I read Sunday’s Gospel about the raising of Lazarus through the filter of my own experience, as I always do, and what I notice is grief radiating from everyone in the story. I take some comfort from this. We’re not the first to experience powerlessness, fear, and loss. Others have walked this way before, and their suffering led to transformation. Ours can too.

After a rather harrowing experience in Jerusalem, Jesus decides to return there to be with his friends at a time of crisis, and he and the disciples arrive in Bethany to a family in mourning. Both Mary and Martha say to Jesus, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.” I hear an accusation, one born of the anger that comes with grief. They’ve suffered through fear in the face of illness, and to their heartbreak, there was no healing, only death. Apparently, even if you’re a close friend of Jesus, you can’t escape uncertainty, fear, and grief. And, apparently, even if you are Jesus, you can’t escape those things either. Jesus is the son of God, and although his friends and followers all profess that, they don’t believe he can rectify this situation. I wonder what it’s like for Jesus to realize those closest to him don’t believe in him with their whole hearts.

The story does have a happy ending. Lazarus is raised from the dead. I wonder, though, if the trauma is still with them. I imagine that it would be, as it is with us whenever we go through something hard. Even when the situation is resolved, or it just ends for good or for bad, the experience is still with us. Traumatic events change us, and we carry them in our bodies, minds, and spirits.

Friends, we’ve been walking through a trauma, a worldwide trauma, for a year now. We’ve suffered through isolation, disconnection, and financial worries, and there continues to be a real threat of illness and death too. Even if we and our loved ones have not been sick with the virus, we’ve been exposed over and over to stories and images of suffering around the world. Although things are beginning to open up and I think I can see the other side of the pandemic, I find that I’m still living with some fear. I’m not sure if it’s just generalized anxiety or if I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop, worrying about what else we’re going to lose in this pandemic. I revisited an article that came out earlier in the pandemic, and it had some helpful reminders. It’s called “That Discomfort You’re Feeling is Grief,” and in it David Kessler, a grief expert, describes anticipatory grief as “that feeling we get about what the future holds when we’re uncertain. . . . With a virus, this kind of grief is so confusing for people. Our primitive mind knows something bad is happening, but you can’t see it. This breaks our sense of safety.” He advises us to move through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, sadness, and, finally, acceptance. “Acceptance, as you might imagine, is where the power lies. We find control in acceptance. I can wash my hands. I can keep a safe distance. I can learn how to work virtually.”

It’s an interesting twist that power lies in accepting the powerlessness of the situation. It’s denial or bargaining to say, like Mary and Martha, if only . . . if only you had been here, if only this virus wasn’t so contagious, if only other people would stay home, if only I didn’t have to stay home, if only my job wasn’t at risk, and on and on. I find myself moving through “if onlys,” as well as anger and sadness, and all the stages of grief. It’s helpful to name what’s happening. And I feel better when I can work on what is in my power – my response to the situation.

Kessler says there are some things we can do to cope, like staying in the present moment, acknowledging our feelings, letting go of what is out of our control, being compassionate, and reminding ourselves that this is temporary. We don’t know how long this will last, but it will end. After the health crisis has subsided, we might, like Lazarus, come stumbling, bound and bleary-eyed, out of the tomb of our seclusion. We may not know what to make of the new life that emerges, but how we respond is up to us. Will we allow this tragedy to bring us together as a community, both locally and globally? Will we grow spiritually? Will we let this make us stronger, more resilient, more compassionate? I hope so.

To those gathered around the tomb of Lazarus, Jesus says, “Did I not tell you that if you believe you will see the glory of God?” I’m not there yet, but I’m beginning to witness the glory of God through this experience. Although it’s true that traumatic events stay with us, it’s also true that we grow and find strength through difficulty. After something happens to us, we are changed. If we allow it, we can also be transformed.

Until then, we acknowledge our grief, share it when we can, and continue to pray. Let’s hold out hope for the day when the stone will be rolled away for us too, and we can safely come together unmasked in the sunshine.

By Sister Leslie Keener, CDP

Sister Leslie Keener, CDP is the director of God Space, a community-building spirituality ministry in Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky. She’s a Sister of Divine Providence with a Masters in Ministry and a Certificate in Spiritual Direction and Retreats from Creighton University. She directs retreats, meets with people for spiritual direction, and serves as the vocation director for her community. She also serves on the Coordinating Council of Spiritual Directors International. She enjoys music, dancing, and meaningful conversations.

Berinato, Scott. “That Discomfort You're Feeling Is Grief.” Harvard Business Review. Harvard Business Review, March 23, 2020. https://hbr.org/2020/03/that-discomfort-youre-feeling-is-grief?fbclid=IwAR0VnKHwz-sKerjZ3gx26Gbqwu0qHNiIobCy4cemF5Oq7apwHk_mHsJ2iiY.