Grief and the Great Matter
Occasional days of warmth and sun and new growth peeking from the earth have blessed us, yet winter’s gray embrace seems here to stay. So many people I’m close to are struggling mightily these days with loved ones dying, relationships crumbling, or serious illness descending full force upon them. It reminds me yet again of the howling reality that life can plunge us in an instant from the sunny heights of all is well into the icy depths of pain and bewilderment. Thus, even with spring right around the corner, I find myself revisiting what Zen Buddhists refer to as the Great Matter—the mystery that each of us must resolve regarding life and death.
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| The first spring flowers this year |
If unresolved, the Great Matter follows close behind
wherever grief may lead—darkening it, deepening it, and making it lonelier
still. On the other hand, resolving the Great Matter provides context for our
grief. Contextualized, our pain joins the chorus of loss’s universality rather
than being an isolated cry in the wilderness.
There is a Buddhist story of a woman whose infant son dies
suddenly. Inconsolable, the mother carries her dead child around begging for anyone
who might know how to bring him back to life. Someone suggests she visit the
Buddha for advice, which she does. The Buddha, in turn, sends her on a quest to
bring back a mustard seed from any family who had not experienced death. Of
course, the woman eventually comes to discover the fruitlessness of her quest. Once
she realizes the universality of death and loss and grief, she’s able to let go
of her dead child and move on with life.
From our modern vantage point, this story might seem a bit quaint.
After all, we all understand death, don’t we? But a couple of things in the
story stand out to me. First, the mother had numerous opportunities to grieve
along with others while on her travels. I’m imagining every household visit
resulting in an impromptu group therapy session during which everyone present
could grieve their own losses along with the mother. She was able to tell her story
of loss as often as she needed, and she must have heard the stories of so many others
as well. However, just as important as this communal sharing of loss were her long
walks from house to house during which she could be alone with her thoughts to
reflect upon the Great Matter.
It’s certainly good to have family and friends close at hand
during times of grief and loss. Meaningful relationships offer indispensable hope
and encouragement as we travel our respective grief journeys. But the path
through grief is largely one we must navigate alone and without most of what
we’ve come to rely on in this life. Connections and status are of no use where
grief takes us. Wealth and possessions amount to naught. The only wealth that
really matters is the degree to which we’ve resolved the Great Matter.
Can there be any more universal matter than this in need of
resolution, regardless of one’s faith tradition or lack thereof? The Great Matter
lurks in every nook and cranny as we tread our path of grief. Why is this
happening to me? What will happen to me now? What has my life amounted to? Have
I used this precious and fleeting life as wisely as I could or should have? One
who can consider such questions as these without trepidation is a person of
great wealth indeed!
But how do we resolve the Great Matter if we’ve not already
done so? In a word: practice. No, I don’t mean we should practice asking
those questions that I just asked—although a little self-reflection is not
necessarily a bad thing. I mean practice that’s rooted in a spiritual tradition
that encourages transformation from our more self-centered way of living to one
that’s in tune with a deeper and truer reality. Zen Buddhists, for instance,
attempt to let go of our deeply held attachment to our own selfhood that we may
realize the emptiness of all things. Christians, similarly, speak of emptying
out the self so that Christ may live within us and through us. However, I
mustn’t give short shrift to those who don’t claim any particular spiritual
tradition. I can think of many atheists who exemplify living for a larger,
deeper, and truer reality. Might their practice be one of simply setting aside
speculation for the sake of acting for the greater good?
The Great Matter requires that we be brutally honest with
ourselves about our faith, beliefs, and worldview. We can’t be certain what
will transpire on our deathbed if we’ve put it off or faked it our whole life
long. I’m reminded of a conversation I had in my youth with a couple of friends.
Jim might be referred to as “unchurched” by many Christians of today, and Bob
can best be described as an Evangelical Christian who was too busy partying
with us to go to church at the time. Anyway, we three “dudes” were pondering
deep questions when Jim asked Bob what was required of him to get into heaven. “You
just need to accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior,” Bob declared without
hesitation. To which Jim replied: “Oh, well I’ll do that on my deathbed then!”
Ah, but would he be able to do so with the sincerity necessary to stave off any
potential fear or anguish?
No, we can’t count on clarifying the great matter on our
deathbed. There may be little or no time. Illness may take from us our capacity
to do such work. And if we’ve managed up until then to keep the great matter at
bay with worldly distractions, willful aversion, shallow belief, or untested
faith, we may find ourselves suddenly overwhelmed with dread or confusion.
Where do we even begin? Better, then, that we resolve the great matter now to
the best of our ability. This is my springtime wish for everyone.
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