Saturday, October 28, 2006

After Kyle died there were at least two people who wrote horrible things, blaming his death on numerous infractions such as testing God (Kyle's last prayer was "Surprise me God,") and preaching a watered down new-agey gospel. I was stunned by this, but more astounded at the amount of restraint I was able to show for these people. I actually got more angry at a fellow who extended his prayers and concerns for us, but did it in such a way that seemed to me, at the time, to bolster his reputation in the evangelical world. (I was wrong, but grief does crazy things.)

The reason for my ability to not show anger was not out of any special virtue on my behalf, because I knew we'd all arrive here, a year later, still struggling and crying and trying our best to figure this all out. We are here frustrated with the fact, as Woltorstorf has so eloquently stated, that grief isolates even those who share in the same loss, because we all experience it differently. We are still here, living in the midst of it all. Mr. Proctor has probably not even considered the name "Kyle Lake," for a year, and Mr. Hafichuck, if not in a mental institution, has no doubt moved on to a million different people to set straight.

The devil isn't the only one who roams the earth like a roaring lion, seeking who to devour. Some who claim to speak for God do their fair share of roaming. The great thing is that once they think they've got you, they move on-- as these two no doubtedly has.

The refreshing thing (and this may be just a tiny bit sinister,) is that they don't share in our common experience of still being in what can sometimes seem like hell, but they also don't get to share in the common joy of having had a friend as life-giving as Kyle. There's a price to be paid for being the self-appointed guardians of orthodoxy. Sure, they may have close relationships that fill some need in their lives, but they can't know the joy walking with someone without even the hint of a desire to point out their missteps and differences.

So I'll wake up in the morning with a sadness in my heart. I know it's coming, so it's ok. But I'll also have a tinge of satisfaction at my having loved, and been loved, so dearly by someone whose death brings about such sadness.

2 comments:

amy said...

I am envious of your ability to be so eloquent in your grieving. I cannot imagine how you do it.

Aho said...

thanks for a good word.