The death of a spouse after a long and fulfilling marriage in quite a different thing. Perhaps I have never felt more closely the strength of God’s presence than I did during the months of my husband’s dying and after his death. It did not wipe away the grief. The death of a beloved is an amputation. But when two people marry, each one has to accept that one of them will die before the other (xii–xiii).
Such insightful and poetic words from Madeleine L’Engle. It is true: Either Carla or I will predecease the other, and that will feel like an amputation.
Reading A Grief Observed during my own grief made me understand that each experience of grief is unique (xiii).
I must remember that as I age and my friends’ spouses die.
Like Lewis, I, too, kept a journal, continuing a habit started when I was eight. It is all right to wallow in one’s journal; it is a way of getting rid of self-pity and self-indulgence and self-centeredness. What we work out in our journals we don’t take out on family and friends (xiv).
I appreciate her recognition that, as Carla has taught me, it is important to vent so that we don’t hurt those around us.
I am grateful, too, to Lewis for having the courage to yell, to doubt, to kick at God with angry violence. This is part of healthy grief not often encouraged. It is helpful indeed that C. S. Lewis, who has been such a successful apologist for Christianity, should have the courage to admit doubt about what he has so superbly proclaimed. It gives us permission to admit our own doubts, our own angers and anguishes, and to know that they are part of the soul’s growth (xvi).
Geez. Had I only known people were so comfortable with their own doubts about God and Jesus and the whole shebang when I was going through my throes of existential doubt!
And no one ever told me about the laziness of grief. Except at my job—where the machine seems to run on much as usual—I loathe the slightest effort. Not only writing but even reading a letter is too much. Even shaving. What does it matter now whether my cheek is rough or smooth? (5)
Warning! When Carla dies, still take your walks. Call people to hang out. Do your work. Unless you want to just die, too.
The act of living is different all through. Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything. (11)
Lewis is not outshone in poetry by his formidable foreword writer. I am certain Carla’s death will seem just like he describes. It will (dis)color everything.
But her voice is still vivid. The remembered voice—that can turn me at any moment into a whimpering child. (16)
Again, I suspect the same will be true of me when Carla dies.
‘Because she is in God’s hands.’ But if so, she was in God’s hands all the time, and I have seen what they did to her here. Do they suddenly become gentler to us the moment we are out of the body? And if so, why? (27)
The poor Calvinist!
Sometimes it is hard not to say, ‘God forgive God.’ Sometimes it is hard to say so much. But if our faith is true, He didn’t. He crucified Him. (28)
Wrong.
Come, what do we gain by evasions? We are under the harrow and can’t escape. Reality, looked at steadily, is unbearable. (28)
No, it’s not.
Doesn’t all the prima facie evidence suggest exactly the opposite [of God being good]? (29)
No.
Feelings, and feelings, and feelings. Let me try thinking instead. From the rational point of view, what new factor has H.’s death introduced into the problem of the universe? What grounds has it given me for doubting all that I believe? I knew already that these things, and worse, happened daily. I would have said that I had taken them into account. I had been warned—I had warned myself—not to reckon on worldly happiness. We were even promised sufferings. They were part of the programme. We were even told, ‘Blessed are they that mourn,’ and I accepted it. I’ve got nothing I haven’t bargained for. Of course it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not in imagination. Yes; but should it, for a sane man, make quite such a difference as this? No, And it wouldn’t for a man whose faith had been real faith and whose concern for other people’s sorrows had been real concern. The case is too plain. If my house has collapsed at one blow, that is because it was a house of cards (36–37).
Crucial, both for those who know they are doubting because of the problem of evil and for those who think they aren’t.
In which sense may it be a house of cards? Because the things I am believing are only a dream, our because I only dream that I believe them? (39)
That’s an important distinction of which I’d never thought.
They call Stephen the first martyr. Hadn’t Lazarus the rawer deal? (41)
An excellent one-liner. Ah, but it was Lazarus’ experience that brought us the Gospel according to “John”!
A sinful woman married to a sinful man; two of God’s patients, not yet cured. I know there are not only tears to be dried but stains to be scoured. The sword will be made brighter (42).
Who knew belief in purgatory existed among Protestants? Certainly not I. But now I do: Richard Beck, Jerry Walls, C.S. Lewis, Brad Jersak—heck, all the universalists, I suppose. Thinking of the afterlife makes so much more sense with a purgatorial hell.
What do people mean when they say, ‘I am not afraid of God because I know He is good’? Have they never been to a dentist? 43
I love it when Lewis zings.
