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Broken Hallelujahs: Learning to Grieve the Big and Small Losses of Life
IVP Readers' Choice Award The losses in our lives are both big and small, and cover a range of experiences. We leave home. We experience physical illness and disabilities. We struggle with vocation and finances. We may long for a spouse or child. We lose people we love to addiction or illness and death. All of these losses can build into questions and doubts about faith. We may experience depression or other mental health struggles. Where is God in the midst of our losses? In this book spiritual director Beth Slevcove shares stories from her own life about losses and struggles. Along the way, she offers distinctive spiritual practices that can guide us back to God and, in the end, to ourselves.
217 pages, Paperback
First published April 4, 2016
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August 22, 2017
I have mixed feelings about this book. The author tells her own stories of grief and shares the lessons she learned of how to deal with it. Overall, the writing style is very intuitive and abstract, so I had a hard time connecting with it. There wasn't much in the way of practical helps, but rather a lot of what I consider "spiritual mumbo-jumbo."
I like that the author gives readers "permission" to grieve, rather than offering up standard pat advice. I like that she admitted her own doubts about God and His leading. She tells about following God into a particular situation and then everything falling to pieces:
"How do I view what happened in light of my belief that God led us into this? The experience, as it began to unravel, brought to light my underlying belief that if God leads us into something, that something will be good. Hard, maybe, but destructive? Never! Where did we go wrong? Were we wrong about our initial discernment? If God led us, how could it not all go well? The questions went deeper: Does God guide our lives? Does God even care about us?" (p. 101)
Here are a few examples of things I wasn't crazy about:
She states, "At times I've needed to forgive God for allowing atrocities to tear into my life and the lives of those I love. For being silent in times of great need. For not giving me what I believed I needed in times of scarcity." (p. 170)
I thought this was a very poor word choice - God has never made a mistake and therefore is never in need of forgiveness. We are always in need of His.
She also says, "I have often wrestled with the passage, 'Love thy enemies.' I would rack my brain trying to come up with an enemy. Then it dawned on me that this includes my enemies within. I have no problem coming up with the parts of myself I am at enmity with." (p. 189)
I felt this was a bit of stretch, and not what the original Biblical passage was getting at.
All in all, this might help some people, but I struggled to get through the book and didn't find much of value in it.
I like that the author gives readers "permission" to grieve, rather than offering up standard pat advice. I like that she admitted her own doubts about God and His leading. She tells about following God into a particular situation and then everything falling to pieces:
"How do I view what happened in light of my belief that God led us into this? The experience, as it began to unravel, brought to light my underlying belief that if God leads us into something, that something will be good. Hard, maybe, but destructive? Never! Where did we go wrong? Were we wrong about our initial discernment? If God led us, how could it not all go well? The questions went deeper: Does God guide our lives? Does God even care about us?" (p. 101)
Here are a few examples of things I wasn't crazy about:
She states, "At times I've needed to forgive God for allowing atrocities to tear into my life and the lives of those I love. For being silent in times of great need. For not giving me what I believed I needed in times of scarcity." (p. 170)
I thought this was a very poor word choice - God has never made a mistake and therefore is never in need of forgiveness. We are always in need of His.
She also says, "I have often wrestled with the passage, 'Love thy enemies.' I would rack my brain trying to come up with an enemy. Then it dawned on me that this includes my enemies within. I have no problem coming up with the parts of myself I am at enmity with." (p. 189)
I felt this was a bit of stretch, and not what the original Biblical passage was getting at.
All in all, this might help some people, but I struggled to get through the book and didn't find much of value in it.
March 23, 2023
At first I really didn’t love this book. Almost didn’t finish it. But with time I grew to love Beth’s writing style and the stories with lessons she shared about grief!! She shares a lot of her own personal experiences wrestling with infertility and the loss of her brother. I learned more in this book about lament & tending to losses in our lives- big and small- so that we can grow & know God better. A few quotes I loved…
“Grace rarely comes as a gentle invitation to change. More often than not it appears in the form of an assault, something we first are tempted to flee.”
“Are my current understandings about life, God and the world big enough to hold the experiences I am having? Much of the time my perspectives are unconscious- until they stop working. Loss ushers in the need for a new operating system to explore the ways we view the world, to question what has gone unquestioned, to sift the chaff, and seek kernels of truth.”
“I have begun to trust in and come home to a God who might at times disturb me or be hidden within life’s disruptions. God’s plan got me will not necessarily involve smooth sailing from here on out, even if I prayerfully discern my every move and do everything in my ability to follow Jesus’s footsteps.”
“Grace rarely comes as a gentle invitation to change. More often than not it appears in the form of an assault, something we first are tempted to flee.”
“Are my current understandings about life, God and the world big enough to hold the experiences I am having? Much of the time my perspectives are unconscious- until they stop working. Loss ushers in the need for a new operating system to explore the ways we view the world, to question what has gone unquestioned, to sift the chaff, and seek kernels of truth.”
“I have begun to trust in and come home to a God who might at times disturb me or be hidden within life’s disruptions. God’s plan got me will not necessarily involve smooth sailing from here on out, even if I prayerfully discern my every move and do everything in my ability to follow Jesus’s footsteps.”
