Artist Credit- The Amazing Scott Erickson Scott Erickson Art
2020 is almost over.
Thank goodness.
In a year like no other, we have all experienced a kind of collective social and emotional trauma that leaves no one untouched. Life in our country has gotten harder for almost everyone. There are millions out of work, food for many is scarce. Those who can work are being stretched to the very limit of their capacity. The fabric of our society is thin, fragile and tearing in many places. Our systems and structures, the things on which we rely for order, are being threatened and dismantled. Some of this is hard and some of it is good, necessary and overdue. Racial and ethnic inequities, long ignored and dismissed by many, are slowly and awkwardly being addressed—may we see this continue. Unhealthy and destructive power structures are being exposed, are slowly and awkwardly being dismantled—may we see this continue too.
For most of us, these issues seem out of our control and ability to impact. And it causes us anxiety, stress and even alarm. There is much to be overwhelmed by in the world around us.
And as I have watched and stay connected to many friends and colleagues around the country, it seems this year has brought many of us great personal pain and heartache as well. I know this is true for me. I have navigated this year with dear friends who tragically lost a daughter to gun violence, a life taken too soon and senselessly. I have experienced my own young adult child wrestle with issues of identity and emotional health. I lost my oldest friend to a 30+ yearlong battle with cancer. Another dear friend is facing a diagnosis of chronic illness. Two of my closest friends have had grandchildren born with illnesses that may take years of interventions and surgeries to heal. Two others lost their adult children to suicide and another is dealing with mental illness in her teenager. The pain and heartache that touches me through these losses. both my own and those I love, feels very overwhelming these days.
How do we stay whole, even marginally sane, in the midst of these challenging times? I think we must really lean into lament, grace and gratitude. For it is here we can find flickering glimpses of hope.
Lament, an ancient and often forgotten practice, is simply the ability to express grief and sorrow for something lost. Western culture is prone to dismiss or diminish lament. We do this in all kinds of ways.
We compare our loss to someone else’s and discount that ours really matters.
We shortcut our grieving in favor of activity and productivity.
We suppress our painful emotions in an effort to lessen or deaden the pain.
We resort to numbing activities—drinking, drugs, mindless binge-watching and binge eating.
But a healthy season of lament allows us to freely express our pain and sorrow and grief and then begin to come to a place of acceptance so that we can integrate and assimilate our suffering and move from a new, and stronger, place emotionally.
In this season, this long Corona Virus winter, we have all lost something. And we must create space to lament. To grieve what we have lost. Not to become a victim of our circumstances, but to freely and righteously give voice to the emotional and often physical pain of our losses.
Grace is the receiving of unmerited favor. When someone forgives you for an offense that caused them hurt or harm, they have extended grace. Being released from an obligation or debt that weighs heavy is an important form of grace as well. And in this season, I have come to believe that we must learn to give ourselves grace. We burden ourselves with obligations to ourselves and others that become difficult to achieve.
Yes, you can give yourself grace, in small ways. You can create space in your day to breath, to work more slowly, to allow yourself to process your feelings, and to create space for things that are life-giving and restorative. Grace is also permission to release things—obligations, relationships, burdens we carry that are unhealthy. Grace is as necessary to our wellbeing as breathing.
Gratitude is a close cousin to Grace. It is the ability, even in the midst of terrible pain and hardship, to find that one thing that you can be grateful for—a good cup of coffee, a snuggle with your puppy, a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds. And we know that when the mind processes gratitude, it actually changes something chemically in our brains, moves us forward with something we thought long lost—hope.
In the Christian calendar, we are entering the season of Advent. The season of Hope.
We wait with hope and expectation for the coming of our Lord, Jesus Christ. He has been promised to us by the ancient prophets and so we wait, anticipating that yet unseen goodness.
We know how the story turns out, and yet each year we mark these next 4 weeks with expectant hope. Why? Because I think we need the reminder, the remembrance, each year that there are often long seasons of waiting. Of lamenting. And of grace and gratitude. Life is marked by all of these seasons, however much we may want to avoid them. In the Christian tradition, there is no promise of healing or wholeness in the broken world of today. Only that all things will be reconciled to Him, Jesus, in the new heavens and the new earth. And that is our hope, in the now and the not yet of Shalom, Flourishing.
For today, we lament. We freely give and receive grace. And we seek out those things that we can be grateful for, even in the darkest of days.
This piece of art, part of the New Icons collection by Scott Erickson is a picture of this season, of pain and loss and expectant hope. Eve, our spiritual mother tethered to sin and brokenness, yet reaching towards the hope of the savior in the swollen belly of Mary. Sadness and Lament. Grace and Gratitude.
Here are some Advent Resources for you:
Honest Advent by Scott Erickson
Inner Work Webinar Wednesday December 2, 2020 2pm ET Register here