The problem with the Stages of Grief is that we’re not all at the same stage at the same time. One person in your house may have anger or deny the problem while another suffers depression. One person may bargain (okay I’ll social distance for just ONE more week!) while another has accepted that things have changed for the long haul. Depending on your job, one person may still have tons of work to do while another finds herself unemployed. We are experiencing a global tragedy that at once causes both a unified grief and a disparate experience.
Goofball Lament
Some of the best comedians struggle with depression. Deborah Serani, author of Living With Depression, suggests that creating laughter is a “counter phobic” way to deal with inner pain. While some may use it as a mask to pretend they have no troubles, perhaps a healthier alternative is to let it be a way to lament. Like a jester’s comedy satirizes real problems with the King, goofball lament is a way many of us make light of the heaviness we feel. It’s why you choose to read memes about COVID-19 after reading all the headlines. It’s why you send videos of yourself dancing terribly to crazy music. You use humor to hold onto hope while at the same time expressing how hopeless you feel in the moment.
I believe we need both true lament and goofball lament to survive times like these. True lament, whether it be songs, poems, or just honest conversation about our desperation, allows us to name the truth of our emotions and fears. If all we do is joke about it and never face reality for what it is, we run the risk of suppressing our emotions and feeling disconnected and isolated. If you tend to only practice goofball lament, you start to carry the weight of the world without realizing that the people closest to you are shouldering the burden with you. You start to think it’s your job to lift everyone’s spirits and what once was counter phobic behavior now only adds to your own burden.
Name the Pain, Name the Hope
The best conversations I’ve had with friends and family during this time are a smattering of true lament and straight up stupid funny GIFs and memes. We comfortably express our fears and anger with each other. We name the pain and anxiety and find comfort in discovering solidarity with others experiencing the same thing. Even when one friend is overwhelmed by too much work and another has nothing to do, there’s a shared lament in the loss of what was. I am blessed to work for a pastor who very intentionally names the pain of reality in every meeting, placing us in this moment in history before we discuss the work to be done. Name the pain of loss. Name the pain of uncertainty.
Then name the hope. Here’s where goofball lament frees us to claim human dignity in the midst of sorrow. Sure, humor is a defense mechanism. It’s a way to shift the constant feelings of sadness towards joy. Humor can be an avoidance technique, or it can be the creative expression that reminds us God is still good. Name the pain, then name the hope. The emperor has no clothes. It’s the sad truth, and it’s also really cathartic to make fun of that guy.
This week, I feel more like Charles than John. I am struggling to discover new best practices for youth ministry. While I’m enjoying some of the ways I feel more connected than usual through digital communication, I am deeply missing the in-person connection with my students. The Johns of the world are busy brainstorming ways to thrive in a COVID-19 world. They accept that we have a new reality; that even when we eventually can return to business as usual, it won’t be the same. Kids will have lost half a year of school, many at critical times for essential lifelong learning goals. Unemployment is at an unprecedented reality. Millions of people will not magically have jobs again when this is all over. The Johns of this world are busy figuring out how to mobilize the church to be the hands and feet of Jesus in this new world.
While I hope I can be more like John next week, this week, I’m a Charles. My cup is half empty and I’m telling jokes that make me laugh in the hopes of reclaiming my dignity. I’m singing songs that make me cry and make me dance to remind myself that I am entirely human, and that’s a beautiful thing. I’m connecting with friends and family and students to just be present in this moment in time. And you know what, I’m cool with that.