March 4, 2020
Absolutely LOVED this book! The author is so raw and honest about her experiences and thoughts on grief and loss, and there is so much wisdom in her stories and commentary. She sounds like an adventuresome woman who is young at heart, so I also enjoyed her storytelling about some of the biggest events that were lessons in grief in joy. Her life is very interesting to read about. Reading her stories felt like journeying with her and gleaning from the rich lessons she learned from grief. I found myself learning about my own grief as I read, and I feel encouraged to see grief as a companion in life who uncovers richer and deeper truths about ourselves, God and the world, rather than grief just being something that just weighs us down.
I highly recommend this book!
I highly recommend this book!
May 8, 2016
The author begins the book by telling her own stories of loss. I found this to be the most interesting and instructive part of the book in many ways. She looks at several different types of loss, including the loss of innocence, the loss of one’s childhood home, the collapse of a business venture, the loss of physical health, and infertility. She has some beautiful things to say about the ways that grief colors one’s walk with God. For example, describing her six-year struggle to have a baby, Beth writes, “Slowly, subtly, I began distancing myself from my longings…and from the hurt this journey was creating. I did not want to keep waiting for a future yet to be determined. I also began distancing myself from the God who refused to answer the question I desperately wanted to know the answer to…” I appreciated the variety of experiences she considers under the heading of loss or grief. Understandably, however, the story that occupies much of her reflection on grief is the slow, excruciating death of her brother from brain cancer. Mark’s personality, and their wonderful sibling relationship, come through poignantly in the stories of both joyful and sorrowful times spent together. This is certainly a great strength of the book.
The second part broadens into her discoveries about grief both personally and as a spiritual director. The milieu of spiritual direction is not unfamiliar to me—as Beth describes it, its goal is “to help a person notice God’s presence more deeply in their life and circumstances”—though it is not a model I have gravitated toward in recent years. She offers some helpful insights throughout this section, such as the harmful consequences of minimizing grief, ways that grief is regarded as culturally inappropriate, and the point that we “don’t pray [Jesus] into a situation; he is already there.” I also liked her comment that things like failure, instability, and slowness “might be just what I need to let go of my constant compulsion to judge every moment of my unfolding story.” Especially when navigating a painful experience, we can’t always see the bigger picture.
The third part explores ways she has “engaged creatively in loss in order to make room for hope.” Some of these include encountering beauty in nature, serving the needy, creating a “sacred space” for prayer and remembrance, and making up a healing ritual. In the chapter on forgiveness, Beth writes, “At times I’ve needed to forgive God for allowing atrocities to tear into my life and the lives of those I love.” I think I understand what she is getting at from an emotional standpoint, but I found it to be unfortunately worded, because I don’t think there is anything scriptural about the idea of “forgiving God.”
She closes each chapter with a “prayer practice” that she has found helpful in journeying through loss, with the caveat that if they feel forced or contrived, the reader should feel free to skip over them. Some of these practices include taking a bath, throwing a tantrum at God, and the Ignatian practice of imagining oneself into a biblical scene. Certain ones, such as writing a prayer patterned after a psalm of lament, did seem potentially useful. But many I found to be insufficiently grounded in scripture, and that really sums up my reaction to the book as a whole.
Beth writes with such generous openness about painful experiences in her life that it is difficult to come away from this book without feeling as if I know her a little bit. She writes in the cadences of strong, godly women who have mentored me over the years. In fact, I’m sure I would enjoy having a cup of coffee with her—there are several areas in which I suspect we would find common ground. There is great tenderness in her discussion of losses of all kinds, and she doesn’t shy from the messiness of grief.
Yet, as the book went on, I grew less comfortable with the ways she recommends engaging with grief and the grounds on which she suggests approaching God. There is too much of a tendency to lean on our experience, seeking to read God’s presence back into it, with too little awareness of the ways that sin and the fall distort our affections. I would not say that this book is devoid of scripture, certainly. But I find that God’s promises to his people in Christ must be the explicit foundation of all our attempts to make meaning of suffering, the light by which we read our experiences—and I did not find that to be consistently the case throughout this book. Without this, however good our intentions, it is simply too easy to drift from a firm knowledge of God as he has revealed himself in his Word, and this has weighty implications for our prayer and practice. I suspect my discomfort stems from our being differently located along the evangelical spectrum, to an extent that slightly surprised me when I began reading a book from IVP. However, for this reason, I would recommend that this book be read with careful discernment, especially the final third of the book and the “prayer practices” appended to each chapter.
The second part broadens into her discoveries about grief both personally and as a spiritual director. The milieu of spiritual direction is not unfamiliar to me—as Beth describes it, its goal is “to help a person notice God’s presence more deeply in their life and circumstances”—though it is not a model I have gravitated toward in recent years. She offers some helpful insights throughout this section, such as the harmful consequences of minimizing grief, ways that grief is regarded as culturally inappropriate, and the point that we “don’t pray [Jesus] into a situation; he is already there.” I also liked her comment that things like failure, instability, and slowness “might be just what I need to let go of my constant compulsion to judge every moment of my unfolding story.” Especially when navigating a painful experience, we can’t always see the bigger picture.
The third part explores ways she has “engaged creatively in loss in order to make room for hope.” Some of these include encountering beauty in nature, serving the needy, creating a “sacred space” for prayer and remembrance, and making up a healing ritual. In the chapter on forgiveness, Beth writes, “At times I’ve needed to forgive God for allowing atrocities to tear into my life and the lives of those I love.” I think I understand what she is getting at from an emotional standpoint, but I found it to be unfortunately worded, because I don’t think there is anything scriptural about the idea of “forgiving God.”
