On Another’s Sorrow
One year ago today, most of us listened with shock and disbelief as we heard the news of the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. And then came the grief. I remember vividly that once the news sank in I was nearly overwhelmed with this profound sense of sadness. Having just earlier dropped my kids at school and on my way home after running some errands, I had to pull over until I could calm down enough to drive again. Over and over again, I kept thinking that is was so many children. How could this possibly happen?
In the days and weeks to come, similar outpourings of grief and sympathy flooded Newtown from around the country. Funerals were held. Toys and gifts came from all over to try to restore some sense of Christmas to the devastated parents and siblings and friends of the children lost. And lots of volunteers came to offer what help they could. A year later, the residents of Newtown have asked that folks keep a respectful distance and allow them to grieve more privately. I can only imagine how difficult this anniversary is for the families, how painful to remember and relive those moments after hearing the awful news, how difficult to believe it must seem that they have lived with their loss for an entire year.
As those families continue to grieve and hopefully to heal, and as we continue to grieve and hopefully to heal with them, I thought of a poem by William Blake. It describes the difficult but essential nature of empathy, the way in which we feel pain with and for each other. Empathy is challenging because it is not standing back and offering words of sadness or comfort; it is not sympathizing with another at a distance. It is entering into and sharing the hurt or discomfort of another. Empathy is to take on the pain of the other…and in this way connect more profoundly with them.
But after noting how we grieve with and for each other, Blake moves on to confess that God does the same. That each pain, each tear, each disappointment or setback we feel is also felt by God. This seems like the very heart of the Incarnation that we celebrate at Christmas – that God would take on our lot and life fully – and also so important to remember at times of tragedy and on an anniversary like this one.
On Another’s Sorrow
Can I see another’s woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another’s grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow’s share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?
Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird’s grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear —
And not sit beside the next,
Pouring pity in their breast,
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant’s tear?
And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
Oh no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
He doth give his joy to all:
He becomes an infant small,
He becomes a man of woe,
He doth feel the sorrow too.
Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not near.
Oh He gives to us his joy,
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled an gone
He doth sit by us and moan.
William Blake, 1789
It’s a beautiful poem and empathetic notion, but I cannot help but wonder why God—in all His infinite power—decided to sit and empathize with the children and families of Newtown rather than prevent their horrible fate. It strikes me as cruel more than caring to be capable of preventing such suffering but choosing not to do so.
It’s a great question, Andrew, one that has fascinated and vexed Christians for centuries. The question often turns on the question of freedom. How much does/can God intervene without robbing us of freedom. The other question or move is to see God in the incarnation of Jesus decide that God will not rob us of freedom but instead join God’s own self to our lot and our life and live in and with our (sometimes terrible) freedom that we might never be alone.
And for those weakened, repressed, used and abused suffering under the yoke of war, violence, exploitation, and greed—the destructive expressions of another’s freedom—-who will die alone in jungles, deserts, and alleyways today and tonight, where is God for them?
I know it is a an old question, one you can’t help but be unable to answer. But it’s one I can’t help but to ask. So God assumed human form and human suffering 2,000 years ago. So what? That doesn’t stop a bullet today from killing a baby caught in a crossfire. That doesn’t heal the addict dying from withdrawal behind a dumpster this afternoon. And it won’t place a protective force field around the scores of young women and men sold into slavery who will be violated in all sorts of horrible ways tonight.
Do not be misunderstand me, I am not an unbeliever. But I am blessed beyond measure to live in the manner I do. I have done nothing to deserve any of it. In fact, I have spent large portions of my life attempting to destroy my blessings. And yet, I still have a loving family who helps me, a support network, a job, a home, food and am relatively safe from danger.
Knowing this—that I am undeservedly blessed and others undeservedly cursed—I can’t help but keep coming back to the idea that God is incredibly cruel, or perhaps simply just incredibly careless.
I think we cannot answer this in entirety, but I think that all this misery is the result of human free will and our fallen state. That is why I see Jesus as the light that breaks through the darkness of our world. He did so then 2,000+ years ago and does so still because His coming broke through sin, pain, and eternal death so that we have forgiveness for our sin, hope through our pain, and certain knowledge of eternal life through his resurrection and his promises for us. On then to natural disasters the convulsing of the planet that rocks our world, brings grief, and shakes our faith. This too is part of our fallen world that will be put right at Jesus second coming. We sorrow not as those that have no hope in the meantime we are meant to empathise and help those who are hurt or grieving. That’s the best sense I can make of it anyway.
My wife Anne asked me when I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma, “what is the point of being on God’s team if this happens?” The questions we ask determine the possible answers… if God is good and all powerful why is there evil? God is either cruel or uncaring. Given the power inherent in determining the question I cannot decide for you what questions to ask. I start with God is good, so I ask where is God? Elie Wiesel responded, “God hangs between the two.” That is God suffers. So who would want such an impotent God? Not everyone, not most people, gods should fix things, make things right… or maybe offer a chance to participate in what matters? To enter into the fragile suffering world and make it different? Make it a place where children who are sick receive medication and care even if it won’t prolong their lives, where people’s homes can be rebuilt after floods, tornadoes, and earthquakes, where I care about the paradox that the electricity I am using to run this computer both offers us the chance to be in communication and contributes to the inequities of this world. God’s care is not some heavenly exercise in divine hand wringing (impotence) or supernatural opportunity (omnipotence) but our tangible thoughts, words and actions as we cry with each other, pick up pieces, and start again to rebuild lives seemingly destroyed.
Beautiful, Daniel. Thank you.
I agree wholeheartedly that our questions very much set the parameters for our answers, both making some things possible and limiting others. I think our questions also say a lot about us – about what we hope and about what we expect. And perhaps when we can’t find an adequate answer to the question we’ve asked, we need to look again at the question. And I think that’s what you’ve done – reframed the question. Rather than asking, “why can’t God…”, you’ve asked, “Why does God…” which makes, I think, a huge difference.
Thank you, again. And blessings on your journey.