A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows through Loss

by Jerry Sittser

It is therefore not true that we become less through loss—unless we allow the loss to make us less, grinding our soul down until there is nothing left but an external self entirely under the control of circumstances. Loss can also make us more. In the darkness we can still find the light. In death we can also find life. It depends on the choices we make.

Loss is more....

Can anyone really expect to recover from such tragedy, considering the value of what was lost and the consequences of that loss? Recovery is a misleading and empty expectation. We recover from broken limbs, not amputations. Catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery. It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same. There is no going back to the past, which is gone forever, only going ahead to the future, which has yet to be discovered. Whatever that future is, it will, and must, include the pain of the past with it. Sorrow never entirely leaves the soul of those who have suffered a severe loss. If anything, it may keep going deeper. But this depth of sorrow is the sign of a healthy soul, not a sick soul. It does not have to be morbid and fatalistic. It is not something to escape but something to embrace. Jesus said, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”1 Sorrow indicates that people who have suffered loss are living authentically in a world of misery, and it expresses the emotional anguish of people who feel pain for themselves or for others. Sorrow is noble and gracious. It enlarges the soul until the soul is capable of mourning and rejoicing simultaneously, of feeling the world’s pain and hoping for the world’s healing at the same time. However painful, sorrow is good for the soul.

Loss provides an opportunity to take inventory of our lives, to reconsider priorities, and to determine new directions. “Few people,” someone once told me, “wish at seventy that they had worked more hours at the office when they were forty. If anything, they wish that they had given more time back then to family, friends, and worthy causes. They wish they had dared to say ‘no’ to pressure, competition, and image and ‘no’ to their own selfishness.” As Jesus said, “What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, and yet forfeit his soul?”2 Loss invites us to ask basic questions about ourselves. “What do I believe?” “Is there life after death?” “Is there a God?” “What kind of person am I?” “Do I really care about other people?” “How have I used my resources—my time, money, and talent?” “Where am I headed with my life?”

The risk of further loss, therefore, poses a dilemma. The problem of choosing to love again is that the choice to love means living under the constant threat of further loss. But the problem of choosing not to love is that the choice to turn from love means imperiling the life of the soul, for the soul thrives in an environment of love. Soul-full people love; soulless people do not. If people want their souls to grow through loss, whatever the loss is, they must eventually decide to love even more deeply than they did before. They must respond to the loss by embracing love with renewed energy and commitment.

It takes tremendous courage to love when we are broken. Yet I wonder if love becomes more authentic when it grows out of brokenness. Brokenness forces us to find a source of love outside ourselves. That source is God, whose essential nature is love. It seems paradoxical to put brokenness and love together, but I believe they belong together.