You can’t, in most things, get what you want if you want it too desperately; anyway, you can’t get the best out of it. ‘Now! Let’s have a real good talk’ reduces everyone to silence. ‘I must get a good sleep tonight’ ushers in hours of wakefulness. Delicious drinks are wasted on a really ravenous thirst. Is it similarly the very intensity of the longing that draws the iron curtain, that makes us feel we are staring into a vacuum when think about our dead? (45)
I remember those October laps around the Holiday Inn in Orlando.
For a good wife contains so many persons in herself. What was H. not to me? She was my daughter and my mother, my pupil and my teacher, my subject and my sovereign; and always, holding all these in solution, my trusty comrade, friend, shipmate, fellow-soldier. My mistress, but at the same time all that any man friend (and I have good ones) has ever been to me. :perhaps more. (47–48)
This is how I view Carla, and I told her so.
Getting over it so soon? But the words are ambiguous. To say the patient is getting over it after an operation for appendicitis in one thing; after he’s had his leg off is quite another. After that operation either the wounded stump heals or the man dies. If it heals, the fierce, continuous pain will stop. Presently he’ll get back his strength and be able to stump about on his wooden leg. He has ‘got over it.’ But he will probably have recurrent pains in the stump all his life, and perhaps pretty bad ones; and he will always be a one-legged man. There will be hardly any moment when he forgets it. Bathing, dressing, sitting down and getting up again, even lying in bed, will all be different. His whole way of life will be changed. All sorts of pleasures and activities that he once took for granted will have to be simply written off. Duties too. At present I am learning to get about on crutches. Perhaps I shall presently be given a wooden leg. But I shall never be a biped again. (52-53)
My, but does his man has a knack for finding the right metaphors to explain his thoughts! L’Engle and Lewis agree: Losing a spouse to death is an amputation.
The notes have been about myself, and about H., and about God. In that order. The order and the proportions exactly what they ought not have been. And I see that I have nowhere fallen into that mode of thinking about either which we call praising them. Yet that would have been best for me. (62)
God, You equipped me to not repeat Lewis’ mistake here. Thank You.
An incurable abstract intellect
Excuse me, Mr. Lewis. Did you call me?
To me, however, their danger is more obvious. Images of the Holy easily become holy images—sacrosanct. My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself. He is the great iconoclast. Could we not almost say that this shattering is one of the marks of His presence? (66)
Sure seems like it.
And now that I come to think of it, there’s no practical problem before me at all. I know the two great commandments, and I’d better get on with them. (69–70)
Amen, preach it, Brother.
To make an organism which is also a spirit; to make that terrible oxymoron, a ‘spiritual animal.’ To take a poor primate, a beast with never-endings all over it, a creature with a stomach that wants to be filled, a breeding animal that wants its mate, and say, ‘Now get on with it. Become a god’ (72)
Indeed. Thanks a bundle, God. No really, I mean it: It’s absurd and exactly what I want at the same time.
My overall takeaway: It scares me a little that I have read this and Dementia in the same year. Carla may very well predecease me, and I appear to be attempting to get ready for that contingency.
The main way to be ready: Remember to continue to live after she dies! But remember to grieve ferociously in order to do that!
On the interconnectedness of everyone and everything:
I live in a web of dependence, at the center of which is God in whom all things hold together (34).
That’s a good way to explain to myself how it is I can be grateful to God for everything that is good, including existence itself.
On prayer as worship:
Prayer is a declaration of dependence upon God (35).
An idea from my girlfriend my freshman year of high school returns: Making requests of God is a form of worship. It has proven one of those stick-with-you, life-shaping ideas. Thanks, Katie.
On emotion being teachable and malleable:
But consider what Rabbi Abraham Heschel said to the members of his synagogue who complained that the words of the liturgy did not express what they felt. He told them that it was not that the liturgy should express what they feel, but that they should learn to feel what the liturgy expressed.
My super-culture insists that emotions just happen and should not be repressed or feared. I agree with the overall message, thanks in no small part to Carla and to Milan and Kay Yerkovich, who wrote How We Love. But I don’t hear much from anyone about directing and changing emotion. Incidentally, I also don’t hear much about directing and changing libido. But these things are subject to the will. The tricks to success in bending one’s emotions and libido are to no hate the feelings when they come, acknowledge weakness, expect failure, eschew shame, and never give up. It reminds me of something I read by Melinda Selmys about the Catholic line on chastity being impossible. She argued that its impossibility doesn’t entail its uselessness. Rather, it serves as a well of gravity, as fuel for an aspirational more asymptote. As long as we avoid legalism, we are the better for the impossible ideal. Life in God is aspirational. I should note that the thing Heschel as quoted by Ben Patterson as quoted by Yancey is trying to say here is it is good to learn unpleasant emotions from the Psalms.
