2022.11.06 | Blessed Mourners
“Blessed Mourners”
Rev. Dr. Arlene K. Nehring
Eden United Church of Christ
Hayward, California
All Saints Sunday 2022
Nov. 6, 2022
Sermon titles are often the bane of my existence as a preacher. This is because the deadline for titles precedes the deadline for sermons, and truth be told, the Holy Spirit often causes me to discover new insights about a passage in the process of preparing a message that I had not thought of earlier. But there you have it. For once, I nailed the sermon theme in the title--Blessed Mourners--in advance of the sermon.
So today, I’m talking about mourning--that’s “mourning” as in a description of our feelings and behavior when a loved one goes to God, or when we experience some other significant form of loss--like the loss of mobility following a stroke--as opposed to “morning” as in, set your clocks back an hour on Sunday morning.
My sermon title, “Blessed Mourners” is intended to poke at the oxymoronish themes expressed by Jesus in the Beatitudes by coupling mourning with comfort (in Matthew) and laughing (in Luke), as we move tenderly through our All Saints observance today.
II
So much emphasis is placed on Matthew’s version of the Beatitudes that the uninitiated may not realize that there are two versions of the Beatitudes in the gospels. The other is found in Luke. And, though most New Testament scholars agree that they were developed from the same literary source commonly referred to as “Q,” the two renderings are somewhat different.
Matthew’s version of the Beatitudes, for example, lists eight blessings, while Luke’s version only lists four; and, Luke’s version couples each blessing with a curse. Note that Matthew 5:4 and Luke 6:25 both use the term “mourning” and describe circumstances that are juxtaposed. In Matthew, Jesus says: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted,” while in Luke, Jesus says that those who are laughing now will be mourning tomorrow.
Do you hear the contrast between the emotions in each gospel? In Matthew, Jesus juxtaposes mourning and comfort, while in Luke, he juxtaposes mourning and laughing.
Those who have never suffered a major loss, or the death of a loved one, might miss the irony that Jesus presents in the Beatitudes. But those of us who are familiar with suffering get it, because we have had our moments when it was very hard to imagine that there would ever be a day when we would experience comfort again, laugh again, or even just stop hurting so much as we were then, or even right now.
Similarly, if we, like Jesus’ first disciples who he addressed in Luke 6, have ever experienced the true cost of living our convictions, we may find it difficult to believe that God’s going to flip the script that’s unfolding in our lives, much less turn the world upside down, and right the wrongs like Mary sang about in Luke’s magnificat. Amen?
III
How, then, will Jesus’ vision of mourners being comforted come to pass? And, when is God going to give the last laugh to those who have suffered the consequences for speaking truth to power, and bringing outsiders in?
Inquiring minds want to know. Mourning hearts long for answers. But they do not come quickly. Deep grief and profound loss are not easily resolved.
To compound matters, the dominant Western culture in which we live doesn’t provide much space or time for mourning. We take a little time off from our jobs to plan a memorial service. We assess what needs to be done to get the deceased’s estate closed. We send out thank you notes to those who have expressed kindnesses and condolences; and then, boom, we’re expected to be back to work and step into our old routines.
For some, the return to routine is a welcome relief from the deep dive that we’ve taken into grief and loss, while others experience the return to a routine nigh unto impossible. They try faking it and hoping to make it, but can’t, and they end up feeling like a fraud.
Matthew says: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” We want to believe Jesus’ promises that we’ll get the last laugh, but we wonder how and when?
As a pastor, I typically respond by explaining that there is no one-size fits-all answer. Every person’s experience of grief and loss is as unique as the griever and the person who has gone to God. But I have noticed some common themes in the midst of decades of accompanying families through the grief process. I’ll share a few lessons learned today in hopes that these may be a blessing to all who are mourning now.
Nobody gets a pass. We can try to avoid our grief or try to race through it, but those attempts generally end up smacking us upside the head. The only way through grief is through it. Rather than fight it, we would do well to take the time we need to pull the covers over our heads, feel the hard feelings, cry buckets of tears, rant about the injustices that we have experienced, rail at God, and wrestle with our unresolved feelings toward the deceased.
It is normal to feel completely immersed in our grief, especially in the first days and weeks after a loved one has died. It’s normal to be preoccupied with thoughts about the person who has gone to God, and the hardship that they and we have endured. Folkx often lose their appetite for food, have trouble completing projects, and find it hard to sleep, or they sleep a lot, but still don’t feel rested. Grievers often pull back from their normal routines and social activities. They wonder if they will ever stop hurting, much less laugh again.
Grief can be hard to watch and even more uncomfortable to feel. This is why the well-intended sometimes try to rush others through the grief process, cheer them up, or make it go away. The truth be told, the most helpful thing that we can do for a griever is nothing--nothing except show up, give a hug, sit down, hold the kleenex box, and keep our mouths shut.
Grief is a steeplechase, not a 40-yard dash. When we lose a first-order relative or a best friend, we may grieve their loss for the rest of our life. If a parent or partner dies young, we slog through the initial months of grief until we reach a new normal, but then our initial sense of peace gets disrupted as we encounter family milestones that we thought we would be sharing, like watching a child walk across the graduation stage, celebrating their wedding, or welcoming the first grandchild into the family--and we find ourselves revisiting all of those tender feelings that we thought we’d put to rest.
Grief can be complicated. An uncomplicated grief process is one that unfolds when a person has lived a long and meaningful life, when they have enjoyed many rich and rewarding experiences, and loved deeply and enjoyed healthy and reciprocal relationships with family and friends. A complicated grief occurs when a person dies young, when their death is a tragedy (like a suicide) or the result of profound injustice (like the fatal shooting of an innocent victim), and/or the person who has passed was an addict, an absentee parent, or an unfaithful spouse--and unresolved issues about those issues continue for that person’s survisors.
Grief can be front-loaded. Those who have lost a loved one to a neurological disease may experience the death of a loved one as the culmination of a million paper cuts--a million little losses. E.g., at first Dad can’t remember where he left the car keys, or Mom burns up a couple of tea pots because she forgot to shut off the burner. Then comes the day when they can’t remember their children’s names. And, finally, at the end, their organs can’t remember how to function.
Those who have accompanied a loved one through years of tiny losses, or months of treatment that seemed nearly as bad as a disease, may ultimately experience death as a friend. This becomes so because they--we--discover that the only thing worse than losing a loved one is watching them suffer.
Personal faith, spiritual practices, and participation in a faith community can help us cope with and heal from grief, and find meaning in our lives even in the midst of profound grief and loss. The rites and rituals that we practice in the days around a person’s death, the community ofrenda that we’ve built in the narthex, and our annual observance of All Saints Sunday are just some of the ways that we minister with mourners, and share the pilgrimage of grief to hope, together. There are others.
In closing, I offer this pastoral invitation to one and all. There’s no need to suffer alone. Reach out. We’re here for you.
As you do, I trust that you will experience the truth of Jesus’ promise that all who mourn will be comforted, and that eventually it is possible to laugh again. Amen.