Coming Near in The Face of Loss

As I Was Saying is a forum for a variety of perspectives to foster faith-related conversations among our readers with the goal of mutual learning, even in disagreement. Apart from articles written by editorial staff, these perspectives do not necessarily reflect the views of The Banner.

It was the middle of darkest night; all were asleep. Suddenly, the screams of sirens shattered the silence.

Jolting awake on that night last month, I blinked at the red-and-white flashing lights spilling into our bedroom. Glancing out the window, I was astonished to see the whole sky to the east lit up with the most beautiful, glowing sunrise in flickering shades of red and orange.

Then, in a heartbeat, I realized what it really was: a massive house fire at the end of our street.

After ensuring our teenagers and cats were safe, my husband leapt into action, racing out into the night to see if anyone needed help. Leaning on my cane, I followed slowly behind him, my heart in my throat for our neighbours.

Once outside, we saw that firefighters had arrived to battle a massive fire that had not only engulfed a three-story home under construction but also spread to the house next door.

Mercifully, the older woman in the next-door home escaped unharmed. However, the damage to her historic home—the gem of our neighborhood—was extensive.

Meanwhile, the house under construction was completely leveled. All summer and autumn long, we’d watched as, plank by plank, one carpenter had built that towering home by himself—one man building alone, day upon day. In one terrible night, it was gone.

Eerily, just two summers earlier, another fire destroyed the previous house that once stood on the same lot. The first fire was arson. The second fire is still under formal investigation, but word on the street is that it, too, might be arson.

During both fires, we huddled with neighbours, watching tragedy unfold before our eyes, hoping against hope that everything would somehow be okay.

A week has now passed since the second fire. Every time I see the mountain of ash, blackened wood scraps, and fire-twisted metal, I think of what once was: not just a beautiful home under construction, but the hope it represented for the carpenter who poured his heart into building it.

You wonder how someone could rebuild after a loss like that, whether they even can. How do you start again after all you threw yourself into crumbles before you, when everything you’ve worked for turns to ash?

My Ashes

It’s something I’ve contemplated many times over the many years since injuries from an accident began a constellation of health challenges that caused loss upon loss in my life.

I lost significant mobility and have spent years relearning how to walk until now I’m a part-time walker, part-time power chair user. Verbal communication is also difficult, and I use an AAC device that gives me an electronic voice. My body is wracked with severe chronic pain that can be agonizing.

Because of my disability, I could no longer work at my career as a pediatric physical therapist or do many of the activities I once loved. One by one, I was forced to release dreams that depended on physical abilities I no longer had—from working in pediatric medical missions overseas to going skiing on a Saturday morning, to so much more.

Rebuilding for me has been jagged and step by step—a process not unlike that of the carpenter who built a beautiful new home on land where a previous home had stood for decades until it was purposely destroyed by fire.

The question of how to rebuild after shattering loss is one that many grapple with at various points of life, be it due to catastrophic injuries, a devastating illness, career loss, divorce or other fractured relationships, the death of someone dearly loved, or another hardship.

Coming Near

As Christians, we might struggle with how to walk alongside a person facing big losses. How do we truly love as Christ called us to, when the loss is extreme or when the suffering feels unbearable? What do we do when we don’t know what to say or do?

It brings to mind a friend describing how, when her dog died, her coworker sent flowers and a heartfelt sympathy card. But a year later, when her teenage son very suddenly lost his life, the coworker was silent and pulled away.

The loss of a beloved pet felt relatable—an awful grief most pet owners either know or dread. But the unexpected loss of a child to an accidental shooting was of a magnitude too horrible to contemplate, too painful to come near to.

It is those words—coming near—that I think answer the question of how we are called as Christians to walk alongside someone facing unimaginable loss.

“Let love be genuine,” the Apostle Paul instructs us in Romans 12:9 (ESV). “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep,” he continues a little later in the same chapter (Rom. 12:15). In other words, to come near is to sit in the ashes with those who mourn.

Coming near to someone undergoing loss also means devoting ourselves to helping meet their needs. “If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled,’ without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?” asks James (2:15-16 ESV).

Most critically of all in coming near to one facing tragedy is to heed our Christian calling to love our neighbors as ourselves (Mark 12:31). However, in a world polarized by political, religious, denominational, and other differences, this isn’t always easy.

In his blog post, “How Should Christians Respond To Tragedy,” Pastor Jarrod Horne reminds us that love needs to come first. “In the wake of tragedy, we must love our neighbors instead of hating our opponent.”

Horne points out how quickly people can assign blame or divide along political lines. “We must remember, however, that the victims of these tragedies are not statistics or points on a graph. They are fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, sisters, and brothers. They are human beings made in the image of God, and they deserve our grief more than our rhetoric.”

And that’s what coming near for a Christian all comes down to: seeing the humanity in the person facing tragedy and then doing what we can to share their sorrow, hold them gently in our arms and hearts, provide for their needs, and embrace them in love. When we do so, we come near; what a difference that makes.