On distractions and desires in prayer:
Distractions [in prayer] are nearly always your real wants breaking in on your prayer for edifying but bogus wants. If you are distracted, trace your distraction back to the real desires it comes from and pray about these. When you are praying for what you really want you will not be distracted.
Twentieth-century Dominican priest, theologian, and philosopher Herbert McCabe wrote that. It jibes well with the “Q: What should I do? A: Do what you want!” mantra that God gave me two decades ago. I should try it. These days, it’s distractions from planning changes to my strength training workouts. What is the real desire there about which I can pray? A long life of good health that makes for a long, wide potential for good deeds as I age.
On conceptual copouts born of the conflict between exegesis and experience:
“Come near to God and he will come near to you,” wrote James, in words that sound formulaic. James does not put a time parameter on the second clause, however.
But I jest. Yes, Yancey’s gloss could be taken as a copout. But I take it as helpful truth.
From British convert Jonathan Aitken:
Trusting in God does not, except in illusory religion, mean that he will ensure that none of the things you are afraid of will ever happen to you. On the contrary, it means that whatever you fear is quite likely to happen, but that with God’s help it will in the end turn out to be nothing to be afraid of.
Again, pap to satiate the naive among us when first confronted with reasons for doubting God’s goodness? Sure. But also good, solid truth.
On psychosomatic healing being no threat in my book:
“It doesn’t diminish my respect for God’s power in the slightest to realize that God primarily works through the mind to summon up resources of healing in a person’s body. The word psychosomatic carries no derogatory connotations for me. It derives from two Greek words, psyche and soma, which mean simply mind (or soul) and body. The cure of such diseases demonstrates the incredible power of the mind to affect the rest of the body…Those who pray for the sick and suffering should first praise God for the remarkable agents of healing designed into the body, and then ask that God’s special grace give the suffering person the ability to use those resources to their fullest advantage. I have seen remarkable instances of physical healing accomplished in this way. The prayers of fellow Christians can offer real, tangible help by setting into motion the intrinsic powers of healing in a person controlled by God. This approach does not contradict natural laws; rather, it fully employs the design features built into the human body” (254)
That’s Dr. Paul Brand. I find piquant novelty in his approach to thanking God for what’s already natural in the human body and for seeing that natural stuff as the stuff of healing. Yancey goes on to report that Brand eventually came around to believing in the utterly miraculous as well, but the man still holds that most healing is psychosomatic. For the longest time, I thought healing being psychosomatic took away from healings as evidence for God. But I suppose it doesn’t have to.
On the limits of healing prayer:
In terms of physical health, you could say that the power of prayer has limits: no prayer will reverse the aging process, banish death, or eliminate the need for nourishment (256).
I have come to see the very selectiveness of biblical miracles as a sign of God’s personhood (258)
I never make a list of what to pray for. I pray instantly, as soon as something comes to mind, and I trust God to bring it to mind (315)
I know not which is most profitable to me, health or sickness, wealth or poverty, nor anything else in the world (324).
Pardon is only one half of the initial work of reconciliation.
The below is an outline of a word of instruction I gave sometime in the months after news broke of Bill Hybels’ sexual misconduct.
Where does this topical teaching, submitted under full subjection to you, come from?
- a response to some mishandling of sexual misconduct I’ve heard about in the church,
- inspired by my reading of Fleming Rutledge’s The Crucifixion, and
- a realization of what has worked in my own battle against my own sin (especially against my wife).
The starting point: The sin Jesus directly addressed via the Cross was our sin against God and did not include our sin against one another. This is never stated explicitly directly in Scripture, but consider:
So there are still sins that can remain unforgiven after the Cross. Against whom? There is only one possibility: Against one another.
Therefore, after sinning interpersonally, there’s one thing we can say and one thing we cannot:
- Can: God forgives me my sin and I am reconciled to Him.
- Cannot: The person I have sinned against forgives me my sin and I am reconciled to them.
Here’s the primary point of this teaching: Human-to-human forgiveness and reconciliation will require work on the part of the sinner.
Even reconciliation to God isn’t automatic after the Cross. It probably requires:
Not to mention: It required the Cross! (Granting us forgiveness with total impunity would not have been good for us.) Wouldn’t reconciliation to people require similar things?
So, when we sin against someone else, instead of assuming a quick apology will be enough for interpersonal forgiveness to be automatic, what should we do?
