Is There a Sorry
Big Enough to Help Us Move on From Tragedy
Two inconspicuous countries stumbled onto the news
headlines this past month. A plane crash in Ethiopia and a mass shooting in New
Zealand has left many around the world, shocked and grieving. I’ve spent my
fair share of time with Ethiopians enjoying a macchiato, or laughing with Kiwis
while devouring some green mussels. Having worked in these places, I’ve come to
respect and love these cultures. I’d like to say I’m sorry, I feel your pain,
but how do I do that?
Sometimes it’s hard to know just how to offer
comfort, especially when a death is violent. Offering “thoughts and prayers,”
though perhaps well-intentioned, has been tainted because of overuse after so
many U.S. shootings. For many, it has become trite—symbolizing “I care but not
enough to actually do anything about gun control.” It’s the equivalent of “meh”
or
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| Rwanda Mourning - Photo: P. Maher |
In a crisis, offering condolences is fine for a quick pat-on-the-back, but how do you console an entire country or even an entire world religion? Personally, I’ve found many of our customary offerings of comfort lacking in depth. We find ourselves floundering for words to convey meaningful sympathy. Of course, a hug is always a good and effective stand-by, but most often, the opportunity does not present itself. Moreover, how does one hug an entire people group?
Unintentionally, there is a tendency to minimize other
people’s sadness. We have many grief minimizers. For example, “She’s in a
better place.” Or perhaps, “He’s no longer in pain.” There is also the appeal
to some greater wisdom, like “These things happen for a reason.” The corollary
is, “When one door closes, another opens”—often used after a job loss. Most of
these expressions are not particularly consoling when we are in the middle of
grief. We are grasping at straws. It may be true that she’s in a better place
or something better will come, but these are cognitive responses to emotional
feelings. Though well-intended, they ring hollow.
I recall a particularly moving scene in India where a
woman sat on the ground throwing dirt on herself, wailing after she had lost a
child during a disaster. Sometimes I wonder if joining her would have been the
best approach. Telling her, “It will be okay” would have belittled the life of
her child. I’ve attended funerals in Africa where women are paid to cry and
mourn with the family. We need to grieve. Grieving allows our souls and
emotions to process devastating information and its implications. Whether the
loss of a loved one, a job or even a marriage, these can be trying times for us
all.
Of course, each situation is different and local
cultures vary. In Rwanda, the official colour for mourning has changed from
ecclesiastical purple to grey, representing the custom of covering oneself with
ash.
Initially at least, I avoid justifying bad things
that happen to others and minimizing heartache. The sadness that comes from the
loss of a child will never go away. With time, you may shed tears less
frequently. But does one ever get over it? The best I can offer to a mourner is,
“This is a tragedy, life is not fair, it can suck and I am sorry.” With time,
people may move beyond a tragedy, I’m just not sure it helps to tell people
that upfront.
In part, we offer solace to others for ourselves. Tragedies
create invisible wounds in us all. We feel that we need to say something. So,
we provide our best attempt at comfort. It works for us, though perhaps not for
those suffering. In the end, both mourner and consoler are looking for an
emotional lifeboat with like-minded, stranded survivors, all looking for hope
in a sea of dispair. People in stress understand our feeble attempts to bond on
a human level even when our words fail. Practical comfort seems more meaningful—a
meal, a hug, an expression of empathy or in some cases a prayer for peace. This
past week I visited a mosque and offered my presence as a symbol of my stand
against violence. I admit it cost me little. But it was something.
And so we are left with a shooting of 50 worshippers and
a plane crash that killed 157 people from 35 nations. While the circumstances
are different, the grief is similar.
There may be several wrong ways to offer solace but
there is probably no one right way. To my friends affected by the plane crash
in Ethiopia or those affected by the mass killings in New Zealand, all I can
say is that sometimes things happen that drains the blood from us. It is not
fair that you have to deal with this. I hope and pray that somehow, although
you will never forget, at the very least you can eventually function. And, know
most of all that people do care. I pray that they care enough to fix airplanes
and to change gun laws and that each of us can fight against dangerous extremist
views that foster hatred.
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