She closes each chapter with a “prayer practice” that she has found helpful in journeying through loss, with the caveat that if they feel forced or contrived, the reader should feel free to skip over them. Some of these practices include taking a bath, throwing a tantrum at God, and the Ignatian practice of imagining oneself into a biblical scene. Certain ones, such as writing a prayer patterned after a psalm of lament, did seem potentially useful. But many I found to be insufficiently grounded in scripture, and that really sums up my reaction to the book as a whole.
Beth writes with such generous openness about painful experiences in her life that it is difficult to come away from this book without feeling as if I know her a little bit. She writes in the cadences of strong, godly women who have mentored me over the years. In fact, I’m sure I would enjoy having a cup of coffee with her—there are several areas in which I suspect we would find common ground. There is great tenderness in her discussion of losses of all kinds, and she doesn’t shy from the messiness of grief.
Yet, as the book went on, I grew less comfortable with the ways she recommends engaging with grief and the grounds on which she suggests approaching God. There is too much of a tendency to lean on our experience, seeking to read God’s presence back into it, with too little awareness of the ways that sin and the fall distort our affections. I would not say that this book is devoid of scripture, certainly. But I find that God’s promises to his people in Christ must be the explicit foundation of all our attempts to make meaning of suffering, the light by which we read our experiences—and I did not find that to be consistently the case throughout this book. Without this, however good our intentions, it is simply too easy to drift from a firm knowledge of God as he has revealed himself in his Word, and this has weighty implications for our prayer and practice. I suspect my discomfort stems from our being differently located along the evangelical spectrum, to an extent that slightly surprised me when I began reading a book from IVP. However, for this reason, I would recommend that this book be read with careful discernment, especially the final third of the book and the “prayer practices” appended to each chapter.
June 18, 2022
Review
Broken Hallelujahs is both a lament and an autobiographical account of one woman’s journey in grief. Beth Allen Slevecove writes poignantly with an honesty that is necessary in dealing wisely with grief. Her reflections on her own journey elicit empathy in the readers and are instructive for those also dealing with the progressive loss of a loved one dying or the persistent questions of the justice of suffering and the ability of God who could stop prolonged suffering. The book title is very apt as it epitomizes the tension between trusting God’s goodness (the hallelujahs in the Christian life) and the pain that comes in the brokenness of those who endure loss and grief. The epicenter of Beth’s loss was in the death of her brother, her soul-mate and closest companion, to brain cancer when he was 40. She admits “I was a reluctant pilgrim on the dark journey of terminal illness” (p. 62). But her grief was also in she and her husband’s long, seeming fruitless efforts to have a child, in a business decision that went wrong, in the innumerable” big and smaller loses of life.” After the loss of her brother she notes, “A forest fire had blazed through the landscape of my faith, leaving ashes and singed remnants of a once vibrant Christianity. I needed the help of listening and compassionate friends, the faith and prayers of others, and stories of those who had also suffered and not just survived but whose devastating experiences eventually pushed them into places of growth and beauty. The book ‘smells’ of acrid forest fires and the places of growth and beauty. 5 stars.
Excerpts
“The Psalms of Lament teach me how to pray in the dark. They help me see that God is bigger than both my current felt experiences of God and my past assumptions. There is ample room for doubt, anger and confusion in our journey of faith. Reading the psalms might even lead me to believe that if I don’t come up against some serious loss of faith from time to time, I might be carrying around a very small God” (p. 64).
“Why is the most unhelpful word I can’t stop saying. I have a long history of crying out, “Why?” . .[but] the whys never get me anywhere. They don’t make the situation go away, which is what I’m wanting. “Why?” always disappoints. Fortunately, I eventually give up on the whys and get to the business of reconnecting with the God who is always present. I begin to ask “what” questions, such as “What can I do in this unwanted situation?” Sooner or later the golden “where” question arises: “God, where are you in this?” Which in turn leads me to “how”: “How are you inviting me to be in this?” This often takes time, but it is a way forward in times of loss. These questions remind me that God does the deep work of healing, restoration and rebuilding trust. My job is to try to pay attention (p. 85).
“Are my current understandings about life, God and the world big enough to hold the experiences I am having? Much of the time my perspectives are unconscious – until they stop working. Loss ushers in the need for a new operating system to explore the ways we view the world, to questions what have gone unquestioned, to sift the chaff and seek kernels of truth”(p. 101). “ Real answers, if there are any to be found, tend to be revealed slowly. These things are helpful to know, because it means a little gentleness is needed, a little grace, and wisdom to find the people and resources I need to stay as grounded as possible during difficult times of upheaval” (p.103).
“Even when we are unable to tend our broken hearts, God tends them, perhaps through dreams, comforting lines of Scripture, or poetry, the loving words and deeds of friends, wildflowers appearing in impossible places, and in ways we will never know” (p. 116).
“Grief is physical. Our bodies hold our trauma and unresolved grief and try to tell us when something is not quite right. Grief can manifest itself physically in any number of ways, tightness of muscles, stomach upset, lack of energy, unexplained pains, headaches, an underlying feeling of being ill at ease. . . There are plenty of physical practices to help work out our grief -massage. . .a warm bath. . .a long run, hitting a punching bag or pillow” (pp.163, 168).
