[SPOILER ALERT] I admit that this blog may not speak to all readers. Our point of departure – the PBS phenomenon “Downton Abbey” – clearly excludes those who do not partake but the larger theme is universal. “Lady Mary” may be a stranger but grief, for most of us, is an old friend or a recent acquaintance.
The two-hour season premiere was satisfying on several levels. First, the length itself was a gift. After months of waiting and wondering how the family would go on without “Matthew,” having a nice, long catch-up felt just right. We find them all well – with the exception of “Lady Mary” whose sorrow is palpable. Fair-skinned from the get-go, she now looks positively lifeless – what someone on my Twitter feed called, “’Downton Abbey’ meets ‘The Walking Dead’.”[1] Dressed head-to-toe in obligatory black, Lady Mary embodies grief – gives sorrow a face and a name. It is six months since the tragic death of her young husband and the birth of her firstborn child. The proximity of those two events has impacted her ability to bond with the baby. He is, at once, a reminder of her loss and her perceived helplessness. We cannot say there is a failure to bond but, rather, a failure to trust her own capacity for good. “Lady Mary” is a mess – inside and out – and we are relieved to see it. Her loving family does what all families do. They give her time and space to do the work of grieving. She exists on an emotional island within the mandatory calm sea of British upper class life. When her sorrow spills over into the staid and staged perfection of the dining room, no one blames “Mary” but their discomfort with any human emotion holds true here – especially if the servants are watching!
Here’s what I loved about this episode:
– Most dramas show the shock and horror of death. Few show the aftermath – the everyday battle to get up and get dressed in a world without the person we love.
– The practice of wearing black actually made sense to me. It warns the world that one has experienced a tear in the fabric of the heart. It gives the mourner a break from re-telling the story of loss over and over. It gives the grieving person a vestment for the season of their sorrow. When it is put aside there is a clear signal that the rock has been rolled away – that one is ready to live again.
– “Lady Mary’s” grief is holy – a sacrament of the love she had for her husband. The love honored at marriage must be honored again in separation. If one is changed by the love of the other, one is most profoundly changed by the loss. It is the thing all married people fear – the day when “’til death do us part” becomes reality.
– No one rushes “Lady Mary.” They all seem to understand that grief has its own timetable. This does not stop those closest to her from turning on the light in her darkness. “Tom,” her brother-in-law who lost his wife in childbirth, understands her grief. He, of all, seems to understand that someone needs to extend a hand – point to the light so she can find her way back to the land of the living. Her grandmother, too, recognizes that the time has come to “choose life.” This is, perhaps, the only scriptural reference in the story, but it is most powerful and effective. Dear “Carson,” beloved butler, goes way out on a limb to encourage “Lady Mary” to take up her husbands dream and feels the branch crack beneath him. It is risky to poke the sorrowful soul. It takes courage and great love to walk into that sacred space. Grief can quickly morph into a grease fire of anger and resentment. The people who really love us understand the risks and will meet us halfway no matter.
– I love that “Carson,” the Head Butler of the household, gets his own storyline of love and loss. His icy anger toward an old friend reveals a deep wound that time has not healed. His loss, though ancient, requires attention. His pain bubbles to the surface and subsides only as he is able to face it, embrace it and let it go. His grief story teaches us that love and loss change us in equal measure and that both require ritual and reverence.
I am deeply satisfied with this story. Do I wish there were a more substantial place for faith in the heart of this family? Certainly. The Church of England seems to appear only in case of death or baptism. Still, there is something about this family that feels like “church.” Like many families today who seem to have religion on the periphery of life, their love for each other is their experience of God. Their joys and sorrows tell a Gospel story all their own. Within their little, privileged British world, we find ourselves drawn into their experience of the Paschal Mystery where new life breaks through the sacrament of grief. We are drawn there because we have all been there. When a story tells the truth about what it means to be human, we cannot look away.
Blessings and love to you all…
Vicki
[1] The Rev. Gay C. Jennings @gaycjen
God is Always More 