Dear Resilient Wrestlers,

Zooming as we are into the final days before Christmas, I’ve been musing about resilience, which is the capacity to thrive through change. Ironically, the first word of this blog post gives an example of adaptability—three years ago, "zoom" wasn’t a noun unless you were referring to a button on a sophisticated camera. Now, Zoom is not only something airplanes do, but also the name of a video communications platform so ubiquitous that it has become one of those words that refers to a whole category of connective software, as in, “We have a Zoom meeting today at 3:00 p.m. on Google Meet.” As we similarly ask, “What brand of Kleenex do you prefer?”

Resilience comes from the Latin word salire, meaning "to jump"; resilience then is the capacity to jump back in. Used in physics, the word refers to materials that can absorb and rebound energy, allowing them to return to their former shape after taking a hit. Emotional resilience refers to one’s ability to return to activity and engagement after facing adversity, as in, “Even after the embarrassment of discovering his fly was open, he resiliently continued the sermon without distraction.”

Raising resilient children is all the rage. Who doesn’t want their children to bounce back from adversity, moving with resolve after suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune? The problem with resilience is how we have intertwined it with denial. Looking outward, we can applaud one’s bounce-back from a sea of troubles, but ah-ha! Looking inward like Hamlet, they still “bear the whips and scorns of time.” [line 14]

The illusion and complexity of resilience is not found in momentary performance, but in recognizing that emotional resilience does not work like physics. The capacity to return to good shape ebbs and flows in a larger pool of support, opportunities and resonant memories. At camp one can feel extremely resilient during songs, meals and games, but crawling onto a bunk in a post-“lights out” silent cabin can trigger sobs of homesickness. It wasn’t denial or distraction that brought joy and laughter during a rousing game of red rover; it was the feeling of inclusion and connection that rendered thoughts of the comforts of home irrelevant. Both the play field well-being and the nighttime sadness are authentic emotional expressions, neither heralding a pathological inability to adapt.

Which brings me to the question of emotional resilience during the holidays. Perhaps the greatest enemy of true resilience is our tendency to resist how our hearts absorb the blows of change and loss. Just because something hurts doesn’t mean you’re handling it poorly. Feeling the gut-knot of absence for a lost loved one or the frustration for having to limit activity from a new physical limitation isn’t a lack of resilience; it’s the realistic response to an unavoidable reality. Resilience isn’t the ability to take a punch; it’s the capacity to find multiple and non-toxic methods to release the pressure. That, by the way, is one of the reasons that our church provides so much extra programming during the Advent and Christmas season. We’re not trying to distract you; we’re trying to increase opportunity for inclusion and connection. We want to share in absorbing and rebounding the slings and arrows of difficult change often experienced in this “timeless” season.

For the community of faith, resilience is neither an individual nor a spectator sport. We stand together, arms interlinked as change and adversity inevitably zoom into our lines of fellowship; we share the shock together in laughter and camaraderie. Even if you later find yourself tearing up over what or whom you miss, your resilience is not in question. “Soft, you now!” [line 30] By God’s Spirit, we will play again tomorrow!

Jumping back and jumping in, finding resilience even in weakness, I remain,

With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor