Mourning Bands

​Before I went on vacation, I had a conversation about black mourning bands. The person to whom I was speaking shared with me that they had been thinking a lot about black mourning bands that people used to wear around their upper arms to let others know that they were grieving. This way, if a person was struggling or getting tearful in some way that seemed out of sorts for them or that seemed out of sync with the context around them, others would have some sort of idea why:  They were mourning.

The history of the black mourning band is interesting, to me at least. According to a quick Google search, the earliest example of someone wearing a black armband is a portrait of the Queen of Bohemia painted in 1614. Though unconfirmed, it is speculated that the Queen wore the armband to honor her deceased brother, the Prince of Wales. Later, in the UK, entire households used to purchase new sets of black clothes to wear upon a loved one’s passing. The heads of households would even purchase new black clothing for the house servants.

The practice eventually spread from Europe into the US. As the practice spread, black clothing evolved into the black mourning band once again, especially during the Great Depression when money and goods were hard to come by. Today, most people do not wear mourning bands when someone close to them dies. We still continue to see a kind of black band or patch worn by athletic teams when a fellow athlete dies, and we see law enforcement officers of various kinds move a black band over their respective badges when a fellow officer has died. Otherwise the practice has pretty much gone the way of the DoDo.

While at my nieces’ graduation from graduate school in Lacrosse, WI, this past Friday, my family was filled with mixed emotions. We cried at different parts of the service, and even cried for part of the time after the service. We were SO PROUD of my niece, AND very aware that her brother, my late nephew, was not there to share in the day.

As we sat in that place where tears and laughter meet, I noticed some strange looks from others in attendance. I am sure our tears and our laughter, our joy and our despair, all mixed together were quite confusing to onlookers. Initially, I found myself thinking that maybe if we had been wearing black armbands that day, the stares wouldn’t have been so intense. But then, something made me reconsider.

As we wound our way back through the limestone bluffs of southwest Wisconsin, southeast Minnesota, and northeast Iowa, I wondered if mourning bands were really necessary. Why do any of us need to wear a black armband to let others know that we’re grieving or–more to the point–that we could use a little tenderness and understanding from those around us? What if we just assumed that EVERYONE is grieving? 

Really, what if we approached our daily interactions by simply assuming that everyone could use a little tenderness and understanding in this often harsh and judgmental world? What if we entered every meeting at work, every Facebook exchange, every after church conversation, and every phone call with the insurance company assuming that those in attendance and those on the other end of our exchanges were grieving? What if we spoke to our children as if they were mourning–the loss of their childhood, the loss of a friend, the loss of a baseball game? What if we spoke to our spouses with the kind of compassion we extend to those attending a funeral? What if we spoke to ourselves in the same manner? I don’t know, but my hunch is that what we’d find is a world full of people in various stages of grief–people who are–at all times–mourning something.

I am reminded that the word “compassion” comes from a Latin word that means “to suffer with,” and that it is this word that appears in our sacred texts describing how Jesus so often viewed those around him–even crowds. For example, in Matthew 9:36 we read, “When Jesus saw the crowds, he was moved with compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” Jesus did not feel sorry for those around him, as if he was somehow so set apart from others who suffered. Rather, Jesus acted and moved as if he–too–knew what it was to be harassed and feel helpless. As if suffering was not an isolated experience, but rather, a communal one.

Which leads me to believe that maybe we don’t need to wear mourning bands anymore. Maybe the next evolution of this ancient practice requires no special fabric or equipment at all. Perhaps it requires only walking through the world as if we are suffering with one another–not set apart from one another. Perhaps it requires us learning to lead with kindness and understanding, rather than skepticism, cynicism, or opposition. Maybe we don’t need to have all the answers or need to hold each other to some impossible standards. Maybe all that is needed is learning to see the mourning band that permanently resides on our hearts, understanding that it resides on the hearts of those around us well.

Learning to lead with compassion,
Pr. Melissa

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