everyone’s suffering is their own. What was soothing to one family might not be soothing to others. Maybe it would help if we invited people to share their stories. Or, if they never want to share, we accept that too.

When I was a parish pastor, we invited friends who’d endured a great measure of suffering the chance to tell their story. Every week for a season, we sat and heard people we love tell us what happened:

• The dad of twins but one of the twins died at birth.
• The spouse of a husband with early onset of dementia (i.e. his thirties).
• The mom of children who died in an accident.
• The parents of children who’d died by suicide.

We heard whatever they wanted to share. We just listened. They offered what had really helped and what didn’t. (Again, there is no perfect response. Every situation and every person is different.)

The worst thing we can do is nothing: avoid those who grieve, forget them especially during difficult seasons. We don’t have to drop by their home with a chirpy, “I know today is ____’s birthday and I thought we could go out for burgers.” Just call. Or send a note. We aren’t reminding them of something that they haven’t already remembered. We are called to love people the way they want to be loved. Ask them. And if they reject our offerings, don’t take it personally.

We can do better, Church. And we have a fresh opportunity to be Church this week. Don’t hop in the car and drive to Kerrville “to help.” Send money here or here. Let’s not make it about us. Yes, pray. And also send funds if possible. And then pray some more.

*First verse of “It’s Quiet Uptown” by Lin-Manuel Miranda from Hamilton. Image source.