― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
It's a Sunday, and I'm on shift away from church and family, so I decided to pass the time getting lost in C.S. Lewis Quote-land.
What's that you say? You've never heard of C.S. Lewis Quote-land? Oh, too bad. It's a lovely place, one of my very favorites. Still and all though, it's best not to visit too often; one can get lost there for hours.
I'm sure you've heard of phantom pain. It's the very odd phenomenon where a person that has lost a finger or limb continues to experience the sensation of it. They might feel a tickling or discomfort or even real pain, in an appendage that is no longer there. I'm not sure researchers have found a real, solid explanation for it; it may be out there, but I'm too lazy at the moment to Google it. This is the first blog post I've done since Christmas, and I don't want to get sidetracked...
(Btw, I myself have experienced something very much like this, "phantom Blackberry syndrome". It happens when, while NOT wearing your cell phone or pager, you never the less feel it vibrating at your side. Very strange. And I'm only half-joking.)
AAaargh! What did I say about getting sidetracked?
Phantom pain...
My wife and I were having burgers and fries with friends last night after English Country Dancing (don't ask right now, I'm trying not to get sidetracked). The conversation wandered hither and yon, eventually turning to family, and the loss of those close to us. It was a bit of an emotional moment, not terribly so, but mi esposa mentioned that it is completely normal and understandable that we should continue to feel grief for the loss, even after much time has passed. And that we ought not be surprised if that grief pops up at the most unexpected times. Both of our fathers have died, mine many years ago, hers only a few, but, said she, thoughts of both good men will well up at the most surprising moments, and the tears will often well up with the thoughts.
And that, with the Lewis quote that I found in my wanderings, made me think.
The loss of a loved one results in something very like phantom pain. Parents are the legs upon which we stand, a husband or wife is a strong right arm, and while we can lose an arm or leg and survive, and even thrive, the loss never goes away. Like phantom pain, years after saying goodbye to my Dad, I'll feel an ache in a limb that is no longer there, and hasn't been for years. I've seen the same in my wife too. No pain medication can fix it; it can only be tolerated until it fades, only to come back at some point or another.
More from the inestimable Professor. In The Problem of Pain Lewis says "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” None of us like the experience of pain. It is, well, painful. And yet, we would be much worse off without it. How would it be if you were to inadvertently lay your hand on a hot surface and not realize you were being harmed until the smell of roasting skin assaulted your nostrils? The damage would be terrible, would it not? And I've read that the loss of the pain sensation is why lepers lose fingers and toes, and often go blind; they suffer an injury to an eye, or finger or toe, and not feeling pain, don't realize the injury until the damage is irreparable. Col. David Hackworth used to say "The more sweat on the training ground, the less blood on the battleground". And we've all heard the phrase "No pain, no gain."
So pain, while it is a Very Bad Thing, is a necessary part of life. We see that, even if we don't particularly like it.
And so what are the lessons we learn from this phantom pain, this amputation of the loss of a loved one? The most obvious of course, so obvious that it seems trite to say it, is that we should make the most of the time we have with our parents and spouses and children; they won't be here forever. But Lewis' megaphone metaphor has me thinking of something else. Something a little more hopeful, I think. For the Christian, at any rate.
I believe that we will certainly know each other in Heaven. There are certain instances in the Bible where a person still living, upon seeing a loved one who had died, recognizes that person. The most obvious of these are the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus; Mary recognizes Him, Thomas too. When He appears to the disciples as they are fishing, they know Him as Jesus, not just "some guy who somehow knew where to let down the nets". Even the 2 men on the road to Emmaus eventually know Him, though not until He prays over the evening meal (must have been a heck of a blessing!)
The Bible also speaks of the final day, when the dead in Christ shall rise, incorruptible. Called out of the grave, does it make sense to think of them arising as something other than what they were, as some weird, feature-less creature resembling a department store mannequin? No, not to me at any rate. While the Bible leaves some questions unanswered, I believe that we will know each other in heaven, not in the same way as here, but still know each other. And that thought gives me hope.
I will see my Dad again. My wife will see her father too. Unless Something Really Big happens in the next 40 or 50 years, my wife and I will precede our children, but you know what? That won't be the end of it. We'll see each other again, and it won't involve marital spats, or lectures over chores, or any of the mundanity of this life. I think we'll remember the relationships we had here, but that's all it will be, a memory (I picture my reunion with Daddy thusly: "Hey, I remember you. You used to be my Dad!" And he'll say "Yep. And you used to be my son. Come on, there's some people you'll want to meet, and some things you REALLY need to see!)
One of the verses I hang my hat on is 1 Corinthians 13:12. For now we see in a mirror, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know fully even as also I was fully known. There's a megaphone in that verse; on that day, all the stupid crap that makes no damn sense AT ALL will be understood. On that day all the times I've looked up to the heavens and said "I believe, but I sure wish I knew what the heck you think you're doing" will be made clear. And on that day, we will know each other as we will know Him; completely, purely, perfectly. No emotional baggage, or hurt feelings, no missed words or words that should have been missed. We will know Him, and each other, fully. Completely.
And that phantom pain, the amputated limb of a father or mother or wife or husband or son or daughter? Maybe it's to remind us that there's something more going on. Someplace vastly better ahead. Maybe it's to keep me from getting too fond of this world, so that I lose sight of the world Where I Belong.
That thought doesn't make the phantom pain go away. But it does help me understand it, and put up with it.
Feeling like a refugee
Like it don't belong to me
The colors flash across the sky
This air feels strange to me
Feeling like a tragedy
I take a deep breath and close my eyes
One last time
One last time
Storms on the wasteland
Dark clouds on the plains again
We were born into the fight
But I'm not sentimental
This skin and bones is a rental
And no one makes it out alive
Until I die I'll sing these songs
On the shores of Babylon
Still looking for a home
In a world where I belong
Where the weak are finally strong
Where the righteous right the wrongs
Still looking for a home
In a world where I belong
Where I Belong by Switchfoot. Jon Foreman, Tim Foreman and Mike Elizondo, writers
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