Empty Chairs

I recently read an article by Carrie McKean titled “I’m Estranged from My Parents. I Still Love Them.” It is a beautiful and poignant message of God’s grace in the midst of heartbreak and broken families. Two sentences resonated with me:

After ten heartbreaking Thanksgivings, here’s what I have learned: Empty chairs always take up the most space. Empty chairs always shout the loudest.

Neither Michele nor I experienced estrangement from our parents and, so far, our daughters haven’t written us off. We are a loving and close family although some physical distance separates us. But we will have some empty chairs this Thanksgiving. Our parents have passed and just this summer, we lost a nephew. One of our sons-in-law has lost both of his parents. Michele and I remember Thanksgivings in our childhood with many other relatives who have moved on from earthly existence. Each of us, at some point, will deal with empty chairs and, greater still, hearts that feel emptiness in the absence of a loved one.

How do we cope with empty chairs? We typically deal with them in the five stages of grief originally identified by Elizabeth Kubler Ross: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. The common denominator in each stage is, as she noted, grief. Whether a loss may be very fresh and we still can’t believe it happened, or we have moved into the acceptance stage perhaps years down the road, an empty chair is still an empty chair and grief is still grief.

In the book of Job, we encounter a man who lost nearly all his family, his possessions, and his health. In chapter three he states that he wished he had never been born. In verses 24 through 26 he says, “For my groaning comes at the sight of my food, and my cries pour out like water. For what I fear comes upon me, and what I dread befalls me, I am not at ease, nor am I quiet, and I am not at rest, but turmoil comes.” In very poetic language Job simply states that he is heartbroken and grieving.

Many people can quote the shortest verse in the Bible which is John 11:35: Jesus wept. What they often do not realize is that he was grieving the death of his friend Lazarus. Jesus knew He would raise Lazarus from the dead, yet he still grieved for the sorrow the family was experiencing, and for the idea of death itself, something that was never intended in the original creation.

Each of us has many reasons to be thankful, yet many of us have reasons to grieve, to feel sadness when we see the empty chair. Years ago, I was participating in a small group while on a retreat, I referred to an empty chair and said we should picture Jesus sitting there since He promised to be present when we gathered in His name. I said it half-jokingly, but it resonated with the group, and I have thought of it often since in large and small group settings, and even when I’m alone sitting in a room with an unoccupied chair. As a believer, knowing you are always in the presence of God can be intimidating but it can and should be comforting.

Grief often leads to anger. We question why things happen and, ultimately, the goodness of God. Many believers will accept the bad that happens for a short period of time, praying and trusting that God will see them through this season. But days can become weeks and weeks can become years.  We’re isolated and we lose hope that things will get better. Depression sets in. There is a new normal, a new reality, and we can choose to remain angry and bitter, or we can choose to accept life for what it is, even if the hurt does not go away this side of eternity. This is not fatalism. It is accepting God’s grace – My grace is sufficient for you. God’s grace is not an escape mechanism to get away from the pain; it is a way to cope with the pain.

Nothing I write will necessarily assuage grief, but I can point you to the one who is well acquainted with grief (Isaiah 53:3). Job cried out for God and says, “Oh that I knew where I might find Him!” (Job 23:23). God does not forsake us in our grief, but in grieving we can be numb to His presence. The Psalmist tells us in Psalm 56:8, “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?” God know every tear you have shed, and I believe He has shed them with you. I encourage you to read Psalm 102. It addresses anger with God directly, but also recognizes who He is and what He promises.

Whatever Thanksgiving looks like for you this year, whether there are 40 people squeezed into a home, or just you and a spouse, or you eat at a restaurant with friends, I encourage you to leave an empty chair at the table. It may bring some tears but, hopefully, it will bring precious memories as well. And remember who is present with you. I pray you have a wonderful and peaceful Thanksgiving.