“The Grief Recovery Handbook defines forgiveness as giving up the hope of a different or better yesterday”. I release the person or situation from my anger and resentment as best I can, allowing God to carry these things.. . .Forgiveness is. . .journey of letting go. I am much better at holding grudges than forgiving. So I am trying to cling to Christ who said, 'Forgive them, for they know not what they do' while experiencing tremendous suffering at the hands of people who seemed to know exactly what they were doing” (p. 171).
“The need for self-compassion and practical self-care is heightened in times of grief.. . Self-compassion means developing healthy means of self-care. This includes rest, exercise, eating well, connecting with friends and doing things I love. Grief, I’ve found takes energy and is unpredictable; it ebbs and flows. It cares nothing for my schedules or priorities. . . Grief can be a forced retreat, pulling me off the front lines in order to tend to my wounded parts, to reassess, reorganize and realign my life around what is truly important to me. Learning
to love myself means noticing when weariness is creating parched wastelands in my internal landscape and seeking the help I need to get to water...Self-care give us energy to come home to ourselves and return to life” (pp. 185,189).
“I try to begin my day by asking, “God, how do you desire to be with me today?” and “How do you desire for me to be with you?” These simple prayers open my awareness to the myriad ways God pours out blessings and love on me. . .This opens up compassion in me that I believe comes from God and flows both into and through me” (p.189).
Broken Hallelujahs is both a lament and an autobiographical account of one woman’s journey in grief. Beth Allen Slevecove writes poignantly with an honesty that is necessary in dealing wisely with grief. Her reflections on her own journey elicit empathy in the readers and are instructive for those also dealing with the progressive loss of a loved one dying or the persistent questions of the justice of suffering and the ability of God who could stop prolonged suffering. The book title is very apt as it epitomizes the tension between trusting God’s goodness (the hallelujahs in the Christian life) and the pain that comes in the brokenness of those who endure loss and grief. The epicenter of Beth’s loss was in the death of her brother, her soul-mate and closest companion, to brain cancer when he was 40. She admits “I was a reluctant pilgrim on the dark journey of terminal illness” (p. 62). But her grief was also in she and her husband’s long, seeming fruitless efforts to have a child, in a business decision that went wrong, in the innumerable” big and smaller loses of life.” After the loss of her brother she notes, “A forest fire had blazed through the landscape of my faith, leaving ashes and singed remnants of a once vibrant Christianity. I needed the help of listening and compassionate friends, the faith and prayers of others, and stories of those who had also suffered and not just survived but whose devastating experiences eventually pushed them into places of growth and beauty. The book ‘smells’ of acrid forest fires and the places of growth and beauty. 5 stars.
Excerpts
“The Psalms of Lament teach me how to pray in the dark. They help me see that God is bigger than both my current felt experiences of God and my past assumptions. There is ample room for doubt, anger and confusion in our journey of faith. Reading the psalms might even lead me to believe that if I don’t come up against some serious loss of faith from time to time, I might be carrying around a very small God” (p. 64).
“Why is the most unhelpful word I can’t stop saying. I have a long history of crying out, “Why?” . .[but] the whys never get me anywhere. They don’t make the situation go away, which is what I’m wanting. “Why?” always disappoints. Fortunately, I eventually give up on the whys and get to the business of reconnecting with the God who is always present. I begin to ask “what” questions, such as “What can I do in this unwanted situation?” Sooner or later the golden “where” question arises: “God, where are you in this?” Which in turn leads me to “how”: “How are you inviting me to be in this?” This often takes time, but it is a way forward in times of loss. These questions remind me that God does the deep work of healing, restoration and rebuilding trust. My job is to try to pay attention (p. 85).
“Are my current understandings about life, God and the world big enough to hold the experiences I am having? Much of the time my perspectives are unconscious – until they stop working. Loss ushers in the need for a new operating system to explore the ways we view the world, to questions what have gone unquestioned, to sift the chaff and seek kernels of truth”(p. 101). “ Real answers, if there are any to be found, tend to be revealed slowly. These things are helpful to know, because it means a little gentleness is needed, a little grace, and wisdom to find the people and resources I need to stay as grounded as possible during difficult times of upheaval” (p.103).
“Even when we are unable to tend our broken hearts, God tends them, perhaps through dreams, comforting lines of Scripture, or poetry, the loving words and deeds of friends, wildflowers appearing in impossible places, and in ways we will never know” (p. 116).
“Grief is physical. Our bodies hold our trauma and unresolved grief and try to tell us when something is not quite right. Grief can manifest itself physically in any number of ways, tightness of muscles, stomach upset, lack of energy, unexplained pains, headaches, an underlying feeling of being ill at ease. . . There are plenty of physical practices to help work out our grief -massage. . .a warm bath. . .a long run, hitting a punching bag or pillow” (pp.163, 168).
“The Grief Recovery Handbook defines forgiveness as giving up the hope of a different or better yesterday”. I release the person or situation from my anger and resentment as best I can, allowing God to carry these things.. . .Forgiveness is. . .journey of letting go. I am much better at holding grudges than forgiving. So I am trying to cling to Christ who said, 'Forgive them, for they know not what they do' while experiencing tremendous suffering at the hands of people who seemed to know exactly what they were doing” (p. 171).
