By Ryan LeBlanc

“Spiritual depth” is the term I’m using right now to try to identify my own sense of interior peace when I experience the waters of my soul running deep.

When I tap into this depth, I’m more centred, compassionate, and detached from the daily dramas of life. I find I can approach my experiences, whether good or bad, with a sense of calm acceptance. It’s also in these moments of depth that I’m more attentive and present to the people around me, regardless of how they may be acting.

I’m drawn to the image of depth because it evokes safety and protection, like being submerged in deep waters that shield me from the storms of discontent, frustration, and loss. But I also know that this depth ebbs and flows. Some days, the waters are shallow, easily disturbed, and sometimes they even dry up entirely.

Spiritual depth holds grief.

Several years ago, I heard a parish nurse share her belief that unresolved grief is one of the largest contributors to illness and disease in our society. Spending time with people in various states of grief has given me a deeper appreciation of this idea. Grief is vast, complex, and often difficult to navigate. The symptoms of grief—sadness, anger, shock—can take many forms, and we each experience it in unique ways.

Our diverse experiences of grief can feel like different degrees of grief. There’s often a tendency to compare losses, as if one person’s grief is somehow greater or more profound than another’s. But I wonder if our grief isn’t universal, an ocean we all swim in as best we can.

We also experience both personal grief and communal grief. At times in the process, we need to go inward and be alone with our heart. Yet, in other times it’s essential to step out into community with our grief, to lean on others, and to allow our personal grief to become a necessary part of a larger, shared experience.

Grief is both a deeply personal and communal journey, since loss can lead us into deeper connection with one another.

Recently, my wife and I have been spending time with parents who have lost their children. Whether they were supported by their communities or not, they often come to us with a sense of isolation, carrying a loss that feels too profound for others to fully understand. And yet, as we share our stories with those who can relate, we find a deep sense of connection and healing. At the same time, we’re acutely aware of how much we depend on the broader community—the people who aren’t drowning in the same grief but are still touched by our loss.

This past September, I reflected on these themes during the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation. For me, this day has become a time to grieve for the historical and ongoing pain suffered by Indigenous peoples. Maybe this year, I was more in touch with my own grief, which opened me to a deeper experience of the culture and history of Indigenous people than I had in years past.

Yet, Sept. 30 is not just a day of grief. Many Indigenous communities see it as a day of joy, celebration, and resilience. For me, it’s also a day of resolve —a time to commit myself to the work of justice and healing, both in my personal life and in our collective history.

The resolve to pursue righteousness is not the way of control, violence and alienation – that is the way which disturbs our peace. We cannot truly seek righteousness if our souls are locked in anxiety or consumed by the need to control or shape our experiences of loss. Spiritual depth allows us to grieve deeply and authentically while still holding on to a sense of peace.

One of the most profound lessons I’ve learned is that the way I experience and process my own grief directly affects how well I can accompany others in theirs.

If my own waters are shallow — if I’m overwhelmed by anxiety, anger, or the need to control — it becomes nearly impossible to support someone else. But when I’m grounded in spiritual depth, I have the patience and strength to sit with someone in their grief, no matter how turbulent their emotions may be. I can sit with others only to the degree that I can sit with myself.

In the end, I believe that grief is universal. We all experience it in different ways and at different times, but it’s part of the human experience. The question then becomes: how can we cultivate enough spiritual depth to weather our own losses and support one another in the process?

This is where Christ meets us.

In His suffering and death, Jesus demonstrated the infinite spiritual depth of God. He showed us that He can rise again from the worst the world has to offer, and He has the capacity to enter into our grief with us. God, who knows the pain of losing a child and the violence of oppression, is always present with us in our grief. It is His spiritual depth that sustains us when our own waters run dry.

Ultimately, it is Christ’s Spirit that fills our hearts, not to eliminate our grief but to experience it with us. In this divine companionship, we find the depth to grieve, to heal, and to support one another.

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Ryan LeBlanc is a teacher at Bethlehem Catholic High School in Saskatoon and a parishioner at the Cathedral of the Holy Family. His writing is available on his blog at https://ryanleblanc.podia.com/

Catholic Saskatoon News is supported by gifts to the Bishop’s Annual Appeal: dscf.ca.