There are those who like to wear their grief out loud. People like author Glennon Doyle. When she is feeling low, she will wear her most comfy but awful looking sweatpants and hoodie to the grocery store. Her hair a mess. She looks like she feels. It’s an aggressive mourning. An active grief. She wants everyone to know that she’s not all right but she also doesn’t want to talk about it.

Glennon is competitive. Often when she sees others doing good things, they are doing them AT HER. She writes the following as examples:

People threw Pinterest parties AT ME.

People trained for triathlons AT ME.

People refused to eat carbs after 8 pm AT ME.

I was constantly under attack with all of these judgy people living AT ME.[1]

She decided to point her grief AT THEM to show that she’s visually not okay. Her exterior matches her interior when she’s feeling grief and loss. And once again, grief is that natural process that happens at any loss or change, not just around death and dying.

I’m pretty sure that Nehemiah was more like Glennon. We learned last Sunday that he was a faithful man. He was shocked and angry at what he learned about Jerusalem. He was in the first two stages of grief. Then came the third. Depression. Now some folks put bargaining in this stage of grief, but if we’re honest we can emotionally hit all these stages at once. It’s a minute-to-minute thing. The heart has its own ways and emotions don’t follow the rules.

Here is Nehemiah. He is depressed. So depressed that it’s noticed by the king. Nehemiah is the cupbearer to the king. Think of this as a personal assistant to the king. A highly trusted position. The king asks, “Why is your face sad, since you are not sick? This can only be sadness of the heart.”

Later, the chief of HR might have written that Nehemiah wasn’t professional in his annual job review. What Nehemiah is in this moment is human. A vulnerable, honest, and beautiful human in this passage. I really treasure it as grief is natural. So many of us try to hide our grief. No need to do so. Just look what happens: Nehemiah is wearing his feelings on his sleeve.  The king notices and instead of being troubled by it, he sees Nehemiah and understands.

Maybe that’s what we’re often looking for and lacking in our lives. To be seen. To be understood. Even just to be asked. Yet to be asked, one must stop pretending. One has to risk being vulnerable.

One champion of being perfectly an imperfect human is our own Stu Jones. He makes sure to get on my calendar at least once a month. The last two months, we have resumed our monthly lunches that we used to do before COVID. He was telling a friend about our meetings.

“Oh wow,” said his friend. “My pastor has never asked me to lunch.”

“Well,” said Stu. “My pastor has never asked me, either. I make sure to ask him.”

It takes two to communicate. A speaker and a listener. Sometimes we speak with what we wear. We communicate our thoughts and feelings with our clothing choices.

Like the sad and sensitive kids who often wear a lot of black. People will call them goths. Or weirdos. Or whatever. Many of them come to the Dungeons and Dragons game Eli and I have at the library. These teens wear black not because they’re too sensitive or too weak or whatever, but because life is hard. As Johnny Cash sang for another generation, “Ah, I’d love to wear a rainbow every day, And tell the world that everything’s okay, But I’ll try to carry off a little darkness on my back, ‘Til things are brighter, I’m the Man In Black” Cash mourns the ills he sees in society. He dressed the part and many still do.

Life is hard because there is a lot that causes us grief. There’s no one way to grieve, either. Our feelings have a logic of their own. Rob Bell gives this example. He asks, “How was 2020 for you?”

While your brain is trying to answer it: 2020 was bad. Well, what about the good parts?
2020 was good. Well, what about the bad parts?
Your heart, your feelings, can hold all the paradoxes of feeling.[2]

We feel deeply. We aren’t just brains being carried around in cases. Our emotions color everything we do. Including how we dress. Including how our faces look without our realizing it.

This can only be sadness of the heart.

Nehemiah is afraid. He’s been found out. He must decide in that moment if he wants to cover up his truth, or to spill the beans. Nehemiah spills the beans. “Why should my face not be sad, when the city, the place of my ancestors’ graves, lies in waste, and its gates have been destroyed by fire?’

The king asks the key question, “What do you request?” Or another translation puts it more directly, “What is it you want?”

