Good Sorrow

Tonight I said goodbye to Ingrid, who has become one of my dearest friends. We’ll just leave it at that. As I struggled to contain my tears, I was struck by a revelation that I shall attempt to elucidate here. 

There are two kinds of sorrow in this life: good and bad. The bad kind of sorrow is what most people think of when they begin to grope for reasons to disbelieve in God; loved ones dying of cancer, senseless crimes like rape or murder or hate-fueled evil, natural disasters, the wickedness of people who corrupt other people or companies or governments or whatever other resource they can for the purposes of their own selfishness. This kind of sorrow is “bad” because it doesn’t seem to coincide with the way we think the world should work: children starving in Africa or sold as sex slaves around the world is wrong, and what, after all, have such innocents done to deserve the sorrow and torment they endure? And how could a kind and merciful God tolerate such wickedness and stand aside from intervening in the midst of such suffering? Disputing this canard is not the point of my blog, so I shall merely point out that the only redeeming value of such sorrow is that others might be moved to action to intervene upon the sufferer’s behalf, to save them. This is a symbol of what Christ did for us, and an opportunity for us to embody Christ to the world. But the sorrow itself is bad, coming as it does because of the existence of pain and evil, sin, necessitating its correction or termination and ultimately the salvation of Jesus Christ.

The other kind of sorrow is that which I now struggle with, and this sorrow is good. I would like to explain this sorrow and then postulate on its meaning as regards the Christian’s walk with the Lord and understanding of who He is and why He does the things He does. A modest goal; we shall see.

Now, at this point you may be wondering, how can any sorrow ever be good? My friend is leaving Waco to enroll at Purdue in Indiana for her doctorate program, which is a step up for her in relation to her desire to specialize in medieval literature. The program’s reputation is better than Baylor’s, she’ll be working with some of the best scholars in this field, and they’re giving her a sweet ride as far as fellowships go, better certainly than Baylor. Lest you think that she was motivated solely by such calculations, allow me to disabuse you of such notions. She had made many friends down here, she is well-liked and respected by the English faculty as a whole, and could easily have stayed down here as received a good education with decent prospects. She brought the decision before the Lord and I believe that her departure is in accordance with His will. 

I’ve gotten to know her quite well over the year we had together. We worked in the same writing center, giving us ample time to discover who the other was and how our personalities interacted. There was a great sense of camaraderie in that writing center among all of us, for various reasons both good and bad, and she and I and Daniel had a particularly jovial time riffing during the down times there. We watched movies together, had dinners and dances, had a class together as well, and just shared our lives. My attachment to her might have been greater than hers to me but even so we had a wonderful friendship. Even more important, ultimately, is her devotion to the Lord and her amazing capacity to love others and pour out her life for others. Her interactions and attitudes were a constant and firm (albeit gentle) rebuke and reminder to me to pursue the Lord even more wholeheartedly. Rare indeed is the person who emanates such a sweet aroma of the Spirit, and I was very blessed and humbled to spend time with her and watch her dedicate her life to God. 

So this evening was that much more difficult to endure. Ever since she announced her decision I’d been trying to prepare myself for today, sometimes steeling myself, sometimes sinking in grief, at the prospect of losing such a wonderful person from my life. This goodbye was in some ways as difficult as it was saying goodbye to my friend Caleb from Kansas City, though not in the same way since we were of different genders which limits the depths to which unmarried people can unclasp their hearts. Regardless, I quickly began to blub as we prayed, and that set her off, so we both ended up a bit teary. Afterwards, I began to reflect on this idea of sorrow as a good sorrow.

The sorrow that we felt at being parted was due to the love and friendship we shared and the fact that it was coming to an end, at least for now. God alone knows what the future holds, but we will never have what we have had and quite possibly will never share our lives again this side of eternity. And I was heartbroken. Still am. But I believe that this sorrow is a good sorrow, because it’s the sorrow of Love, the love for Jesus that bound us even closer than normal colleagues and friends, a love that may only be surpassed on earth by that between spouses and parents-children. This love is the kind of love that should exist among every Christian, and when it does, it baffles the world even as it incites in their hearts an indescribable longing that can only be satisfied by Christ. 

Moreover, the sorrow I feel at her departure is untainted by selfishness and bitterness. The months leading up to this gave me ample time to give up any sentiment of resentment or despair that lapped up against my heart, and which I might have indulged in as a younger man. But I had directed my heart and will to rejoice in her opportunity, to enjoy her company while I still could, and to thank the Lord for the time we spent together. So the sorrow is as pure an expression of love as I am capable of in this world. And herein lies the crux of the matter: sorrow, good sorrow, is another form of love. The sorrow we feel for a loved one on their death bed is mixed with the hope in the promise that they are soon to be fully and finally united with God and that in just a little while we too will join them in that union, and our love will reach even greater heights than humans can imagine as it is completely expressed through the Lord. 

Furthermore, the experience of forming a friendship with those in Kansas City, particularly Caleb, helped me to realize the power and preciousness of fellowship with others, and the sorrow I felt leaving them behind enlarged my capacity to love others and to form new friendships in Waco. So too I imagine the sorrow of losing Ingrid’s fellowship, as piercing as it feels at the moment, will reap harvests of new friendships and relationships as this experience enlarges my ability and desire to find new people to love, and to love those I already love more fully and authentically, especially the Lord.

And so, even though I’ve broken down a few times as I have written this, and even though my world is dimmer than it has been, I can embrace the sorrow and rejoice in the sadness that I feel, for it testifies that I can love and that God is remaking me in His own image, for He is love and I will never face a parting from Him. And though my will shall have to drag my heart through times of grief and nostalgia, the Lord has promised to heal my heart, to restore my joy, and to bring new friends and new fellowships as I continue to pursue Him. For His very nature is love which requires other persons to love, and so our reflection of His image must be comprised primarily of love for Him and for each other. And sorrow is the price we pay here on earth. I pay it gladly.