The First Drop is the Steepest: Derbies and Grief
My granddad was a car guy. He was a part of the team at Chrysler that designed the Hemi engine. In fact, he loved taking us to the Chrysler Museum where he volunteered in his retirement to show off the cars he loved so much. He also had hundreds—literally!—of model cars. As a kid, I would ask about them and he’d tell stories about the races that car had won or some trivia about its design.
During one of these conversations I was surprised to discover in his youth my granddad had travelled to derby competitions to race cars he had designed himself! I am sad that we never got to build a derby car together as it seems like racing cars would be more fun than talking about the cars.
If you’re not familiar with the pinewood derby circuit, competitors build their own car according to predetermined regulations. The cars then drop down an elevated track at high speed and then straighten out on a long flat section of track. The first car to make it to the finish line wins
While a car’s design can impact drop speed, the real differences in design are revealed once the cars reaches the flat section. Minor difference in the design produce pronounced effects as some cars begin to slow down more than others. Some begin to wobble and shake while others stay straight and true. A few even fly off the track at high speed, but most cars make it to the finish line eventually.
Two weeks ago at Church of the Redeemer, we entered into a season of intense grief as a result of the unexpected loss of our pastor, Fr. Thomas, and his oldest, Charlie. It has been hard, to say the least, as we process our shock and disbelief. It has been, as it were, as if we were derby cars that experienced the sudden release into a steep decline. Our grief, like gravity, propelled us at an incredible rate from where we were sitting comfortable into a race we did not choose with a destination still unseen.
I have been surprised by the comfort I have felt during this free fall. I felt God encourage me that, “we get through this together.” And thus far, I believe, we have been. When I run into someone unexpectedly or speak to them on the phone, we share an immediate connection. It’s like we’re the derby cars side by side racing down while yelling Ahhhhhhhhhh! together. Our shared language and experience is comforting to one another.
As I look ahead, though, flat track of our grief is coming. As we return to “normal life,” our experiences will vary. We’re still on the same track, but the differences in our design will begin to manifest
Some of us will want to race ahead to the perceived finish line. Others will be slower to approach the finish line. Some of our cars may begin to wobble or even flip off the track.
While the initial experience of grief has bound us together, the sustained experience of grief runs the risk of separating us from one another. As we all come out of the free fall of our initial shock, our unique personalities and relationships to Thomas and Charlie will result in different reactions and speeds.
As this begins to happen—and it has already--we need to be on guard against the dangers that come on the flat part of the track. Because grief is not a race, at all. It’s a journey that we take together.
Some of us will need to be willing to sit in pain longer than we prefer for the sake of our brothers and sisters who are still hurting deeply. Others will find that we must move forward when we really want to stay still. Our emotional reactions will begin to diverge from the familiar and common expressions we’ve shared until now and turn into a more diverse set of feelings and desires.
I have never been through this type of grief before. It is unknown to me what lies ahead. Let me try, though, to the best of my ability to offer a few helpful reminders to us as the track levels out and our cars change speed.
First, let us remember that the variety of grief responses are normal. There is no one right way to grieve. God made each of us unique and we will each express our own part of the complexity of human experience uniquely. Not only is that okay, it is part of the beauty of the body of Christ.
Second, we must continue to practice grace toward one another. At some point our friend may act out of pain and hurt us. Or they may seem callous and insensitive to our pain. Whether in words that are spoken or actions that are taken, when these things happen, remember that God’s grace is sufficient for us. These moments of hurt are moments in which God wants to make his power known (2 Cor. 12:9). It may feel nearly impossible, but God’s grace is enough for my grief and your grief.
Most importantly, we will continue to need Jesus moving forward. As the suddenness of Thomas and Charlie’s passing settles in, we will still need Jesus every bit as much as we in the shock when we first found out. Our need for Jesus is true regardless of our awareness of our need. In fact, the less aware we are of our need, the greater our need may be. Fortunately, as Fr. Thomas reminded me multiple times, God’s goodness and love are also true regardless of my feelings. Let’s continue to lean into His goodness by recognizing our continued need for Him.
And Jesus, our Great Shepherd, will guide us down the path of our grief into His presence.