letters and lattes

It is funny, isn’t it, how events, dates or seasons in the calendar can be marked with a certain mood for us. How they become marred by the shadow of a specific experience. Birthdays for me have become a little bit this way. 

At first I thought, no birthdays with kids just hit different. And yes, this is true. But it is also more than that. For my 30th, I had planned a gathering with friends. I’d also mentally mapped one with family, but I never booked anything, leaving it to the last minute, as usual. I tend to spend a great deal of time in overthinking mode and procrastinate the actual doing (especially if the doing involves a phone call). I was greatly looking forward to celebrating this event and had a vision for how it would unfold. The climatic point, announcing that I was fourteen weeks pregnant. Unfortunately, I did not make it past twelve. The dream vanished, with it my vision and, as a result, gathering for my birthday ever since has been tarnished. As if, somehow, this horrible thing could recur.

It does not escape me that Easter arrives shortly before my birthday. I think back on this memory and holding joy and sorrow, of milestones worth celebrating and those that leave scars, and I’m reminded of a few things. The ‘both and,’ that ‘two things can be true at the same time.’ I’m also reminded of the work of the Cross which is mostly about this: redemption. 

And yes, I’m comparing the saving grace of Jesus’ death on the Cross to something as trivial as whether or not I should celebrate my birthday. But hear me out – 

Can it not be redeemed?

There are far greater things we wish to be redeemed. The things that are not in our strength, power or control. The things we need to place at the Cross, handover and trust. 

What I feel, I think, is a mix of shame and disenfranchised grief. During Lent I am leaning into my habits and routines and how I can use these, intentionally, for my spiritual disciplines. Over the last few years I have built up my habits and routines around reading, this is something I wanted to do more of and would only occur if I was intentional. Due to this intentionality, I generally have three books on the go: a fiction, non-fiction (often a biography) and one specifically for formation. The text on formation gets less attention, based on my work-flow and allowance of quiet time for contemplative reading. This Lent I have three books on the go and they are all formational. One of them is Atlas of the Heart and I am grateful to have read this offering of disenfranchised grief:

“(disenfranchised grief) is not openly acknowledged or publicly supported through mourning practices or rituals because the experience is not valued or counted (by others) as a loss.”¹

There are many examples of this grief in my life. It is one we feel cannot be expressed openly and it carves a hole in our spirit, a hole where shame thrives.  

“Shame thrives on secrecy, silence and judgement. If you put shame in a petri dish and douse it with these three things, it will grow exponentially into every corner and crevice of our lives.”²

Brown goes on to describe the antidote to shame as empathy (p.117) and self-compassion (p.138). I am grateful for this language and exploration of the nuance of emotions we have difficulty holding, much less naming. I am aware that I have held these secret griefs and allowed shame to thrive. I am aware I’ve neglected to give myself compassion. I am aware I do not have the power to redeem this in my own strength. 

I don’t have an answer, but what I do have is hope. Hope that as we recognise and name the things that cause us grief and pain we can move closer towards healing. Hope that yes, self-compassion and empathy are part of the healing, that these are steps within my control, even if they are not the whole story of redemption. Perhaps, dear reader, you have your own experience of disenfranchised grief and shame. That you have lived through and worn the weight of difficulties you’ve been unable to name, express or share. Maybe they are graver than the one I mentioned here – of these I know, too. This one I can name for time has moved me past this season, although the scars remain. What I know is the closer we hold these to ourselves, that we allow shame to burrow a hole within us, the heavier they are to carry and the deeper the wound becomes. We need to, instead, name it, offer ourselves compassion, bring others into our story and start the journey of letting it go. I would encourage you, dear reader, not just to let it go, but to lay it at the foot of the Cross. 

In the season of Lent, we look to the Cross, we anticipate Easter in our heart and know it holds sorrow, pain, joy, hope and redemption. Hope is significant in Lent, especially in a Year of Jubilee,³ where redemption and restoration are firmly in mind. 

I love this reflection on Jubilee:

“Exile is the inverted Jubilee. Or Jubilee is a redeemed exile… Which again is why when Jesus stands up on a Sabbath, reads from Isaiah and announces, “The ultimate Jubilee is here,” he’s hitting on the main theological theme of the Hebrew Bible, which is we’re waiting for the ultimate seventh day and it’s here in the person of Jesus.”⁴  

Every time my shame is wide, I’m reminded Jesus has already arrived, the seventh day has come and his arms are wider.⁵ I’m reminded that I need to become a little more accustomed to being on my knees, the posture of surrender. And I’m reminded, there is grief and there is joy and sometimes we just have to wait and sometimes we have some work to do.

I have some work to do in this space, dear reader. And so I will be encouraged by the love of my friends and plan something for my birthday. But I will also name what is causing me grief. I will invite others into my story, allowing empathy to blossom, the one that says “me too,” and begins the kind of depth we only find when we’re brave enough to be open and honest with one another. And I will also lay it at the Cross. This is a redemption we cannot achieve in our own striving. It is a prayer we pray, surrendered on our knees.

Go well

Steph

¹ Brené Brown, Atlas of the Heart: Mapping Meaningful Connection and the Language of Human Experience (UK: Penguin Random House, 2021), p. 113 – Referencing; Tashel Bordere, “Disenfranchisement and Ambiguity in the Face of Loss: The Suffocated Grief of Sexual Assault Survivors,” Family Relations: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Applied Family Studies 66, no.1 (2017):29-45, 31. doi: 10.1111/fare.12231. 

² Brené Brown, Atlas of the Heart: Mapping Meaningful Connection and the Language of Human Experience (UK: Penguin Random House, 2021), p. 117.

³ What’s a Jubilee Year? I’m so glad you asked:

The “Jubilee Year,” originates in the Old Testament as a “super sabbath” (sabbath is the day of rest on the 7th day. Jubilee was on the 7×7 year, which would be 49 and falling on the 50th year). As a year of sabbath, people would return home, allowing emancipation and restoration. Jesus enacted the “Year of Jubilee” in his public ministry, tying in imagery of restoration. It was a once in a generation event, whereas the Catholic Church celebrates a Jubilee Year every 25 years, holding true to the Biblical themes with its own contextual relevance and promoting pilgrimage.

 “God’s holy and faithful people has experienced this celebration as a special gift of grace, characterized by the forgiveness of sins and in particular by the indulgence, which is a full expression of the mercy of God.” – Pope Francis (in his Papal Letter, linked below)

The Papal Letter: https://www.catholic.org.nz/assets/Papal-Letter-11-Feb.pdf

⁴ BibleProject Podcast Series, “Jubilee: The Radical Year of Release” (E8) Seventh-Day Rest – Sabbath (podcast), November 25, 2019, http://bibleproject.com/podcast/jubilee-radical-year-release/   

⁵ Greater Still (2022) by Brandon Lake and Essential Worship. Listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fuaW27AjhOE