Mixed Messages and Metaphors

Grief is like a wet bar of soap. Just when you think you’ve got a good grasp on it, it slips out of your hand and smacks you in the head.

I had a bit of a smack-in-the-head setback this past week. Nothing too dramatic, but one of those emotional sucker punches you don’t see coming. As I was thinking through it, I realized my setback had its origins in 2014 when my youngest graduated from high school and set off for college. Suddenly, I was at loose ends as to what to do next. I’d spent most of my adult life raising six children, guiding them through every transition - from toddler tears to graduates turning their tassels. Now what was I supposed to do?

So I started working at a place where I’d already been volunteering. At the time, it seemed like a natural next step. I genuinely cared about the place and believed in its mission. But looking back, I can see I overlooked some early warning signs. I should’ve known from the beginning that the environment wasn’t as healthy as it seemed. The signs were all there, just not fully formed or executed at that point, but they were simmering below the surface from Day One. How did I not see them?

Instead of pausing and questioning what I was experiencing, I just figured it was me - I was too inexperienced or idealistic. I was the one who didn’t understand how things worked. Not trusting my instincts made me easy to take advantage of, and that single decision caused a lot of unnecessary pain and confusion for me in the years that followed.

Which brings me to this past weekend’s setback.

In the last two weeks, several people have recounted to me their stories of workplace bullying, intimidation and abuse. All of these are “Christian” organizations who carry the name of Christ in their banners and logos, but not in their HR offices or board rooms.

Once again, I’m heartbroken at how often this kind of behavior is excused in the name of “leadership” or “progress”. I teach a leadership course now, but if I’m honest, it’s more about following Jesus than it is about leading in the traditional sense. I’ve found the best leaders are the ones whose public posture begins on their knees in private. Knees on the stage don’t count for much unless they’re kneeling when no one’s watching.

In this current setback - which I’m tempted to call my “I took to my bed” phase (thanks to comedian Leanne Morgan) - I’m fighting against the tide of cynicism that seems to overwhelm me at every new wave of abuse in Christian organizations. This stage of grief has me working hard to keep my head and my hope above water.

And I keep asking: Are there any sacred places with leaders who don’t speak in mixed messages? Who don’t speak one message from the stage while living out another behind closed doors? Are there leaders who actually love Jesus and his people - not just theoretically, or theologically, or piously - but in tangible, practical, truthful ways?

The problem with grief is that just when you think you’ve figured it out - what it is, what sets off its relentless spiral, and how to handle it with some degree of respect and awe - it changes metaphors on you.

I know how to deal with grief as an onion: I peel back the layers and cry at the kitchen sink, a lot.

I know how to deal with grief as a tiger: I’ve learned its hiding places and either steer clear, or bring a brave friend to stand in the path with me.

I know what to do when grief is a bar of soap: I switch to a body wash pump bottle and call it a day.

And now, I’m learning to face grief as a tidal wave: I ride it with compassion, take to my bed, and pray it doesn’t leave cynicism in its wake.

I wrote the following haiku one month into my grief journey, back when I had no idea how many forms grief would take, or how difficult a dance partner it would become.

Dancing with Grief
     Anger, confusion
     wrestle for turns leading the
     dance of grief. Sadness
     cuts in for its turn -
     dragging, forcing me to lead
     a weighty partner.
     How long, O Lord?