Grief, Grievance, Gratitude, Grace

This is the year when everyone lost.

All of us. 

A lot.

Far too many of us lost friends and family members. Almost 2,000 a day now. A 9-11 level tragedy every 36 hours. 

Some have lost health with debilitating long haul symptoms.

Some have lost jobs, businesses, savings. 

But even for us who have somehow escaped the more catastrophic loses, there are losses of trust, of friendship, of community, of plans and hopes and normalcy. 

There is no hoped for new normal. What worked for a few weeks, a few months, has shifted again as weather turns cold and Covid cases rise. 

National health experts urge us NOT to gather for Thanksgiving. Dr. Fauci urges "Hunker down."

I've been wondering how to stay grateful when our hearts are full of grief. 

Grief is not a new theme for me. According to Gregory of Nyssa (c. 335 –395): "It is impossible for one to live without tears who considers things exactly as they are."  

Looking back over my own posts about grief and lament, I came across a post I wrote in the wake of the 2012 election where I explored the movement from grief, to grievance, to gratitude:

A friend gave me Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are, and I"ve been struck by how Voskamp's determination to be thankful led her from deep depression into a life of joy, and how gratitude gradually undid the damage of a childhood locked in silent grief, 

I've experienced much of this myself. I grew up in a household beset with grievance. "If only" was a frequent refrain. I watched how "if only" can blossom into bitterness and resentment, rage, hatred, violence. 

Grievance feed grievance, until every incident, every word, is part of a narrative of injustice and deprivation. 

I've seen the same story play out in households I've been close to. Abandonment, resentment, jealousy, rage: once the dial is set to grievance, the story plays out toward a predictably disturbing end. 

On a larger stage the story is the same. The language of this past week, for those expecting a different end to our national election, is full of blame, bitterness, anger, hints of retribution. 

Is gratitude possible when the default mode is grievance? Is it possible to learn gratitude as a spiritual discipline that can reshape our hearts and open the way to emotional health?

Ir seems the first step toward gratitude is to let go: let go of our own ideas of how the story was to go, let go of the "if onlys," the sense of blame, the certainty that our way would have been best, that we've been denied the only happy ending. 

That was written eight years ago. We are in that place again, only worse, recovering from a divisive election with half the nation furious at the outcome, the other half grieving the past four years, the endless litigation, the cries of fraud. All of us are nursing grievance and the sad sense of "if only."

All while struggling with a global pandemic and divided leadership about the best way forward. 

If only we could go back to normal. 

If only we could gather for Thanksgiving. 

If only someone had done something different. 

We'd like to have things go our way. We'd like to fix blame and settle the grievance.

Yet grievance will never lead us out of grief. The first step out is to let grievance go. 

Some years Thanksgiving has lots of people. Lots of pie. This year will be different. 

But there are still things to give thanks for. 

Homes. Friends. Sunsets. 

A new book. A hot cup of coffee. 

Again from that 2012 post: 

A 2008 study by Jeffrey Froh, assistant professor of psychology at Hofstra University in New York, found that middle school students asked to list up to five things they were grateful for every day for two weeks “experienced a jump in optimism and overall well-being . . .  Furthermore, they were more satisfied with school even three weeks later 

Voskamp found that keeping a notebook of “gifts” forced her to pay attention, to see things she would not have seen. “I am a hunter of beauty and I move slow and I keep eyes wide."

In this strange season find myself trying harder to pay attention, to hunt beauty, to store up bright memories for the long winter nights ahead.

I pause on a walk with my grandchildren to savor the rosy sunset over their quiet town. 

I study faces around the bonfire in my daughter's back yard, knowing I'll see those sweet faces less often once winter cold sets in.

Now that in-person encounters are far fewer, I find myself watching for grace bubbling up unexpected ways: merry eyes over a bright mask in a grocery store aisle. A swirl of cedar waxwings high in a neighbor's tree. An ancient song reset with cello and mellow mix of voices, echoes of grace over continents and centuries.

A recent interaction with a young family member reminded me that if we think this moment is all there is, the grief of the moment grows large and grievance seems the right response. If this is it, this day, this season, this life here, now, then it makes total sense to rant and rage or bury ourselves in sorrow.

But gratitude reminds us: this world is much bigger. This life is much larger. This is a page in a ongoing story, a story that starts in love and ends in love, wrapped in grace from start to end, despite the moments of sadness.

So, hunker down! Stay safe. 

Practice gratitude. 

Listen for the songs of grace echoing around you.