Healing Ministry Volume 13, Number 4, Fall 2006

Healing Ministry Volume 13, Number 4, Fall 2006

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F

rom the pulpit

Giving voice Father Dn. Thomas Johnson-Medland, CSJ

If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will kill you. -The Gospel of Thomas, verse 70 The path of grief and grieving is in effect no different from the path of any psychotherapeutic process of healing: if we do not allow that which is within us concerning our loss to emerge, it will overcome us and eat us alive. Like a dragon devouring a knight, grief will rear its ugly head and consume us if we do not clear the pathways within and allow it to come up and out of us. When trying to understand where the things trying to get out of us are, I find it helpful to break Father Dn. Thomas Johnson-Medland, CSJ, Lighthouse Hospice, Morrisville, Pennsylvania.

down the aggregates that make us up as people. Although I list four here, there may be more, or there may be a different way of breaking them down for each individual. I believe we are a composite of mind, heart, soul, and body. We think, we feel, we desire, and we have a specific locus on this earth that we begin from and operate out of. Each of these aggregates in our lives has a way of being when life is allegedly “normal” and a way of being when we are in crisis, in growth, and in grieving. Traditionally, we hold the mind to be the part of us that thinks. We also believe this part of us sorts, organizes, remembers, stores, catalogs, retrieves, chooses, decides, interprets, researches, questions, and believes. When it is affected by a loss and is grieving, just like a calm pond that is disrupted by the dropping of a pebble, it is disturbed, and ripples flow across its surface and into its depths. The disturbance leaves the

mind disheveled and disorganized. The affected mind forgets, loses, becomes disoriented; it is confused, tired, aimless, and unable to muster enough strength to believe. Traditionally, we hold the heart to be the part of us that feels. We also believe this aspect of our personality senses and intuits what is going on. It loves, hates, forgives, is jealous, finds humor and sorrow; it is fond, it is romantic, it seethes; it is peaceful, patient, gentle, and kind. When it is affected by a loss and is grieving, just like a calm pond that is disrupted by the dropping of a pebble, it is disturbed, and ripples flow across its surface and into its depths. This disturbance halts the heart’s ability to love; to forgive; or to be patient, gentle, or kind. It may move toward the opposite emotion much more quickly than it would normally, or it may just not be able to muster the strength to feel and so becomes numb.

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Healing Ministry Volume 13, Number 4, Fall 2006

Mind stories/memories

Heart stories/emotions

Soul stories/hopes and dreams

Body stories

Figure 1. Grief workshop grid.

Traditionally, we believe the soul (not the spirit) to be the part of us that desires. We also believe this portion of ourselves hopes and is united to others; it dreams, longs, yearns, and is soothed. It is the center of our passions, deeper than all emotion. It is the part of us that is deeply moved by music and events. It is the most tucked away, hidden, guarded, and cherished part of us. It is Pandora’s Box, the Holy Grail, and the Ark of the Covenant within. When it is affected by a loss and is grieving, just like a calm pond that is disrupted by the dropping of a pebble, it is disturbed, and ripples flow across its surface and into its depths. The disturbance causes the soul to lose its drive and perspective. The affected soul despairs, has no dreams, will not be comforted, can find no consolation, and feels abandoned. Traditionally, we view the body as the part of us that manifests us in the physical world. We also believe this part of us eats, sleeps, procreates, exercises, and moves from here to there. When it is affected by a loss and is grieving, just like a calm pond that is disrupted by the dropping of a pebble, it is disturbed, and ripples flow across its surface and into its depths. The disturbance leads the body to eat or sleep too much or not enough; it gets lost and wanders, it

cries and sobs, it stops taking care of itself; it gets sick, it fails, it hurts. The affected body feels as if it can not go on in the face of death, for it too shall someday die. We understand how the aggregates of the personality function when all is seemingly “normal,” and we can expect that there will be some disturbance in these functions when there is a loss. What is vital is to acknowledge these changes and to allow them to be noticed—to give voice to them so we can recognize their presence and keep sacred trust. Although this seems a daunting task and many refuse to give voice to the shift in being out of fear that they will not be able to stop the flow that comes forth and shall surely die, it is something that can be done simply and genuinely, without much fanfare. When one comes back to the house or hall after a wake or funeral or interment, there is often an ominous, hushed, deep emotion that feels unshakeable. A shift occurs in the gathered community only after one person risks enough to tell a story. We tend to start with a hilarious tale of the deceased. This is strong enough to shift the mood and crack the hearts and minds and souls of many, sometimes enough to move them to share as well. What comes forth from

these gatherings is the beginning of the “giving voice” process. We tell stories that come from our minds. The stories elicit emotion and feeling. The stories touch us in a place where we share common hopes and dreams. The stories comfort our tired and fearful bodies. In the hospice workshops I head, I offer a grid to help people begin the process within. I ask the groups gathered to start by choosing a person they all know who has died. I ask them to tell me a story they remember about that person. I ask them to tell me how that makes them feel. I ask them to tell me common hopes, drives, and dreams these renderings exhibit that link them to the deceased. I ask them what they will do with their bodies to grieve this loss. As they begin to list the things that are coming up and out of them, I ask them to jot them down in the appropriate boxes. Making these things tangible helps us to believe that we are actually doing something with what is happening on the inside. This is an important part of the process; we are making it conscious. If we can begin to move things up and out of us, we can begin to be free and unblocked. It does not take away the sharp sting of loss, but it is a way of tending the garden of grief. Working with these issues again and again over time can help us cope with loss and grieve wholly. These things that long to come out of us are stories that each area of our lives has to share. Telling stories has always been valuable and central to what it means to be a person. Telling these stories can help us to give voice to grief.