Andrea said the following: "We tend to forget survivors, as their condition is often not known until the news cycle is over. Or we assume that time [equals] healing. My goal with this work is to remind people, make them think and feel and want to understand. Even if time goes by and new stories hit the front pages of the newspapers, the mental and visible scars of the survivors of such terrible incidents remain. I want to show that grief (but also healing) comes in different shapes. These youths share the same experiences and to a large extent similar reactions, but the process is individual. Thinking of the terror attack of July 22nd, I want people to remember these youths and not the face of the terrorist.”
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"The False Hope of Time"
[Originally written on February 26. 2011.]
Every Christian has
heard of the virtue of hope. St. Paul famously says in 1 Corinthians 13:13, “So faith, hope,
love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.”
Perhaps most Christians know or at least intuit that we should and must place
our hope in God: “I lift up my eyes [….] From whence does my help come? My help
comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth” (Revised Standard Version, Ps.
121.1-2). Here I would like to examine a curious phrase that sometimes comes
up, to the effect of, “Time heals all.” I think this phrase is misleading and
ultimately anti-Christian. Christians should instead
recall that our hope is in Christ, who overcame death through the Resurrection.
So, too, do we hope to join Christ in the glory of Heaven and eternal
beatitude.
Consider what is
commonly meant when the phrase “time heals all” is used. We may say it with the
good and praiseworthy intention of consoling a hurt friend. We may say it to
ourselves when we look upon grim situations or have suffered considerably. The
intention is well meaning, undoubtedly, but when we resort to this
intellectualizing, we place our hope not in God but in ourselves.
Let me break up the
sentence above. First, we subtly intellectualize the situation when we say,
“Time heals all.” By intellectualize, I mean a psychological defense
mechanism where we focus on abstract, intellectual concepts in order to
minimize or hide our feelings in reaction to some event. An example of this may
be that after a devastating earthquake, one focuses on the engineering factors
of damaged buildings. Another example could be where after being diagnosed with
a terminal illness, one learns all that one can about that illness, all the
while keeping the mind focused away from the psychological pain that the
illness causes. When one says that “time heals all,” one understands that by
waiting long enough, the event will fall so far into the past that our memories
of it will be fuzzy (“Oh, upset about that? I barely even remember what you
said to me! Of course I forgive you.”) and that the hurt the event causes us
will be hidden once the threat of pain moves smoothly into the past as we move
forward (“Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.” Nothing, as in, I have new
worries and new pains). And in all of this activity, we will forget that these
new pains and hurts will be repeated and slightly-varied manifestations of the
same deeper, unresolved, emotional block.
One girl spoke of how
she would say to herself when she was away from a loved one, “Well, it’s really
only a week. And a week is seven days. And seven days consist of hours, which
have minutes. I can go minute by minute, hour by hour.” She can “rationalize”
the situation by focusing on an abstract concept and thus hide her emotional
pain while consciously telling herself that she’s making sense of it all and
hoping that time will bring her the best. This intellectualizing is an idyllic
illusion at best and terribly paralyzing at worst. As an example, one may think
of “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot: “There will be time,
there will be time / [….] Time for you and time for me, / And time yet for a
hundred indecisions, / And for a hundred visions and revisions, / Before the
taking of a toast and tea” (26, 31-34). One of my favorite parts is: “For I
have known [the possible decisions] all already, known them all:— / Have known
the evenings, mornings, afternoons, / I have measured out my life with coffee
spoons” (49-51). Perhaps even we may, like Prufrock, meticulously
intellectualize a situation in order to avoid the deep emotional pain that
lurks in us.
But in placing our
hope in time, we ultimately are placing our hope in ourselves. For although
things change independently of us, there must be a rational mind that perceives
that change and makes sense of it in order to have the abstract concept of
“time.” We consciously place our hope in a human-made schema, and for some
reason we expect that in the midst of all this change, things will ultimately
turn out for the better. How could time heal us unless it meant that with the
passing of time, further traumas did not come as well? How could time heal
unless it meant that we could continue along with our lives after a single bump
in the road? Why do we think there will not be any more bumps? In placing our
hope in a human construction, we are psychologically placing our hope in the
human mind. We expect that we can pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps, that
we can resolve our own issues. Ever since the Fall, the majority of humanity
has still not realized the folly of this path. And we have been paying for it
dearly ever since.
“The Lord is my rock, my
fortress, and my deliverer, my God, my rock in whom I take refuge [….] In my
distress I called upon the Lord; to my God I
cried for help. From his temple he heard my voice, and my cry to him reached
his ears [….] He reached down from on high, he took me; he drew me out of
mighty waters. He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from those who hated
me; for they were too mighty for me [….] He brought me out into a broad place;
he delivered me, because he delighted in me [….] Who is a rock besides our
God?” (Ps. 18.2, 6, 16-17, 19, 31b)
What, then, do
we do? Hope in God. In times of distress, turn to God in humble prayer. “My
God, I am [hurt, offended, angry, betrayed, sad, broken, lonely, depressed,
etc.] Without you I don’t know what I will do. I need your help and guidance.
Give me strength to get through this and grace to be healed of all pain. Without
your mercy and protection, I will perish. Into your hands, Lord, I commend my
spirit. Help me to love those who have hurt me, not expecting anything in
return, but hoping always that you will convert them and bring them to
authentic love for you and salvation. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.”
Let God work to
transform your pain into courage and perseverance, healing you and those who
have hurt you. While you carry your Cross, remember Easter day and Jesus’
glorious Resurrection and hope in the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
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