In this world we are not immune from suffering and tragedy. Jesus said as much when he called attention to the untimely deaths of thirteen people who were crushed when a tower fell on them. He implied that such events are not unexpected (Luke 13:4). The victims of this calamity were examples of what it means to live in a dangerous world.
On countless occasions I have been asked to be with people who were suffering or grieving. I have seen families huddled together in hospital emergency rooms praying for a loved one to survive an automobile crash. I have wept with parents whose children have died. I have tried to find words to help a little girl understand why her daddy will never come home again. I have sat with a young wife whose husband had committed suicide in their living room.
What does one say?
Perhaps a better question is what should one not say? Once I was asked to visit friends who were mourning the tragic death of a family member. Another pastor was present. He began to recite Bible verses about God’s comfort in sorrow, about heaven, about how God has a purpose in everything. He forged ahead, seemingly oblivious to their anguish. It was as if he was processing his own sorrow at their expense.
I could not help but think of a phrase from Ecclesiastes, “There is a time to be silent and a time to speak” (Ecclesiastes 3:7). This was a time to allow a family to mourn, and to mourn with them. But this well-intentioned brother went on spouting one religious platitude after another. It seemed that their grief was compounded, not relieved, by his incessant words.
No doubt I have done the same thing, forgetting that “the quiet words of the wise are more to be heeded than the shouts of a ruler of fools” (Ecclesiastes 9:17). I am sure there have been occasions when I was the “fool who multiplies words” (Ecclesiastes 10:14).
Job had lost everything, his children, his wealth, his health. His story is the classic biblical example of the problem of suffering. He had three friends who came to see him. They got it right — until they didn’t. They tried to comfort Job by sitting with him for seven days without saying much of anything. But when they opened their mouths, they ruined everything.
Joseph Bayly wrote about a better way to help those touched by tragedy. He described his personal grief in the book A View from a Hearse. He had lost three sons who died at different times under tragic circumstances. He related an incident that illustrates what I am trying to say. There are times when a ministry of presence is what is needed when tragedy strikes.
Bayly wrote, “I was sitting, torn by grief. Someone came and talked to me of God’s dealings, of why it happened, of hope beyond the grave. He talked constantly. He said things I knew were true.
“I was unmoved, except to wish he would go away. He finally did.
“Another came and sat beside me. He didn’t talk. He didn’t ask leading questions. He just sat beside me for an hour and more, listened when I said something, answered briefly, prayed simply, left.
“I was moved. I was comforted. I hated to see him go.”
The words of one of my seminary professors have stayed with me. I have remembered them in countless pastoral situations. The words are, “Be there.” Sometimes all that is required when a friend is hurting is that we show up.
Over the years people have told me things like, “I have never forgotten how you came to see me when my baby died.” Or “You showed up at the hospital when I had my heart attack.” People do not often remember what we say, but they remember that we cared enough to come. The Holy Spirit works powerfully even when there are no words.
Pastor Randy Faulkner