A Grace (a grief) Disguised

Recently at our church, we experienced a tragic, horrifying loss. It’s been excruciatingly hard and unspeakably unfair. It has surfaced doubts, questions of theodicy, and grief. It reminded of previous losses maybe gone unaddressed. This loss has slowed us (in an agitating and deeply formative way) down and has been transforming us in ways we longed for, but never would have chosen. The words of 2 Corinthians 4:7-12 & vv.16-18 come to mind. Yet, there’s still fragility. A powerlessness. A thankfulness. Weeping and rejoicing. What do these lines have to do with this blog?

The leadership expert and psychologist Henry Cloud says when things end (a job, summer, a person), it prompts us to evaluate. In concert with a child coming out, or a loved one immersed (to whatever degree) in the LGBTQ+ communities, it can prompt us to evaluate. What was life like? How’d we get here? Will this person ever welcome Jesus as their greatest hope? What will it mean for our family? The emotional responses to a child coming out or engaging in the LGBTQ+ world tend to include several things:

1.    concern/fear (marriage, real or perceived hate, how to respond, no matter the direction this is an inflection point)

2.    unconditional love (the one the apostle Paul had for the Romans in chapter 9, being cut off from Christ for his kin)

3.    uncertainty/disbelief (the unanswerable and unassailable, we’re all on a journey)

4.    self-blame (for not knowing)

5.    self-blame (what did I do wrong?)

6.    questioning God (why us, why this child, why now?).^[1]

No matter how you’ve responded there is hope and a path as well as a person to look to.

The Path: A Grace Disguised

The go-to book on grief that I almost immediately recommend is A Grace Disguised. The subtitle captures one of the themes of the book, “How the Soul Grows Through Loss.” In an instant, a tragic car accident claimed three generations of his family: his mother, his wife, and his young daughter. While most of us might not experience such a catastrophic loss in our lives, all of us face some kind of loss. We can, by Gods grace and truth, come to know the God who suffers with us(Isa. 53), who comforts us (2 Cor 1), and repurposes our pain for redemptive purposes. To transform us and offer that for the sake of others.^[2]

The image: a tree stump. The author of A Grace Disguised, Jerry Sittser, describes it like this. It’s worth the quote. Read closely and slowly:

“The sorrow I feel has not disappeared, but it has been integrated into my life as a painful part of a healthy whole. Initially, my loss was so overwhelming to me that it was the dominant emotion—sometimes the only emotion—I had. I felt like I was staring at the stump of a huge tree that had just been cut down in my backyard. That stump, which sat all alone, kept reminding me of the beloved tree that I had lost. I could think of nothing but that tree. Every time I looked out the window, all I could see was that stump. Eventually, however, I decided to do something about it. I landscaped my backyard, reclaiming it once again as my own. I decided to keep the stump there, since it was both too big and too precious to remove. Instead of getting rid of it, I worked around it. I planted shrubs, trees, flowers, and grass. I laid out a brick pathway and built two benches. Then I watched everything grow. Now, three years later, the stump remains, still reminding me of the beloved tree I lost. But the stump is surrounded by a beautiful garden of blooming flowers and growing trees and lush grass. Likewise, the sorrow I feel remains, but I have tried to create a landscape around the loss so that what was once ugly is now an integral part of a larger, lovely whole.”

This can be you. This can be how you and I respond to grief and loss. With that person, that thing, that heartache. Great, but how?

The Person: Christ’s Body

One mom from WGA said this week that their child has not been doing well lately. In the past when this mom would send a text of consolation to her child with warmth and a key line, “I’m praying for you”…..it was often met with dismissal. With grace + truth overtime? This week, when this mom offered empathy and understanding, and “I’m praying for you,” their child responded with a heart emoji and gratitude.

Advice from the brilliant scholar and leading thinker on gender and sexual identity, Mark Yarhouse writes: (1) Lead with love. (2) Accept your child/person and your circumstances. (3) Take care of yourself.^[3]

1. One way to lead with love is to frame your child’s coming out or their ongoing involvement in LGBTQ+ spaces as an invitation to get to know them better. Acceptance doesn’t have to equal affirmation — whole sale. You can, with wisdom & curiosity, become interested in understanding them and what they are experiencing.
2. Accept can be a difficult word, yet it can carry civility, compassion, and chance to dispense grace to them while holding conviction. This takes time. It might ebb and flow. Pace yourself. Involve others.
3. There’s no quick fix, no three step process to resolve all the questions, and particularities. You’re in this chapter of life. Identify it, resource yourself…..there’s this really good video series these folks put together :) ……and seek healthy ways of relating.

As we lock eyes with Christ (Heb 12:2)and link arms with Christ’s Body (by extension, WGA), we start to curate environments where this type of redemptive decision making [above] can happen. We’re with you in it all. We’re waiting and ready to receive you. Join us?

^[1] Yarhouse, When Children Come Out: A Guide for Christian Parents. Page 21.

^[2] Mulholland, Invitation to a Journey.

^[3] Yarhouse, page 27.

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