By many measures it was a really brutal winter. More than once I opened the door to our house only to find the snow up to my waist. During the recent blizzard, snow blew into the windows and I couldn’t even see out. Am I the only one who began to feel a bit claustrophobic? Just getting out to fill the bird feeders in 3 feet of snow felt like an Olympic feat!
Who can blame the animals for hibernating? Hibernation is a survival strategy used by over 200 species to endure harsh conditions, involving reduced metabolic rates and body temperatures.
And it was not just the weather. I believe that as a people, and especially as residents of Gloucester, our grief was as treacherous as the black ice that tripped us up, leaving us bruised and battered. Harsh conditions indeed.
In our own church, a mother lost her beloved son to a heart attack. We lost another dear member who took a deadly fall. Someone else slid on the ice which landed her in a rehabilitation center for a bit. Among the Associated Clergy of Cape Ann, we surrounded our dear sister, the Rev. Mary DeClaren, serving at St. John’s Episcopal Church when her son Jacob, a college student, took a catastrophic fall in Costa Rica. He is now working towards healing and hoping to walk again. We all wanted to help and if you want to learn more and to join in, check out the website https://gofund.me/08e74d032.
And then there was the nightmare of the sinking of the fishing vessel Lily Jean, taking all seven crew members. I’m not from here. I didn’t know those whose lives were lost. I have never even driven a boat. I don’t pretend to even be able to imagine the suffering of the bereaved families. But along with all of you, my heart was broken by weight of this sorrow. You can see the pain on every single face around town (To learn more and help, go to https://fvlilyjeanfund.org/)
Honestly, there is not even room to list, nor can I keep up with, the devastating headlines in our own country and in the world, from Minneapolis to Iran.
So here is my message. In addition to the challenges of the winter, I believe that we are grieving. And when we grieve, we are not our best selves. Grief leaves us exhausted and disoriented. Grief makes us impatient with everything.
Grief doesn’t play fair. It is like a wave that hits you from behind.
And grief is invisible. In biblical times people who were grieving sometimes wore sack cloth and ashes as an outward sign of inward sorrow. In some cultures, people wear black for up to a year as they grieve. In Jewish communities there is a set time to refrain from other responsibilities when one is grieving.
If someone had a broken leg and were on crutches, we would open doors for them or carry their packages. But not only is grief invisible, we are expected to recover all too quickly. Healing happens slowly, too slowly for our racing times.
There is a word that arose from monastic times in the Middle Ages and is rarely used today. It is “acedia” (pronounced asi-dee-aah). The symptoms of the disease are restlessness, drifting and indifference, and a deep feeling of “disconnectedness” with everything. Some connect it with depression and others relate it to sloth. I believe that grief can lead to this condition. Acedia is a sort of asphyxiation or suffocation of the spirit. It is the opposite of finding joy in all that is good. Just as we struggle to see over the ever-growing snow banks as we pull out on to a road, so we struggle to hang on to our visions.
You might be suffering from this if you find yourself eating or drinking too much. If you are spending too much time scrolling on the internet or shopping online. You might be suffering from this if you are reluctant to reach out to others or even answer the phone. You might be suffering from this if you are neglecting being outside and getting exercise.
Battling our sorrow and the weather tested our resilience. So what to do? I am again reminded of the statement, “Be gentle for everyone is fighting a great battle,” attributed to Scottish theologian Ian McLaren. We must be gentle with ourselves and with each other. We need to nurture our physical, emotional and spiritual selves.
A good question to ask is, which activities foster our spiritual freedom, and which do not? Another way to look at this is to ask what leads to healthy spiritual hygiene? Since we really can’t hibernate, what is our own “survival strategy?”
In her book “Acedia and Me” by Kathleen Norris, she writes, “Whatever you do repeatedly has the power to shape you, to make you over into a different person — even if you are not totally engaged in every minute.”
And so, we found ourselves in church, returning to the mystery and comfort of the Holy One. We do this repeatedly in good times and in bad. We do this because we need God and because we need each other. The ever grace-filled Rev. Jim Achadinha said about the tragedy of the Lily Jean, “God has a lot of explaining to do.” But still we gathered with our questions, and we gathered to “weep with those who weep and to rejoice with those who rejoice.” (Romans 12:4) Never in 40-plus years of ministry have I experienced such overwhelming grief as I did at the service for Capt. Gus Sanfilippo. The sorrow was tangible. As I left that service, I remember the steps were icy and an officer reached out to steady me. Even at that tenderest of moments, winter would not relent.
I am writing from Florida now where the temperature is in the 80s. As I am thawing out, I find myself processing all of this. Anne Lamott has said, “My mind is like a dangerous neighborhood, into which I dare not travel alone.” I am ever grateful that we do this demanding work of plowing through this grief together. I am grateful for you, dear reader.
The Rev. Valerie M. Roberts-Toler is a retired United Methodist pastor. Midweek Musings rotates among Cape Ann clergy.