Good Mourning

Hold on, let me take care of these cobwebs, dust-bunnies, and...how long has that m&m been sitting there. Yeah, I'm not eating that. 
Well, here I am again, hoping that I can fill this space with some regularity. Not that anyone even noticed my lack of  verbose pontification. 
Coming into the end of this school year I have a few projects lined up for the summer. Along with working on building my principal's house, I have signed up for an online grad-level course to fulfill my re-certification credits. Since I haven't been a student in a class in five years, this could be interesting. I hope I still know how to learn stuff. I also hope to do some composing/arranging to prepare for some big things to happen next school year (be afraid, my students, be very afraid...). Add to that a couple small building projects and hopefully some semblance of a social life, and I should have plenty of time to regularly post here...right? Well, I kind of want to make it a goal anyway. 
Today was the graduation of my first freshman class. I have been teaching for four years, so I kind of feel like I graduated today too. Only, just like my own high school graduation, I didn't get to dress up in a funny hat, walk across a stage, and receive a diploma. However, unlike my high school graduation, I will still be here next year. I'm excited about that. I love it here. I love teaching here. I love my students, and I love this community. I am honored to be a part of it. But it is hard to imagine teaching here without those whom I just watched switch their tassels. Over the last week, the last few days, and especially now, I have been in a sort of mourning process over the situation. Because that's what you do when you feel a sense of loss. You mourn.
We don't think about mourning very often because most losses we encounter are minor, or our attachments are small. Certainly we think of mourning when we lose relationships to the eternal transference of death. Over two years ago my tortoise named Digger died. It was the week before Christmas. He had been with me for a grand four months. I wept. 
But we don't equate all death with loss. When I hear on the news that Donna Splinsky passed away I might feel a little sorry for her family, but I do not feel a loss. When my students tell me about the passing of their pet cat I offer my condolences and try to console them, but I do not feel the loss. I do not mourn for that which I do not feel loss. 
When, however, my old pickup of six years was totaled (not my fault) I felt a loss, and I mourned. When I have completed a summer at camp of working with the same people under stressful conditions for three months and I have to say "good bye" I felt a loss, and I mourned. When my super cool watch of two years that had all the perfect features and even had a black background LCD display finally bit the dust I felt loss, and I mourned.
I did not mourn equally for each of these losses. The loss of great friendships built through shared adversity is much greater than the loss of a watch, or even a pickup (though we had a lot of great memories, that pickup and I). So there is loss, yes, but the loss is not the same. Likewise, the mourning is not the same. In the case of the watch I think it was as simple as, "aww, bummer. I really liked that watch. Now I'll need to get another. Oh well, such is life." Done. For the summer friends the mourning could take days, and even continue to impact my life for weeks. 
Whatever the case may be, loss requires mourning. It doesn't have to be super dramatic with dark clothes, unkempt hair, and red, puffy eyes. But when attachments are severed some recognition is necessary.
No one goes through life with the expressed intention of losing things. In fact, we go to great lengths to be sure that we don't have to experience loss. We have safety guidelines and laws to protect our possessions and loved ones. We have drugs, procedures, and life-support systems to prolong life. We have key-chains that beep when we whistle. We don't like losing stuff because it hurts. 
The Buddhist solution is to eliminate all attachment in life, because attachment is the cause of suffering. Some sects of Christianity latched on to a similar line of thought. Seeing that attachment to things in this world tended to distract from our attachment to God, a number of Christians sought solitude and poverty. 
Yet we have been wired for attachment. Our Creator, God, built us in such a way that we long for, crave, and cannot help but stumble upon attachment to things. He built us to be relational in a deep and meaningful way. He designed us to become attached, first and foremost, to himself; to share a relationship so deep and personal that nothing could replace it. Unfortunately, we tried to replace it, and in doing so we created a rift in the relationship. That is the greatest loss mankind has ever experienced. How could the rift ever be repaired? How could a perfect God ever understand the depth of our loss?
It just so happened that God had a plan to accomplish those very things. God joined us as a man. He lived with us, and walked with us, and then he died for us. But more than that, after living a perfect, sinless life, Jesus died a sinners death. He died the way that each and every one of us deserves to die. BUT MORE THAN THAT, in those moments of agony and suffering of his physical body Jesus experienced an agony of the soul that mankind has known for millennia. 
Some believe that Jesus, having taken on himself all the sin of mankind that it could be judged and that we could be justified, in that moment was actually separated from God. There are a great many Christians who believe this; many of whom I respect immensely. If anyone can show me the scriptures that clearly denote such an occurrence, I would gladly accept such a theology. As it is, I have a hard time reconciling God separated from God and then coming back to life by the power of God. I'd be glad to discuss. 
What I have seen in scripture is that in those moments of bearing our sin and our punishment Jesus felt disconnected from the Father. He felt the loss which began with Adam and has continued throughout human history. And in the midst of all the physical suffering it was this sense of loss that Jesus begins to mourn. He is dying on the cross, and yet he mourns the loss of connection with God the Father. Oh, that I would desire connection with God to such an extent. 
In those moments God succeeded in not only mending the rift between man and God, but also in experiencing our loss in that rift. He can understand our longing, and he has provided the satisfaction.
My friends, we are designed to attach. Because of sin that propensity for attachment has been twisted so that we become too attached to the wrong things in the wrong ways. We become attached to money and possessions as if they were our lifelong friends. We become attached to relationships as if they will satisfy our every desire. We become attached to fictional characters in books, movies, and TV shows. We become attached to pets as if they are people. We become attached to food, drink, and other substances. We attach to these things in a search to fulfill that attachment which God intended for himself. That was the first sin, and it has been our most consistent downfall. 
What then shall we do? Should we all become hermits, taking vows of celibacy and poverty? No. We were designed for attachment. God designed us to enjoy all these things: food, friends, family, and frolics. But we must first pursue our attachment to him. And then we must mourn our losses appropriately. If I allow the loss of a watch or a car to take over my life to the extent that I begin to neglect and abuse others, I might be too attached to my stuff. If I allow the loss of a relationship to take over my life so that I begin to neglect and abuse others (including God), I probably had an unhealthy attachment to that relationship. When I fight against losing any of those things in such a way that goes against God or hurts others, I need to reevaluate my attachments. 
Mourning is important because loss is real. But healthy mourning keeps our priorities in perspective. 
Remember, there is one relationship, one attachment that if pursued will never be lost. God is always there for us. He made us to cling to him forever. When we broke that attachment he did the work to repair it. We must cling to him.
Good mourning to you.