Problems are for Solving

My friend Seth is working on a role playing game (RPG) that is akin to an improv play called A Flower for Mara. He discusses the “why” of the game here. His post, and Adiel’s, and the discussion that is the context for the “quote from me” in that post, caused me to think about grief and stories.

Grieving is something that for a long time I never really did. Not much, anyway. Some of it is related to how I handle crisis situations. I move forward, the greater the stress the calmer I am. So in a situation where others are sad and grieving, I step up and let them lean on me. And when the crisis is over I collapse, never really taking the time to grieve on my own.

Another part of it is pride. “I can handle it,” I tell myself. “Death is a part of life.” While it is true that death, and someone you know dying, is inevitable: so is grief.

Grief looks different for all of us. Some grieve quietly, some wail and moan as in deep, powerful, physical pain. Some cry, some become quiet. But grief, and some expression of it, is inherently human. It is bound up in the image of God that is in man alone—it is not exclusively human because God grieves. He grieves over our sin. He wept at the tomb of His friend. He groans with His creation is it waits for complete redemption. He speaks in sadness to Saul of Tarsus on the Damascus road.

Like all other aspects of the image of God in mankind, grief is marred by sin. Without Jesus, we grieve without hope. Without Jesus, grief can be consuming and become an idol in itself. Grief is among those emotions that is inherently good (God grieves), but which only exists because of sin. One day there will be no more grief. While these truths are important to remember—they are not the purpose of this post.

What makes me say that A Flower for Mara (AFM) sounds worthwhile is the power of story to help us grieve. Role playing games, at least as Seth designs them, are a group activity of collaborative story telling. We have a family tradition involving story telling in our Night of the Burning Plum celebration that happens each fall on Orange Street. And in those stories that are told are glimpses of the people who tell them. Just as God is reflected in His creation, so are our personalities and quirks and desires and thoughts and feelings reflected when we create. When we create stories, and tell stories, we reflect who we are to those who share the story with us. And (saying this not having “played” AFM) the Mara storyline is a time of reflecting the grief of the participants to one another and for us to see the grieving process in others in the absence of crisis. It is this grief in the absence of crisis that is intriguing to me, because that can only happen in the process of story. When grief hits in “real life” it is because of something devastating—either death or illness or accident intersecting with a life absent of that death or illness or accident immediately prior.

The possibilities are seemingly endless for community in the role playing of AFM. We are able to know one another better. We are able to encourage one another in our “following after God” creativity. We are able to enter into the past and present grief of our brothers and sisters through a “safer” mechanism than the actual crisis. We are able to see (and therefore recognize in the future) how one another grieve. This will make “weeping with those who weep” easier—because we will recognize grief and weeping our friends even when it looks decidedly different than our own grief.

I may have some more to say about this in the future, but these are some initial thoughts to keep the conversation going.

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