When Going to Church Feels Risky – life after loss.

To go or not to go. That was the question, and I was ready to lay it all on the Lord. I decided a walk with the dog might help manage my emotions. A battle between my feelings and God’s words had started in my head, and I was ready to do some talking, but, first, I was interrupted by a strong suggestion.

I felt the Lord impress upon me, “Just walk with Me and enjoy what I’ve created.” So I took a deep breath and lengthened my stride as Noorvy and I made our way through the park early that Sunday morning. The sun was just beginning its morning stretch across the horizon with brilliant pinks and oranges as if to say, I am right before you. “Yes”, I thought, “God you are before me” but my mind went right back to my problem and I began, “God, I love this walk with you and I want to be with only you today, I am apprehensive about going to church this morning.” I was getting ready to say more but as I passed the honeysuckle it’s fragrance wafted along with me as if to say, I am right beside you. I breathed it in and felt loved. “God, this is so amazing, I don’t want this time with just you and me to end”. I kept offloading my thoughts, “Is it selfish of me to just want to be with you right now and not all my people? Going to church feels risky. My feelings are so raw today. I don’t know if I will be able “rise to the occasion”. I don’t think I have it in me to match the smiling faces or to answer the “Hi how are ya?s”. Because I”m not sure that they are really asking me how I am. And if they are, what can I say in just 30 seconds? One small question can feel like a lot to navigate in a state of grief. Yet, I realize I used to do this too. I used to greet others just the same before I lost my son. It’s a habit. Maybe if, instead, we said, “It’s good to see you” or “I’m glad you’re here”…

“Lord,” I continued, “this is just one of the hurdles of attending church today.” I stopped on the covered bridge to watch a blue heron fish for its breakfast. It suddenly took flight and floated gracefully under the bridge where we stood as if to say, I am right beneath you.  “Yes, Lord, you are before me, behind me, beside me, underneath me…” Yet, I couldn’t stop unloading my predicament. “Lord, you know how I used to love corporate worship, but now the songs that brought me so much joy feel too bright and jarring. Instead of bringing joy, they bring feelings of being left out in the cold. I’m reminded of the proverb, “Like one who takes away a garment on a cold day, or like vinegar poured on a wound, is one who sings songs to a heavy heart.” What are the heavy-hearted to do when they go to church? Maybe if we allowed for a moment of lament, a moment to acknowledge that pain is a big part of life, maybe a heavy heart could feel that there was a place for them no matter their condition. I sighed as Noorvy and I walked on and then I looked up at the sky. The clouds were huge and incredible. They were arranged in such a way as if to say, I am right above you.

On that walk, all the beauty around me seemed to say, “I see you. Your pain matters to me. You are never alone. You are fully encompassed by your holy creator.” I so wanted to stay in this moment, but it was Sunday. And I wasn’t ready to give up on going to church.

Church is an emotional place for me. A place where music and prayer press on my tender heart. Sometimes, I can act like I’m okay, but this can be exhausting, and some days, I’m just not that strong. So staying home and watching online was the answer in the early months…plus it was Covid, so who knew? But after a time, I needed my people, so I contemplated opening my heart a little more, but this meant vulnerability, which takes courage.

I know that I am not the only one who goes Sunday after Sunday to meet with their brothers and sisters carrying a heavy burden. What about those who bravely drag their own hearts out in the open? Did I acknowledge their pain? Did I take a look and see their battered heart? And when my friend shared their heart…did I aide in healing or did I turn away too soon? Is it anyone wonder that most gatherings have some of us locking our pain away?  There have been desperate times when I’ve laid my bruised and bloodied heart on the floor and allowed others to ask about it. And as I awkwardly tried to find the words to explain the mess I gave up too quickly, shrugged it off as if to slap a bandaid across the largest gash that still bleeds. Sharing grief is uncomfortable in our western culture. We just don’t know how to do it very easily. I am acutely aware of this and yet I include myself as being awkward in acknowledging another’s pain. Would it help, if we just said it? If we just said something like, “I want to hear your heart even though I feel awkward about what to say or not to say.”

There have been brave friends who have shown empathy along with curiosity. This is different from sympathy. As I understand it, sympathy says I see your pain and empathy says I want to try to feel your pain. They have wondered aloud what it must be like to be me. This kind of empathy, the kind that could get a little messy is the kind of empathy that says, ‘I’m with you even if it gets uncomfortable”. When this happens my heart gains strength. If they can allow their own tears to brim or even fall, it’s as if a healing balm washes over my heart, soothing it, causing it to beat stronger. And my pain subsides a bit, making room and creating energy for me to care for others.  Empathy truly is the medicine for the heartsick.  But isn’t this backward? you might ask. Don’t they say that in helping others you help yourself, don ‘t people find healing there? Yes, this is true but it is also true that if you have a broken leg or a terrible limp you get tired much quicker, discouraged much faster than others. Some wounds can take a very long time to heal.

A physical wound is easier to ask about than an internal wound. You can see it heal or you can see it get worse and it is natural to ask about, but a broken heart is not visible. How would we know if there was healing if we didn’t ask? Are we not to bear one another’s burdens? I think about this and it frightens me because there is all manner of pain and hurt in our communities and I don’t have the answers. But often it is the power of empathy not the answers, that a person needs because there is no answer for some pain.

So, I challenge myself to be a little more vulnerable with those I know to be safe. And most importantly I want to remember that I can bring my heart to Jesus pouring it all over the ground before his throne, not worrying about how much I can pour before it gets too messy and not worrying if I’ve used up my allotted time. Because He tells us to come boldly. We can keep sharing our hearts with him. He has all the time in the world for you. He has all of your days.  He is the Ancient of Days. And this is why you can go on. This is why you can share your beat up heart with others. Because while it has scars it is also bound with healing bandages, cords of true love, and oil of empathy. Hiding away your heart because you see it as a mess will not help others. It is a work in progress…under the Great Physician’s care…in therapy…and on some days…still in the ICU. But one day there will be full restoration. Until then keep on, let your heart keep beating, bleeding as it may. And keep an eye out for a brother or a sister who struggles to share theirs and encourage them to do so. So what if it is awkward or not, who cares? True connection happens at this level.

Hebrews 10:25, “not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, ⁴ who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”

Galatians 6:2: “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

Proverbs 25:20: “Like one who takes away a garment on a cold day, or like vinegar poured on a wound, is one who sings songs to a heavy heart.”