Sometimes, when going into a conversation; it’s good to set the rules. For example, Kate is very practical. Sometimes I just need to verbally process something to figure out how I feel about it. I will say, “Can you help me with this without trying to fix it?” Or when she’s in a bind, I will ask her something similar, “Do you want my opinion or just for me to listen?”

It’s good to be clear. What is it you want? Do you have an answer for that?

Sometimes we know what we don’t want. We don’t want this or that. Or we want vague notions of something else… more of this vague thing. All we know is something is off, and our face is sad. Or angry. Or we’re frustrated. Sometimes, we just need to be seen and heard, and that’s enough.

Here’s the thing about grief. Grief can’t be fixed. You don’t fix grief. You don’t get through it. You don’t get over it. Many people will try to tell you that. As Glennon writes, “When… pain is fresh and new, [let it be]. Don’t try to take it away. Forgive yourself for not having that power. Grief and pain are like joy and peace; they are not things we should try to snatch from each other. They’re sacred. They are part of each person’s journey. All we can do is offer relief from this fear: I am all alone. That’s one fear you can alleviate.”[3]

You are not alone. Others have been here before. Folks you know. Complete strangers. You’re not alone. And it’s okay to talk about the sadness that is on your face. Or that you’re wearing on your back. Or the pain you’re trying to hide, which you may or may not be hiding. Did you hear Psalm 6? If you’ve ever felt worn out from groaning. If you’ve ever flooded your bed with weeping or couldn’t find a way to get off the couch. If you just want to be left alone. The writer of Psalm 6 knows just how you feel. You’re not alone. Here is one that has been where you are. They know the geography of that emotional state.

In Nehemiah’s deep grief, he finds the words that have been inside him all this time. The unarticulated finally finds its way to the surface. “I ask that you send me to Judah, to the city of my ancestors’ graves, so that I may rebuild it.”

Sometimes it takes a new project to lift us out of our depression. Sometimes, not always. I have found this to be true. Having a project helps me focus and get out of my own head. It helps me focus and see my neighbor and see what they’re going through. In seeing another’s story, I feel less alone. When someone has the courage to share where they’re at, I feel free to share where I’m at and what I’m going through.

One new church project is to hire someone for youth and mission. We’re missing a big demographic from high school to the mid-20s. I intend to rebuild our church through that position which will take care of the high school youth as well as mission. There’s a lot of mission projects I’d like to do: build a homeless shelter, keep up with our mission partners, and keep up with our hunger initiatives. I don’t have the time. This person would handle that as well. We’ll develop this slowly and see who God sends us. It’ll be a big project but one that will help us in our life together.

Let’s be honest. Life is hard. Not cause we’re doing it wrong. Just because it’s hard. Grief is a part of life. Grief is hard. Yet it can lead to new places. It can help us articulate what it is that we want. It clarifies what’s important.

Glennon is brilliant and has a lot of wisdom around grief. She writes, “Grief is love’s souvenir. It is our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I love well. Here is my proof that I paid the price.”[4]

However you show that receipt… How you wear it. How you run from it. How you ask others for help with it. Love well, my friends. Be gentle with one another for life is hard. If you need a project, let’s find one together. If you just want to vent. I’m here. As is your church. I may not know to invite you to lunch or coffee, but trust that I’m visiting others. Call and get on that list. Or on someone’s list, for someone here knows just how you feel. May you be blessed to find them.

What is it you want? Seek and ye shall find. Ask and it shall be answered.

Works Cited

^[1][1] Glennon Doyle, Quit Pointing your Avocado at Me: https://www.huffpost.com/entry/quit-pointing-your-avocado-at-me_b_3492304

^[2][2] Rob Bell’s The Robcast, South Star Episode, March 12, 2021.

^[3][3] Carry On, Warrior: Thoughts on life unarmed, found on Good Reads: https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/803481-when-her-pain-is-fresh-and-new-let-her-have

^[4][4] From her Facebook post: https://www.facebook.com/glennondoyle/photos/grief-is-holy-like-joy-dont-snatch-it-from-people-with-hurried-hope-please-pain-/10154488540034710/