Those words are forever seared into my consciousness. It was a phone call no one ever wishes to make. My wife, Beth, and I had come home after receiving confirmation our worst fears had been realized. We had gone from one doctor’s appointment where we heard a healthy heartbeat to another one where there was no heartbeat. We’d gone from telling family and friends about our new gift, and we started making preparations to bring a little one into the world, to asking deep theological questions driven by the pain of the death of our baby.
In the midst of wrestling with my own grief, I knew there were some practical matters to attend to, as well. As a way to set aside my grief, I started making the necessary phone calls to family, coworkers and friends. Also on my list was to call and cancel the crib we’d recently purchased. When asked why I was canceling the order, I told a complete stranger we had lost our first child. Her “Better luck next time” caught me off guard. Who says that?
The Blending of Our Cultural and Theological Beliefs
I was mad…OK, more than mad. I wanted to call back, ask for an operator, and hope I got this same complete stranger so I could give her a piece of my mind. I needed that release. I realize now that she had no idea what we were experiencing. I can’t blame her. We’re not prepared for these moments. We don’t think we’ll ever die, and we don’t think those we love will die either.
As teenagers, we buy into that narrative. We believe we are invincible. Thus, when the impossible happens, we end up in shock…not knowing what to think, what to do, or how to grieve. Grief often becomes our unwanted baptism into adulthood.
The biblical narratives are rich with portrayals of grief. I see three portrayals that can help us better understand the gift of grief.
The Tearing of Garments
David may have been a man after God’s own heart, but this did not prevent him from experiencing much grief and pain in life. He lost several children.
The importance of such public rituals was brought to my attention by Christian author Lauren F. Winner. In her book Mudhouse Sabbath, she writes about important rituals such as mourning from her Jewish heritage. Wearing black was a way to communicate that we are grieving without having to stop and explain ourselves.
How I wish this ritual had been in practice when I was 18 and found out one of my childhood friends had died in car accident. I got tired of having to explain and relive the experience of hearing the news every time I encountered someone new. As an introvert, I didn’t want to talk about my grief with complete strangers. I needed time to myself to process the loss of a childhood friend.
Grief is personal, which is why it also varies in each of us. Some youth need to talk through their grief. Others need space. In our technological age, some turn to social media, perhaps as a means to offer some type of transcendent words into the electronic void for all of time.
It’s important for us not to project our own way of handling grief on those who are grieving. We need to give our kids space and know them so well that we know when they’re grieving.
As Jesus breathed His last breath, the Gospel of Matthew reads, “the curtain of the temple was torn in two…the earth shook, and the rocks were split” (v. 27:51). Scholars and theologians have discussed the meaning of this event unique to the Gospel of Matthew. Most conclude it’s Matthew’s continued testament to the theological importance of Jesus’ death.
The poet inside of me thinks there might be more to it. Along the lines of Paul’s claim in Romans that creation is groaning (vv. 8:18-25). Perhaps, in Matthew the earth shakes and rocks split because creation itself is crying out in grief over the death of its Creator. The death of Jesus forever has changed creation.
When we encounter death, nothing is the same. Suddenly, memories lost in the haze in the back of our minds come to foreground. Songs take on new meaning. Physical locations become sacred.
The most important thing we can do for our youth in these moments is not to give into temptation to fill the theological void with easy platitudes. Responses such as, “They’re in a better place,” “God wanted them to come home,” and “God has a plan,” are really just empty words.
Our good intention to alleviate the pain quickly often backfires. Our empty words dismiss the fact that things forever have been changed. We minister best when we walk with youth through their journeys of grief, listening as they wrestle face-to-face with the deep existential questions coming out of the darkness.
The Man from Arimathea
We don’t talk enough about Joseph of Arimathea. We miss out when we overlook his ministry.
Joseph was the one who had the courage to go before Pilate to ask for Jesus’ body. At risk to his own reputation, Joseph ministered to those grieving in the only way he could. He couldn’t take away the pain. He simply helped with the practical details. The late poet and author Maya Angelou said, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” I am sure a measure of relief washed over the women who stayed on the hill with Jesus as Joseph stepped forward.
When I lost my childhood friend, it wasn’t the people who continually offered me words of sympathy, but those who came up and simply gave me hug. A simple reminder that, yes, today sucks, but there will be a future day when the sun shines again. We minister best in these times not with our words but by the presence we offer. Silent presence allows space for deep theological questions.
It might be creating a room where students can go to be silent in grief. It could be as simple as posting our office hours, being approachable or being present at every funeral our students attend. Whatever we do, it’s important to make room for deep theological questions to be voiced and wrestled. When we do this, we create the opportunity for faith to grow.
Community Practices
Community is so important in the grieving process. Our youth ministries should be places where students can share their grief, and where their peers can gather arround them for support. Our roles are to create the space for that to happen. Creating this space isn’t difficult, but we have to be intentional about doing it. How can we give our youth communities room to work out their grief?
Designate a special candle in a common area where youth gather that can be lit by anyone as a sign of remembrance and/or communicate he or she is grieving.
Give students creative response tools. Some might want to process by writing a letter, a prayer or in a journal before they are ready to talk about it. Make a prayer wall where youth can write anonymous prayers to God.
Create small physical reminders to help honor the loved ones. It can be as simple as a small wrist band with a meaningful word or phrase. Or students can create necklaces. Encourage students to wear these items, and encourage the youth community to encourage those they see wearing them.
Be conscious of birthdays of lost loved ones and anniversaries of deaths as these are moments when it’s possible for grief to be renewed. Remember those events as a group.
As youth communicate their struggles and questions, it’s OK to admit you’re struggling with loss, too. Tell your students stories about times when you’ve felt the loss of someone you love. Youth will respect your vulnerability.
1 David Brooks, The Road to Character (New York: Random House, 2015), 93.
Seth Vopat has worked in youth ministry for almost 15 years, has an M.Div. from Central Baptist Theological Seminary and a certificate in youth and theology from Princeton Theological Seminary. He and his family live in Kansas City, where he works as an associate pastor.
