The One we wanted but couldn't have...

Since arriving last August, we've had some unique opportunities to be the hands and feet of Jesus in Bradford. All of which have been special and memorable.
I'm sorry to post this so long after the actual event, but maybe I needed that time to process it. Two Sundays ago, our choir was invited to sing at the Annual Bereaved Parents service, which is held in Bradford Cathedral. 

Bradford Cathedral
Photo: Marie U.

This service was the 15th time it's been held, and the second time our choir has been invited to sing. We sang 5 songs throughout the service. I really liked the music our director Angie chose. I feel like sometimes people who try to deal with grief in music, end up being so overwhelmed with the task at hand that they settle with cliches and goofy analogues. For instance, there's always lyrics that include "going towards light" or, heading down some metaphorical tunnel. Instead, our songs said things like, "God we're looking for meaning in all this! We've lost so much!" -which I think is powerful because they remind us that life doesn't give us easy answers and sometimes it's ok to call God out. 

Stain glass window
Photo: Marie U.

The last few songs were a bit more hopeful. They talked about  creating communities of care,  where people could be honest about all the junk their tragedies have left inside them- because they've certainly got a lot of junk to deal with now. You could see it in their faces. You know that look people have after they've lost someone? Like something that used to be their whole world got taken away, and now they're left with this deep cavernous hole where it should be? At first I thought the depressing part was that they were forced to be reminded of it on this particular day. Then, of course, I realized this is probably something they think about every day anyways.

I probably shouldn't have, but I stared at each one of them as they came in, trying to imagine if they'd lost a son or daughter. Was it cancer or a car accident? Did they get to say good bye? Was it a year ago or just last week? Some people shared their stories, or just shared thoughts that helped them cope with it. But how do you cope after losing a child? It's the most unnatural thing I can imagine. I thought the priest made a good point during his speech. He reminded us that if you've lost your parents, you're an orphan. If you've lost your wife you're a widower, or oppositely, a widow. However, there is no term for a person who has lost a child. Why is that? His thought was that there is no term big or deep or wide enough to rap itself around such grief. If you've lost a child we simply have no words for you -  your loss has no definitive term and yet your loss does define you. So people did what we've come to do for these kinds of things: They lit candles, said prayers, wrote cards to their lost children. I read a few of them afterwards. Some were to young adults who died in their 20s and 30s. But one in particular stood out to me, it said, "To the One we wanted but couldn't have." Obviously this was someone who lost a baby. I almost cried thinking about the person who lost this baby. They don't have any good memories to hold onto because they were taken too soon.

Remembrance Candles
Photo: Marie U.

I know all of this is horribly depressing, but that's life sometimes isn't it? Today one of the kids told me there is an earthquake in Pakistan. I pray it's small, but you never know. One sure thing?  People will be in pain tomorrow. The obvious question is, where is God in all this? Obviously this question has been tossed around for centuries by some of the most brilliant minds on earth, so I won't presume to have an answer - let alone answer it in a blog! I can only say if what the bible says about God is true, than God is with the hurting. It says over and over again in both Testaments that when we cry out, God is listening... he understands. And God certainly understands bereaved parents. I wondered that day if anyone in the cathedral looked up and saw the crucifix: A symbol of God's consolation with them. A way for God to say; me too.

Stained glass
Photo: Marie U.

"We're all in our rooms when the darkness falls, and we must make an effort to come outside and look each other in the eyes, or if the night still covers and we cannot yet see, we must reach out our hands to feel the lines on each other's weathered faces and fumble to feel and trace our mouths as they speak words of shared understanding and longing. And in our embracing, sparks of praise will splinter in the darkness like fireworks."

-David Crowder, Praise Habit