“The need for self-compassion and practical self-care is heightened in times of grief.. . Self-compassion means developing healthy means of self-care. This includes rest, exercise, eating well, connecting with friends and doing things I love. Grief, I’ve found takes energy and is unpredictable; it ebbs and flows. It cares nothing for my schedules or priorities. . . Grief can be a forced retreat, pulling me off the front lines in order to tend to my wounded parts, to reassess, reorganize and realign my life around what is truly important to me. Learning
to love myself means noticing when weariness is creating parched wastelands in my internal landscape and seeking the help I need to get to water...Self-care give us energy to come home to ourselves and return to life” (pp. 185,189).
“I try to begin my day by asking, “God, how do you desire to be with me today?” and “How do you desire for me to be with you?” These simple prayers open my awareness to the myriad ways God pours out blessings and love on me. . .This opens up compassion in me that I believe comes from God and flows both into and through me” (p.189).
October 31, 2016
One of the best books I have read not only on grief, but also on just going through the adversity and trials of everyday life. She is easy to read and includes the perfect combination of her own experiences, yet she also includes the spiritual overtones the come from her years of being a spiritual director who has guided others through their own mountains and valleys in a way that glorifies God but still upholds the importance of what they are walking through. My favorite part of the book was the various prayer practices that she includes at the end of each chapter that help the reader listen, engage, and connect to God and to their experiences in new ways. I would recommend this to anyone at any stage of life, but esp. to those who are walking through difficult circumstances in their lives right now or in the recent past.
March 28, 2019
Broken Hallelujahs broke me wide open. Beth's honest stories of dealing with the loss of her brother in small pieces as his illness progressed touched me deeply. Her overarching story was filled with bits of grief: loss of mobility, freedom, and expectations. We all deal with loss, but it so often, it deals us a blow which takes us down for years. Her stories and spiritual exercises at each chapter's end vibrantly encourage us all to lean into grief and learn from it. Grief is meant to help us heal.
July 23, 2018
This books is a reflection on grief. I would recommend it wholeheartedly to anyone who had trouble accessing their feelings of grief, as her writing style is not instructional but affective and explorative.
Beth made me want to be a spiritual director. I loved the prayer exercises at the end of each chapter—they are designed for personal reflection and to help a person get in touch with the Lord. I would use these as homework with Christian clients.
Beth made me want to be a spiritual director. I loved the prayer exercises at the end of each chapter—they are designed for personal reflection and to help a person get in touch with the Lord. I would use these as homework with Christian clients.
September 4, 2016
I feel like I've spent a few days with someone who "gets it". Lovely and honest stories. Loved the spiritual practices at the end of each chapter.
December 31, 2024
I could write as one reader did: Slevcoe gets it (because she does). However, I'll include how the book meets my 5 star rating, and two brief stories on how the book ended up connecting to my life because of her in-laws and a story told by my college poetry professor. The book definitely connected via the grief, but it is always nice when something less sad also connects.
First, I learned of this book because Larry Warner quotes Slevcoe in his book Journey with Grief, Navigating the First Year (another book I highly recommend). When I ordered Slevcoe's book, I thought: Wow, when I was growing up I knew some Slevcoes. It's not a common name. When Slevcoe gets to the point in her story where she meets her husband, I knew it was the same Slevcoes (which brought a little distracting joy into my family as we reminisced about the Slevcoe family).
However, knowing the author's in-laws was not why I will keep her book around. I like her narrative style of writing (some did not). Most of all, I wanted to read a book where someone had a loved one who died (she did--her brother) and understood what a tough journey grief is. Her prayer practices raised the level of her book above other books on grief. As for those who thought she wasn't scripturally based enough: pfft! (translation: not so). As someone who loves to read, I loved that she quotes (and gives credit to) so many other of my beloved writers.
Which brings me to her Ranier Maria Rilke quote on page 34: "the love that consists in this: that two solitudes protect, and border, and greet each other." Many years ago, a college professor told our class the story of how he was officiating at a wedding of a former student. He had chosen a Rilke poem, something about kites flying off to God knows where, I believe. His wife took one look at what he was going to say and rewrote his message thus saving the wedding ceremony (and all of us in his class instantly fell in love with his wife). When I saw this Rilke quote in Slevcoe's book, I thought: why didn't he choose this one? Now this was a long time ago and maybe the professor was quoting Neruda and not Rilke, but still the question stands, "Why not this passage from Rilke instead?" I love books where the author's life and my life seem to intertwine.
Slevcoe does use the darkness metaphor...a lot. Whenever an author does that, I try to think what could she have used instead. On page 54, she writes: "Darkness crept into my spirit..." Why not "gloom" or "fear" or a host of other more specific words. That happens to be the page where she also share a story of when she and her brother saw tiny bioluminescent marine plankton. In that case, the use of dark is truly a physical darkness and it makes sense (and does no harm). On the other hand, Slevcoe has a beautiful picture of darkness on page 131: "I was beginning to see God in the dark and to remember that I love the dark. Darkness, after all, is a place of intimacy, as any lover or mystic knows."
Would my mother read the book? Maybe. She knew Slevcoe's mother-in-law and my mom might like the narrative style of writing. My mom would get the allusions to Finding Nemo and maybe not get the "second icon of hope" that Slevcoe got from The Cloud of Unknowing.
