On Sunday, I introduced you to Erin Grayson, a friend I met here in Bahrain and the third interviewee in our “Women in the Trenches” series. She is currently back in the States beginning preparations to finish her MDiv at Yale, but I snagged her before she left Bahrain to get her perspective on all different aspects of life.
This is the continuation of my conversation with Erin—beautiful thoughts on the Church, writing, and her own experience with grief. You will see here why I believe Erin to be such a rich soul.
Enjoy . . .
Give us your thoughts on the current state of the Church and where you believe things need to go in order for the Church to be effective? It makes me sad to see such division within the Church. It’s one thing to disagree, but when it halts meaningful discussion and civil discourse and instead breeds disdain for each other, we’ve got a real problem.
Evidence of internal rifts damage the perception from the outside. When the Church looks more like a flawed institution wrought with in-fighting than a refuge from the storm, then it’s really no wonder why young people turn away from it.
To be effective, the Church needs to practice, not just preach, the love of Jesus. A love that transcends reason, that results in humble servitude to others, and that is available to us all regardless of any human distinction. It’s a love that unifies us in hope and peace, not division and spite.
I have quite a few writers who follow this blog, so let’s talk writing. What is your relationship with writing? What do you hope to do with your writing? I love this question because I love to write, but never guessed anyone might be interested in what I have to say. Writing has been a hobby, an emotional outlet and a creative expression for as long as I can remember. I’ve kept journals, dabbled in poetry (not successfully), reported for school newspapers, and written more academic papers than I can remember.
I’ve always been personally fulfilled by it, but it’s just been recently that I realized that maybe my writing shouldn’t just be for me. I started a blog when I moved to Bahrain, mostly just to keep in touch with family and friends, but it has morphed into something more than that. People are reading it and responding to it and it has opened doors for me that I never knew were even there to be opened.
I feel like I’m standing at the threshold of place full of possibilities–for me personally, but also for my ministry. I will continue writing whether I ever become a published author or not. I’m hopeful that I can use my passion for it in a way that serves others.
You’ve told me a bit about the loss of your brother. Would you be willing to talk about that and how you have walked through such unthinkable tragedy and grief? How have you reconciled your loss with your faith? I didn’t really know much about the shadowy, hollow places of grief until my brother died five years ago. The phone call came in the early morning on Saturday, the third of February and as I heard the news, my first thought was, “there must be some mistake.” But just as that thought crossed my mind, I realized that it couldn’t be a mistake—my youngest brother Jonathan was dead at 25.
The days that followed were a blur, filled with the task of making necessary arrangements, managing inconsolable grief, and bearing the sheer burden of questions that may never be answered–the “how” and even more persistent, the “why.”
In the midst of the turmoil, my faith sustained me. It was all I had as witness to and a victim of grief’s primal and hostile grip. The only way I could free myself was to reach out toward the hope of what I could not see, but what I knew was there. It was like feeling my way around in a very dark, but familiar room.
It was hard to work with the impediment of grief, but just accepting it felt strangely comforting. It drew me closer to God, deepening my relationship with Him. In my raw state, I wasn’t afraid to ask questions and I wasn’t afraid to express the range of emotions I experienced. I wasn’t afraid to lean totally on Him when my understanding failed.
Maybe my grief was so focused that I was less distracted by anything else and it allowed me to really feel the presence of God. I saw Him in the loving kindness of others–in the elderly woman from church who turned up unexpectedly to sit beside me, quietly teaching me how to knit. I heard Him in the stories that unfamiliar faces told of my brother and his unfailing goodwill.
My faith was strengthened as I grieved my brother’s passing. I’ll never understand why he had to go, but the faith that sustained me in grief is the same faith that brings me hope that he is where he needs to be, full of peace and completely loved.
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Thank you, Erin, for your vulnerability and willingness to talk about something so deeply personal.
What is one thing Erin shared that intersected with your life today?
