Honourable pain—honouring those gone before us, marked with the sign of faith.

I had an amazing conversation with a friend this week on the topic of grief. As we move towards the month of November, memories of loved ones will come to mind. He talked to me about the pain of losing someone dear to you; it can be a real physical emptiness and hurt that can tear you apart-if you let it. It made me realise that pain can be all too real and that it will take more than an aspirin to get rid of it.

I love Disney's 'Lion King' and one my favourite scenes is where the wise monkey, Rafiki discusses past pains with the adult Simba; he helps him to see that we have to learn from past mistakes, with Simba having a painful head to show for it! Look at the extract below and why not watch the whole movie with family and friends very soon-it will be a great treat and will bring a smile to your face-something we all need at the moment:

Simba learns from experience and moves forward in trust, even with that painful head. He had to learn to adapt, and that life will not always be the 'same.' The lives we lead can be our best teachers as we live and learn, each in our own 'university of life' We will all experience some sort of pain as we go through life; as adults our natural instinct is to shield our children from pain. However, we cannot always protect them from the bumps and problems that life will willingly throw at us. Sometimes the pain is accidental and, sadly, sometimes pain is inflicted on purpose, often by those who should know better—perhaps they are bitter, angry or just simply selfish. These past months of global crisis showed us what real pain and suffering is about, as family, friends and stranger lay in ICU wards gasping for breath. We see the pain of the cancer sufferer or those who need joint replacements waiting for needed surgery and facing the disappointment of yet another cancelled operation. We see the pain of those frightened to go out and are prisoners of their own homes because others will not wear masks in crowded spaces, observe physical distancing, or refuse the vaccination. In our pain and anger with the new restrictions, we need to realise that we do have rights, but with those rights come responsibilities—something that can be easily forgotten. I would urge you to think seriously and look at the facts and wear that mask when you have to, without a fuss! Keep yourself and others safe. In these days we need to learn from that pain—using the simple logic of a cartoon lion. As a nation we have been asked to make extreme hardships and many have lost jobs and homes in the fallout. The financial pain of COVID will be with us all for generations as we pay back the eye watering national debt.

As a Church we have to learn too and appreciate the pain of those who were unable to get to their usual place of worship and to share in the Eucharist, essential food for our journey with Christ. We need to ensure that our most vulnerable are cared for and valued. We have to look at new ways to celebrate great festivals like Christmas, the Triduum and the glory of Easter safely and with dignity. The social dimension of the Church, essential to build up the sense of community, needs to be rebuilt in a safe way that reduces that pain. What is essential and needed is deep theological reflection on our way forward. As a family, we have been this way before; the Hebrew and Christian people have given so much and endured so much in extreme moments of history-we have to appreciate how we dealt with pain either at Exodus, the Black Death or Spanish Flu. Pain will always be part of the human condition, how we process it might be different. We have a duty to learn from pain.

In talking with my friend this week about pain, grief and bereavement, he raised the concept of 'honourable pain'—a pain that well may cause tears to stream down your face as you remember situations and people that have been central to your lives. It can also be a pain that shows true respect and honour. This type of pain can actually be therapeutic and move us forward. The ones we have lost are still very much part of our lives; we never forget them and their memory is deeper than a prayer card in your missal or a faded photograph behind glass. As Christians our central act of worship is based on remembrance, remembering a meal that Jesus shared with his friends and life given for others in true service. This life and final meal led to the pain of the Garden, the Way of the Cross and the agony on Cross. The honourable pain of Jesus brings salvation and new life. With a good grieving and going through this honourable pain, our loved ones can never leave us. Hang on tight your memories and let those tears flow if they must; my friend describes it as a deep cleansing so that we can appreciate life at a deeper level. There is no time limit on grief and don't let anyone tell you otherwise: some days are easier than others and some days will be best forgotten. Big boys, ladies and children can cry as they process this honourable pain—again don't let anyone tell you not to!

The ancient Celtic tradition of the Irish Church is so helpful in times of grief and something that the pandemic has erased in modern Ireland. The whole village visiting to home of the deceased cannot happen, the whole village supporting the bereaved family through the funeral rites cannot happen, the final walk to the cemetery, as a united community cannot happen, the 'Month's Mind' mass cannot happen. The pain of Covid-19 will be remembered for generations to come, and it is right that we continue to remember. My dad was an avid newspaper fan, but he always looked to the obituaries first—I really do think it is an Irish thing, as you may well have to change your plans to attend funeral. He drew my attention to something that I thought was lovely in one of the many notices that he read: 'in lieu of flowers, please take a friend or a loved one out for lunch.' What a fantastic way to remember a loved one in this Month of November. Grief is as individual and unique as you are—never let anyone tell you that there is a time limit on grief.

In case you didn't already know it, the emotions that come when somebody you love dies are not always recognizable as grief. Sometimes you feel disbelief. You may find yourself still looking for your loved one …and sometimes even "see" him or her in a crowd or hear that wonderful voice. Sometimes you feel irritated or depressed or guilty. Sometimes, you feel numb, or even like you might be going crazy. Sometimes you may even feel hatred, betrayal, or a sense of abandonment. Grief is like a tidal wave that picks you up and tosses you around and bumps you into unidentifiable surfaces, and then casts you out onto an unfamiliar beach, devastated. Just when you think you might be recovering, the wave sweeps over you again. Sometimes you think that no one in the whole world could ever have felt this kind of agony. This sacred time of November helps us to recognise that we are all in this together, because we have all loved and lost and are suffering from it, and that means we're not alone. Whatever you are feeling right now, just notice it and allow it to be. We recognise that we do not hurt alone. We can allow ourselves time to share memories and tears with others who also know love and how it hurts. As a Church who gathers at Eucharist as a community of remembrance, we can cling to the assurance that, as we remember our loved ones by stating again how they lived and changed our lives just by being, death will not have the final word. Honourable pain leads to an honourable memory, and November can be an annual part of the healing process. The mystic, priest and poet, John O'Donohue can help us see the beauty of honourable pain, a pain that we can all share:

Though we need to weep your loss,

You dwell in that safe place in our hearts,

Where no storm or night or pain can reach you.

Your love was like the dawn

Brightening over our lives

Awakening beneath the dark

A further adventure of colour.

The sound of your voice

Found for us

A new music

That brightened everything...

... Let us not look for you only in memory,

Where we would grow lonely without you.

You would want us to find you in presence,

Beside us when beauty brightens,

When kindness glows

And music echoes eternal tones.

When orchids brighten the earth,

Darkest winter has turned to spring;

May this dark grief flower with hope

In every heart that loves you.

May you continue to inspire us:

To enter each day with a generous heart.

To serve the call of courage and love

Until we see your beautiful face again

In that land where there is no more separation,

Where all tears will be wiped from our mind,

And where we will never lose you again.

(On the Death of a Beloved)

Author: Fr Gerry O'Shaughnessy SDB

Image: Nick Fewings on Unsplash