I have and do recommend the book, and I have bought the book for myself and others so that's why I give it 5 stars.
First, I learned of this book because Larry Warner quotes Slevcoe in his book Journey with Grief, Navigating the First Year (another book I highly recommend). When I ordered Slevcoe's book, I thought: Wow, when I was growing up I knew some Slevcoes. It's not a common name. When Slevcoe gets to the point in her story where she meets her husband, I knew it was the same Slevcoes (which brought a little distracting joy into my family as we reminisced about the Slevcoe family).
However, knowing the author's in-laws was not why I will keep her book around. I like her narrative style of writing (some did not). Most of all, I wanted to read a book where someone had a loved one who died (she did--her brother) and understood what a tough journey grief is. Her prayer practices raised the level of her book above other books on grief. As for those who thought she wasn't scripturally based enough: pfft! (translation: not so). As someone who loves to read, I loved that she quotes (and gives credit to) so many other of my beloved writers.
Which brings me to her Ranier Maria Rilke quote on page 34: "the love that consists in this: that two solitudes protect, and border, and greet each other." Many years ago, a college professor told our class the story of how he was officiating at a wedding of a former student. He had chosen a Rilke poem, something about kites flying off to God knows where, I believe. His wife took one look at what he was going to say and rewrote his message thus saving the wedding ceremony (and all of us in his class instantly fell in love with his wife). When I saw this Rilke quote in Slevcoe's book, I thought: why didn't he choose this one? Now this was a long time ago and maybe the professor was quoting Neruda and not Rilke, but still the question stands, "Why not this passage from Rilke instead?" I love books where the author's life and my life seem to intertwine.
Slevcoe does use the darkness metaphor...a lot. Whenever an author does that, I try to think what could she have used instead. On page 54, she writes: "Darkness crept into my spirit..." Why not "gloom" or "fear" or a host of other more specific words. That happens to be the page where she also share a story of when she and her brother saw tiny bioluminescent marine plankton. In that case, the use of dark is truly a physical darkness and it makes sense (and does no harm). On the other hand, Slevcoe has a beautiful picture of darkness on page 131: "I was beginning to see God in the dark and to remember that I love the dark. Darkness, after all, is a place of intimacy, as any lover or mystic knows."
Would my mother read the book? Maybe. She knew Slevcoe's mother-in-law and my mom might like the narrative style of writing. My mom would get the allusions to Finding Nemo and maybe not get the "second icon of hope" that Slevcoe got from The Cloud of Unknowing.
I have and do recommend the book, and I have bought the book for myself and others so that's why I give it 5 stars.
May 5, 2017
This is a deeply thoughtful exploration of life and grief by a woman who has experienced loss in many forms. The first part of the book offers chapters that are primarily narrative explaining her losses. Parts two and three offer reflections for integration, first by going deep into the experiences of loss and then by finding ways to integrate those experiences into living with new awareness. I found that I read part one quickly, completely adsorbed in Slevcove's compelling narrative. But then the real invitations of the book unfolded in the chapters exploring (rather than avoiding) loss, followed by those offerings thoughts and experiences of finding hope and beauty in the world. I teach a course on the Spirituality of Dying and Death and up until now have avoided the subject of grief in large part because many approaches talk about "recovery" from grief. That makes it sound like grief is a disease and a state to move out of as soon as possible. This book will now go into the syllabus as a down-to-earth approach to navigating loss of all kinds (not just death) and integrating the lessons of loss into a life that is richer and grounded in wisdom.
May 17, 2016
Beyond the Happy Hallelujah
On New Year’s Eve 2015, our family had gathered with friends for our traditional celebration, but I had decided to shake things up a tiny bit. Yes, we would eat goodies and play games and laugh at our crazy kids as usual, but I had found a list of thoughtful questions for us to ponder. One of them stopped me in my tracks, because, without hesitation, my husband and I gave the identical answer — in unison: With what word would you describe 2015?
“Disappointment,” we both said, and now, having read Broken Hallelujahs by Beth Slevcove, I can’t help but wish that the book had been written a year sooner, for Beth looks squarely at the truth that for most of our lives, we are living on “Holy Saturday,” waiting for a resurrection and walking in a hope that feels, at times, beyond hope. Her journey began with multiple stories playing out in her life at the same time: her brother’s diagnosis with brain cancer; his decline and eventual death; an on-going struggle with infertility; the realization that rheumatoid arthritis would limit her activity level and cause chronic pain; and a crashing economy that took her family business into bankruptcy.
Beth’s poignant memoir of grief and waiting moves beside a parallel narrative of spiritual formation. “God, are you kidding?” became Beth’s prayer and anthem of loss, sung as she groped toward enough light to stay on the way of faith. I especially appreciated her admission that her practical theology had centered around a cause-and-effect-vending-machine God. Disappointment and unmet expectations led, eventually, to a howling lament that opened her ears to the sound of her losses, and, like the psalmists who poured out their sad hearts before God, she found that the “answer” to her cry was not an answer at all but a Person. In learning how to pray out of that place of depletion, Beth realized that prayer postures can be a wordless connection, an expression in themselves of “openness, vulnerability, acceptance . . . submission, humility, and repentance.”
At the end of each chapter, Beth challenges her readers to dig deeper in a “here’s what worked for me” tone through exercises that require three healing behaviors:
Listening to your body, to your desires and emotions, to your places of poverty and neglect.
