Nothing is more effective at turning a person into a theologian than witnessing somebody else’s personal crisis.
Recently, I lost my job, or my job lost me. I’m still not sure which description is more accurate. In any case, it’s my first experience with unemployment. I’m blessed with very supportive family and friends (including so many of you, dear readers of my “musings”). But it’s still been a trying time.
People want to say and do the right things. Their attempts at compassion are sincere. While I am learning to receive gratefully their underlying intentions, some of their expressions make me wince. And make me think about what helps, and what doesn’t work so well, in offering sympathy to people in crisis.
So in addition to the wonderful kindness that is being showered on my wife and myself, I am getting an off-the-job training course in compassion.
Consider these words which have been said to me, in one form or another, quite a few times in recent weeks: “When God closes one door, He always opens another.” When I first heard this one from one of my parishioners, right after my employment imploded, I was taken aback. What about the people in Baghdad? I thought. When their doors are kicked in by men with machine guns, does God magically open another door for them to exit gracefully? All too often, the answer is no. Lots of people lose their jobs and go bankrupt. Do we worship a God who washes away the front door of your nice house in New Orleans with a devastating flood, and then opens a trailer door for you in a bleak vacant lot, months later? Are we expecting divine intervention to solve our personal or social problems, or are we taking action to make sure that when a door is closed, another one will open to something good?
And yet, the people who said it meant only the best for me. Kind and caring souls who really did want another door to swing wide for me, with an even better job on the other side. And of course that is what I want, as well. So I took deep breaths and politely thanked them for their concern.
I don’t believe in a supernatural door-opening-and-closing God. I believe in the God who is the door that opens to love. We practice that divine love when we open our hearts to the pain of others, and listen, ask questions, and stay present for them.
Another line I heard repeatedly was this one: “When it’s all over, you’ll be grateful for this. You’ll wind up with a much better job than this one, and you’ll be glad this happened.” After enduring this assertion several times as my job was collapsing, I realized it had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. The idea of stocking shelves at Home Depot began to look like a blessing by comparison. Those well-wishers had no more clue than I do about what my next job will be like. They forgot, if they knew in the first place, that mostly I really liked the job I lost. It did not serve me to hear their assurance of something that’s impossible for them to predict.
But again, they meant well. They were just revealing their discomfort with the stark reality that things can, and often do, get worse instead of better. It was a spiritual discipline for me to be gracious in accepting their caring thoughts and their unconscious self-revelations.
Not even God can predict what will become of my career after this current debacle. I am hopeful and in good spirits. I am grateful for my severance package. I get a lot of encouragement and I have some really good job leads. I am in much better circumstances than so many other unemployed people. But nobody can be sure how this current crisis will play out. For me, it seems more God-like to accept my ignorance of the future, and just be present in the moment.
I’m thankful for those who simply recognize my pain, inquire about my feelings, and offer their presence. They are my guides in how to offer this kind of compassion to others. I hope to pay their God-like goodness forward to the next person I encounter who goes through the loss of a job!
