Unrequited Love and the God Who Sees

For Pastors, carriers of the hidden grief of collective unrequited love.

Unrequited Love

During the summer of 2018, I had the incredible opportunity to accompany David Whyte¹ and around 25 other individuals, all strangers hailing from different corners of the globe, on a memorable walking tour through the enchanting Lake District in the Fells of Northern England. The experience was nothing short of magical and profoundly transformative. In anticipation of the journey, I immersed myself in his poetry, and there was one particular poem entitled “Blessing for Unrequited Love” that deeply moved me every time I read it.² However, I couldn't pinpoint the exact reason behind my emotional response. It was confounding. 

David and I in the glorious Fells of the Lake District, Northern England. June 2018.

During the journey David Whyte recited the same poignant poem, once again evoking tears in my eyes. Afterward, he encouraged us to share our thoughts with the person seated beside us. As fate would have it, I found myself next to a fellow pilgrim who also happened to be a therapist. Interestingly, she was already familiar with my story, as several years prior, while visiting San Francisco, she had stumbled upon City Church and had since become a devoted listener to our podcasts/sermons. On the first day of our pilgrimage, she mentioned that she had been following my journey, particularly referencing the significant events in 2015 when our church embraced LGBTQ affirmation, and the subsequent challenges and fallout we faced.³ She leaned forward and said, “I’ve been following you and I know what you have been through”.  

So, here we are a few days later talking about this poem. I confided in her, saying, "I can't quite fathom why this poem affects me so deeply. I have a loving spouse, wonderful friendships, and have experienced reciprocal love." She gazed at me and responded, "Unrequited love isn't limited to individual experiences; it can also manifest collectively. Who else in this room, or almost anybody, has such a unique psychological event as having hundreds of people vanish from your life in a single day?  That kind of event can  leave profound marks." As she spoke those words, everything suddenly clicked into place. 

Recently, I shared this experience with my Spiritual Director. He offered a comforting insight, saying, "Grief has its own timetable; it just needs to be respected and acknowledged when it surfaces." At that moment, with her loving and nonjudgmental presence, my tears of grief became a significant step forward in my healing journey toward recovery.

The God Who Sees Me

During that moment, I shared with my Spiritual Director the profound sense of being seen, drawing parallels to the story of Hagar in the Hebrew Scriptures. Despite Hagar's own overwhelming grief, she named God "El Roi," which means "the God who sees me."⁴ This name holds tremendous significance for me and has now become central to my spiritual practice and when assisting those I guide and support.

Through my experiences coaching and consulting with pastors, I have come to understand that one of the most significant hidden griefs they carry is the phenomenon of people disappearing from their lives, commonly called ‘ghosting’, without a word. This occurrence is present in every church, regardless of its theological orientation – be it conservative, progressive, or any other. We implemented substantial changes that exacerbated this dynamic⁵, but the reality remains that every pastor must be prepared to be 'ghosted' numerous times throughout their ministry careers. 

While all individuals in listening professions (coaches, pastors, therapists, spiritual directors.) experience ghosting, it hits the hardest for pastors. Unlike therapists and coaches, pastors often develop close friendships with those who ghost them. They play significant roles in people's lives, baptizing their children, providing support during their darkest times, conducting funeral services for their loved ones, and offering countless prayers on their behalf.  And then, in the blink of an eye, they simply vanish. Pastors wonder if all of their relationships are simply transactional.  They feel expendable. They feel used. 

The impact of such actions on the soul of a pastor should not be underestimated. Pastors are not immune to emotions; they too need community and support, just like anyone else. The pain caused by being ghosted runs deep and leaves profound wounds. Ask their spouses, they know all too well.  And you wonder why a pastor like me would love the first name given to God in the Scriptures.  El Roi.  The God who sees me. 

Everything Belongs, as Richard Rohr has taught me. Being OK and sadness can and do co-exist. It never occurred to me to simply bless unrequited love.

A BLESSING FOR UNREQUITED LOVE

A blessing on the eyes that do not see me as I wish,
A blessing to the ears that can ever hear the far inward
football of my own shy heart. A blessing for the life
in you that will live without me, to see the open door
that now and forever takes you away from me;
blessings to the path that you follow alone and blessings
to the path that awaits you, joining with another.

A blessing for the way you will not know me
in the years to come, and with it, a blind outstretched
blessing of my hands on anything or anyone
that cannot ever come to know me fully as I am,
and therefore, a blessing even, for the way I can
never fully know myself, above all, the deepest, kindest
wishes for my own hidden and untrammeled heart
for what you had to hide from me, in you.

Let me be generous enough and large enough
and brave enough to say goodbye to you without understanding,
to let you go into your own unspoken understanding.
May you always live in the sweet central, hidden shadow
of my memory without needing to know who you were
when you first came, who you were when you stayed
and who you might become in your freedom, now that
you are passed through my life and gone.

…

From THE BELL AND THE BLACKBIRD
© DAVID WHYTE AND MANY RIVER PRESS 

1. David Whyte is an internationally renowned poet and author, and a scintillating and moving speaker. You can delve into his work at https://davidwhyte.com/

2.  Whyte writes: “In this poem, I set myself the task of praising that most difficult and unpraiseworthy of states: not being seen, not being appreciated, and most certainly not being loved by the one whom we see, we appreciate and we love. Unrequited love is a poignant state of heartbreak, with no remedy, despite our best hopes to win them over with another revelation regarding the depth of our affections. But it is a heartbreak mirrored in the very intimate and necessary art of being able to see, to appreciate, and to come to love ourselves. A blessing then, for unrequited love.”

3.  Our move to welcome LGBTQ persons into full participation in the life of our church cut our church in half, both in terms of people and budget. 

4. The tragic story of Hagar can be found in Genesis 16-21.  Abraham and Sarah ‘colonize the body of Hagar to gestate their hopes’ in the words of Wil Gafney in her majestic work, Womanist Midrash. After being brutalized by Sarai (her oppression of Hagar and Egypt’s oppression of Israel are described with the same Hebrew word) Hagar liberates herself and runs away with her child to the wilderness. There God meets her in her distress, and calls Yahweh, El Roi - “the God who sees me”. Hagar is the only person in the canon to give God a name.

5.  Some took the time to have a leaving conversation with me, for which I’m grateful. As uncomfortable as those conversations may have been, the relationship was usually preserved, if desired on their part.