Engaging through projects that foster creativity, movement of the body, prayer practices, self-examination, and through questions that reflect on past behaviors and habits.
Connecting with God through heightened awareness of His love and His trustworthiness; entering into intensely personal communication with God without fear.
There is a tendency in Christian circles to soldier through grief and to minimize wounds and feelings of loss. An example close at hand comes with my New Year’s Eve story, for right away I was tempted to reassure you that my family is blessed beyond measure and that our tiny disappointments of 2015 were minor compared with those of others we know (and maybe yours). We minimize our feelings “as if each of us is only allotted a small amount of grief and we had better put it to good use on something really important.” Allowing ourselves to feel authentically opens our hearts to “see the beauty, feel the joy, hear the laughter, and be touched by God’s innumerable graces that course through our veins and sneak into our circumstances.”
The truth of Broken Hallelujahs is that we are constantly being called upon to hold simultaneously two irreconcilable conditions in our mind and heart: the way things should be and the way things are on this fallen planet. Transformation and wholeness will come, but NOT through giving up on the beauty and order that we long for, NOR by stuffing our disappointment.
As a spiritual director, Beth Slevcove is uniquely positioned to share not only her own experience of healing out of grief, but also her observations of others’ creative engagement with loss, their process of making room for hope. For instance, at the first hint of loss, my mind wants to start launching questions toward the heavens, and this is fine — except that I tend to ask unhelpful “why’s.” Acknowledging the loss while affirming the presence of God (with me in the vacuum) leads to more helpful “what” questions (“What can I do in this unwanted situation?”); “where” questions (“God, where are you in this?”); and “how” questions (“How are you inviting me to be in this?”). This kind of fact-finding demonstrates that I am paying attention to what God wants to do with a situation that feels like chaos to me. Can I trust God’s motives?
Our hearts long for a depth of spiritual discernment that will enable us to hear the voice of God and follow with certainty. We dread the hurt and disappointment at the end of rabbit trails that we thought were “The Way Home.” Our broken hallelujahs, sung by and with the suffering during these days of shadows and longing, will find their way to a full-throated “grief-enriched” hallelujah — not in spite of our suffering, but because of it.
//
This book was provided by IVP Books, an imprint of InterVarsity Press, in exchange for my review. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”
On New Year’s Eve 2015, our family had gathered with friends for our traditional celebration, but I had decided to shake things up a tiny bit. Yes, we would eat goodies and play games and laugh at our crazy kids as usual, but I had found a list of thoughtful questions for us to ponder. One of them stopped me in my tracks, because, without hesitation, my husband and I gave the identical answer — in unison: With what word would you describe 2015?
“Disappointment,” we both said, and now, having read Broken Hallelujahs by Beth Slevcove, I can’t help but wish that the book had been written a year sooner, for Beth looks squarely at the truth that for most of our lives, we are living on “Holy Saturday,” waiting for a resurrection and walking in a hope that feels, at times, beyond hope. Her journey began with multiple stories playing out in her life at the same time: her brother’s diagnosis with brain cancer; his decline and eventual death; an on-going struggle with infertility; the realization that rheumatoid arthritis would limit her activity level and cause chronic pain; and a crashing economy that took her family business into bankruptcy.
Beth’s poignant memoir of grief and waiting moves beside a parallel narrative of spiritual formation. “God, are you kidding?” became Beth’s prayer and anthem of loss, sung as she groped toward enough light to stay on the way of faith. I especially appreciated her admission that her practical theology had centered around a cause-and-effect-vending-machine God. Disappointment and unmet expectations led, eventually, to a howling lament that opened her ears to the sound of her losses, and, like the psalmists who poured out their sad hearts before God, she found that the “answer” to her cry was not an answer at all but a Person. In learning how to pray out of that place of depletion, Beth realized that prayer postures can be a wordless connection, an expression in themselves of “openness, vulnerability, acceptance . . . submission, humility, and repentance.”
At the end of each chapter, Beth challenges her readers to dig deeper in a “here’s what worked for me” tone through exercises that require three healing behaviors:
Listening to your body, to your desires and emotions, to your places of poverty and neglect.
Engaging through projects that foster creativity, movement of the body, prayer practices, self-examination, and through questions that reflect on past behaviors and habits.
Connecting with God through heightened awareness of His love and His trustworthiness; entering into intensely personal communication with God without fear.
There is a tendency in Christian circles to soldier through grief and to minimize wounds and feelings of loss. An example close at hand comes with my New Year’s Eve story, for right away I was tempted to reassure you that my family is blessed beyond measure and that our tiny disappointments of 2015 were minor compared with those of others we know (and maybe yours). We minimize our feelings “as if each of us is only allotted a small amount of grief and we had better put it to good use on something really important.” Allowing ourselves to feel authentically opens our hearts to “see the beauty, feel the joy, hear the laughter, and be touched by God’s innumerable graces that course through our veins and sneak into our circumstances.”
The truth of Broken Hallelujahs is that we are constantly being called upon to hold simultaneously two irreconcilable conditions in our mind and heart: the way things should be and the way things are on this fallen planet. Transformation and wholeness will come, but NOT through giving up on the beauty and order that we long for, NOR by stuffing our disappointment.
