A Community of Brokenness

I think that this will be my last blog entry about Gerald Sittser's most excellent book A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows Through Loss. Chapter 13 is titled "a community of brokenness."

He writes: "Loss does not have to isolate us or make us feel lonely. Though it is a solitary experience we must face alone, loss is also a common experience that can lead us to community. It can create a community of brokenness. We must enter the darkness of loss alone, but once there we will find others with whom we can share life together." (p. 154)

"Community does not simply happen spontaneously, except in rare circumstances when conditions are right...When people suffering loss do find community, it comes as a result of conscious choices they and other people make." (p. 159)

"First of all, it requires a choice on the part of those who want to provide community for suffering friends. They must be willing to be changed by someone else's loss, though they might not have been directly affected by it. Good comfort requires empathy, forces adjustments, and sometimes mandates huge sacrifices. Comforters must be prepared to let the pain of another become their own and so let it transform them. They will never be the same after that decision. Their own world will be permanently altered by the presence of one who suffers. It will bring an end to detachment, control, and convenience. It will prevent them from ever thinking again that the world is a safe place full of nice people, positive experiences, and favorable circumstances." (p. 159)

"The experience of community has taught me another lesson as well. Not only must people who want to comfort someone in pain make a decision to do so, but people who need the comfort must also decide to receive it. Their responsibility will include facing the darkness with courage, learning new skills, and striving for mutuality in friendships. In other words, they must take command of their lives as much as they are able to, in spite of their distress and brokenness." (pp. 162-163)

"I realized soon after the accident that I had another significant responsibility to fulfill too, and that concerned my role in the community as an interpreter of my experience. Friends wanted to listen and empathize; but they also wanted to learn to reflect on the universal nature of suffering, and to make meaning for their own lives. So we became a reflective community together...They were willing to be changed; I was willing to exercise responsibility. They never felt manipulated and used; I never felt patronized and pressured. The result was a mutuality in our relationships. All of us contributed, and all of us gained." (p. 164)

"The result was love. We learned to love more deeply. This was especially, though not exclusively, true for me. I hesitated at first to risk loving again. There was a protective reflex in me that made me want to turn my back on everyone, even my own family. My experience taught me that loss reduces people to a state of almost total brokenness and vulnerability. I did not simply feel raw pain; I was raw pain. Consequently, I usually found myself on the receiving end of love and friendship. Eventually I had to decide, however, to become a contributing member of the community once again, not only willing to receive but also to give love." (p. 164)

"There is an ominous dimension to love, especially after loss. If loss increases our capacity for love, then an increased capacity for love will only make us feel greater sorrow when suffering strikes again. There is no simple solution to this dilemma. Choosing to withdraw from people and to protect the self diminishes the soul; choosing to love even more deeply than before ensures that we will suffer again, for the choice to love requires the courage to grieve. We know that loss is not a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So naturally we dread the losses that loom ahead. But the greater loss is not suffering another loss itself but refusing to love again, for that may lead to the death of the soul." (p. 166)