- Leave your offering and be reconciled (Matthew 5:24).
- Understand the gravity of sin:
- If you call somebody a good-for-nothing, you’re guilty enough to “go before the court” (v 22).
- If you call somebody a fool, you’re guilty enough for Gehenna fire (same verse).
- “Bear fruit in keeping with repentance” (Matthew 3:8) and “perform deeds appropriate to repentance” (Acts 26:20).
- Imitate Jacob (Genesis 32-33), whose brother was justifiably angry with him.
- Notice he lets his victim—who had in return threatened his life—call the shots. Jacob submits himself to Esau.
- Imitate Zacchaeus (Luke 19:8-9).
- Notice the extravagance of the restitution he offers.
The point is: Offenders must work at reconciliation.
- Not restoration to ministry.
- Not celebrating and flaunting God’s forgiveness.
- Yes reconciliation when possible.
- “So far as it depends on you, be at peace with everyone” (Romans 12:18).
- “Make every effort to live in peace with everyone” (Hebrews 12:14).
Obviously, there is a major emphasis in the New Testament on the duty of the offended to forgive, e.g.:
But it’s like in some corners of Christian culture, including the corner I come from, we have successfully internalized this duty of the victim to forgive without also internalizing the duty of the perpetrator to bear fruit in keeping with repentance and to be truly reconciled.
So, the next time we encounter abuse, let’s not approach it as if the main objective is to coerce a statement of forgiveness from the victim. Let’s instead look at Luke 17:3-4’s additions to Matthew 18: “If he repents, forgive him…”
Cheap grace from God would be no good to us. Likewise, our extending cheap grace to offenders is no good to them. If there are no consequences and we all proceed parading an ersatz reconciliation instead of the real thing, the victim is left harmed and offender is left degraded.
[also posted to scottstilson.substack.com/p/forgive… with links; the date is half made up; I probably wrote this and delivered in January of 2019, actually]
clotheshorse noun : 1 : a frame on which to hang clothes 2 : a conspicuously dressy person
I looked this one up because having decided last year that at the beginning of this year I would spend 75% or 80% of my apparel budget, I have slowly allowed myself to become consumed with systematizing it all and finding the perfect options and shopping ethically (i.e., sustainably, locally, etc.). I am convicted by Jesus’ words on the subject. And I am mildly surprised to find out that a clotheshorse is a slightly derogatory term for someone who obviously concerned with wearing fashionable clothing. I’m not so much that, but I am allowing my mind to be consumed by clothes right now.
God still speaks today as he spoke to our forefathers in days gone by, before there were either spiritual directors or methods of direction. The spiritual life was then a matter of immediate communication with God.…All they knew was that each moment brought its appointed task, faithfully to be accomplished. This was enough for the spiritually minded of those days. All their attention was focused on the present, minute by minute, like the hand of a clock that marks the minutes of each hour covering the distance along which it has to travel. Constantly prompted by divine impulsion, they found themselves imperceptibly turns toward the next task that God had ready for them at each hour of the day.
— Jean-Pierre de Caussade, as quoted by John Swinton in Dementia (256)
This excerpt floored me because it sounds just like how Carla does things. And it strikes me as right. It’s how I want to walk through life.
One of the things that can serve as a guideline to discerning God’s leading: Do I feel hurried? It’s probably not God’s way. Do I feel obsessed with something about the world, like finding an Airbnb to stay in for on our way trip to Florida or finding good, vegan walking shoes again? It’s probably not God’s way. I might have to do that thing, but I don’t have to do it in that way. It’s not being in the present.
Swinton has rearranged how I approach time: It’s a gift that I have received, all my time. Freely I have received, freely I shall give, waste, live my time with others.
At a very basic level, well-being within Christianity is not gauged in the presence or absence of illness or distress. Religious beliefs and practice may well have therapeutic benefits, but that is not their primary function or intention. Nor is the efficacy of a “spiritual intervention” theologically determined according to criteria such as reduce anxiety, better coping, or a reduction in depression, important as these things may be at a certain level. Theologically speaking, well-being has nothing to do with the* absence or reduction of anything. It has to do with the presence of something: the presence of God-in-relationship. Well-being, peace, health—what Scripture describes as shalom*—has to do with the presence of a specific God in particular places who engages in personal relationships with unique individuals for formative purposes. Rather than alleviating anxiety and fear, the present of such a God often brings on dissonance and psychological disequilibrium, but always for the purpose of the person’s greater well-being understood in redemptive and relational terms.
— John Swinton, Dementia, p. 7