As a spiritual director, Beth Slevcove is uniquely positioned to share not only her own experience of healing out of grief, but also her observations of others’ creative engagement with loss, their process of making room for hope. For instance, at the first hint of loss, my mind wants to start launching questions toward the heavens, and this is fine — except that I tend to ask unhelpful “why’s.” Acknowledging the loss while affirming the presence of God (with me in the vacuum) leads to more helpful “what” questions (“What can I do in this unwanted situation?”); “where” questions (“God, where are you in this?”); and “how” questions (“How are you inviting me to be in this?”). This kind of fact-finding demonstrates that I am paying attention to what God wants to do with a situation that feels like chaos to me. Can I trust God’s motives?
Our hearts long for a depth of spiritual discernment that will enable us to hear the voice of God and follow with certainty. We dread the hurt and disappointment at the end of rabbit trails that we thought were “The Way Home.” Our broken hallelujahs, sung by and with the suffering during these days of shadows and longing, will find their way to a full-throated “grief-enriched” hallelujah — not in spite of our suffering, but because of it.
//
This book was provided by IVP Books, an imprint of InterVarsity Press, in exchange for my review. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”
June 28, 2017
The book is actually best suited for a small discussion group setting or for someone working through their grief on their own. I didn't learn anything new here but she condenses a lot of important information on processing grief. For me personally, it felt too pat. I prefer more jagged and unresolved emotions in my writers, like Kathleen Norris.
April 21, 2019
This book was truly salve for my soul. I am in my first year overseas as a missionary in a developing country and my heart is grieving in more ways than I could ever imagine. This book balances, experience, truth, and application, surrounding grief, loss, and faith so well. I will forever be grateful for this book.
September 27, 2023
A Grateful Journey
I love how Beth weaves her story in-between profound truths revealing complexities within the simplicity of life. I am sure I will return to this story while reflecting on my own grief and losses as an inspiration to God always being our shared traveling companion.
I love how Beth weaves her story in-between profound truths revealing complexities within the simplicity of life. I am sure I will return to this story while reflecting on my own grief and losses as an inspiration to God always being our shared traveling companion.
March 3, 2022
Just the book I needed during the pandemic! Her vulnerable writing as well as practical practices at the end of each chapter met me right where I was and gave me some new perspectives on how to address my suffering.
May 30, 2022
Just the right time for me...
We all have our broken hallelujahs, but Slevcove helped me in my own version to come to grips with a few things. I especially enjoyed the story of how she cam about getting a tattoo! May we all be so bold in sorting through things.
We all have our broken hallelujahs, but Slevcove helped me in my own version to come to grips with a few things. I especially enjoyed the story of how she cam about getting a tattoo! May we all be so bold in sorting through things.
March 4, 2017
Wisdom and practical advice for grieving the hard and sad losses of life.
August 15, 2016
“We can’t grieve until we’re able to recognise our love for what is lost. Then comes the process of learning to love what remains” – Beth Allen Slevcove
This book is remarkable – a book about grief that’s personal yet intelligent; rigorous yet highly readable; honest about grief yet positive. She writes engagingly, interweaving her own experience with good psychological and emotional wisdom, and because she’s a qualified Spiritual Director, her creative exercises and prayer suggestions at the end of each chapter are incredibly helpful and transformative.
It’s good for people who’ve experienced any loss at all (e.g. job, hopes, health etc), not just the death of a friend or relative. She’s someone who has been into the pit and out the other side, and it drips with gentleness and heavenly wisdom. Highly recommended.
This book is remarkable – a book about grief that’s personal yet intelligent; rigorous yet highly readable; honest about grief yet positive. She writes engagingly, interweaving her own experience with good psychological and emotional wisdom, and because she’s a qualified Spiritual Director, her creative exercises and prayer suggestions at the end of each chapter are incredibly helpful and transformative.
It’s good for people who’ve experienced any loss at all (e.g. job, hopes, health etc), not just the death of a friend or relative. She’s someone who has been into the pit and out the other side, and it drips with gentleness and heavenly wisdom. Highly recommended.
April 16, 2016
Beth is so open and honest as she shares her life and struggles as well as those of her family. At the end of every chapter there is a very special section called "Prayer Practice" which includes the subtopics of "Listen", Engage", and "Connect". She poses questions and provides guidance in a variety of ways that would enable one to begin to address the hurt and begin the healing process. For me the book was a page turner and both inspirational and practical. it is well written and engaging. This could serve as a resource for spiritual directors, chaplains, pastoral ministers and many more who provide assistance to those who are grieving the large and smaller losses that we have all experienced.
March 1, 2016
If you are looking for a book that will speak to you then you don't have to look anymore. This book has a lot of WOW'S in it. The author Beth Allen Slevcove, understands what loss is. She had loss of family, her brother dies and she also has health loss. She and her husband both have health issues that will change their lives. As I was reading this book I found myself relating to this author in so many ways and areas. I highly recommend this book.
April 3, 2016
This book is a rare gift. It is not often that I read a book cover to cover in one sitting, but I just could not put this one down. So much food for thought and so tenderly written.
June 3, 2016
A little disjointed organizationally, she has beautiful nuggets of wisdom. I also appreciated how her Lutheran theology and eye for spiritual direction co-mingled.
April 18, 2017
One of the things our culture does not to well is make space for grief, big and small. I love this book. Real but not sappy. Practical but not trite.
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