Most of us, at one time or another, have been faced with the
challenge of offering comfort and support in a time of tragedy. In
times like this, many of us opt for a conventional caregiving
approach that first tries to settle the mourner down emotionally,
then moves to the
”
fix-it
”
/
”
make it better
”
stage where wise counsel is offered. With this accomplished, it
is assumed that with the passing of time, the sorrowing person will
be back to normal.
Most of us, at one time or another, have been faced with the challenge of offering comfort and support in a time of tragedy. In times like this, many of us opt for a conventional caregiving approach that first tries to settle the mourner down emotionally, then moves to the “fix-it”/”make it better” stage where wise counsel is offered. With this accomplished, it is assumed that with the passing of time, the sorrowing person will be back to normal.
The conventional approach, while popular, is a miserable failure when it comes to actually giving care. Last week we looked at two steps of an alternate approach, one that can actually give our loved one the care they need and yearn for. First, instead of trying to help the grieving person get their emotions under control, allow them to grieve as deeply as they wish.
Then, instead of trying to hastily “fix” the loss so they can hydroplane over the pain, allow them time to understand what God is trying to teach them through the tragedy. Allow God to do His work in the broken heart, realizing that some of life’s richest, deepest discoveries are only made in the laboratory of loss.
Step three in God’s approach to comfort giving is to resist giving advice. Realize that hurting people will have great difficulty hearing your wisdom. Pain numbs us to counsel. Job’s friends did at least one thing right: “They sat on the ground with him for seven days and nights and no one said a word, for they saw that his suffering was too great for words” (Job 2:13).
In reflecting on my own list of things I say at such times, I can reduce them down to four little phrases:
The first words I usually say are, “I’m so sorry…” Despite all the years I’ve had people come to me for support, that little phrase is about the only honest one I can offer.
After they ask the inevitable “why” question, I usually find myself saying the second phrase: “I don’t know.” I don’t know why some die at 80 and others at eight. I don’t know why some cancers go into remission and some don’t. Sure, we could have a long philosophical discussion about the nature of pain and evil and mortality, but when someone is in the midst of that pain is not the time to have that discussion.
My third phrase is usually, “But God cares…” I may not know why something terrible happened, but I do know this: God cares. God cares more for you and I than we can even imagine.
The fourth phrase I find myself saying is, “What can I do to help?” This is my way of trying to find out if there is a practical way I can serve them in accordance God’s instruction to, “Share each other’s burdens and thus fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2). On a practical level, there may be many needs: food, childcare, transportation, money, hospital or funeral arrangements… caregivers would do well to focus on areas where we can really help.
Let me touch on another contrast between conventional caregiving and God’s way: Instead of a “hit-and-run” approach to caregiving (a “say your words, send your cards and be done” approach), spread your care out over a long period of time, knowing that the most painful time is often much later. Touch bases in a week and in a month and in two months and so forth. In contrast with the hit-and-run approach, this is a “I will walk with you as long as this lasts” approach.
Which brings us to a final contrast: Instead of thinking that a little time will take care of everything, realize that just “time” will never heal some losses. Some losses change us for the rest of our life. Godly comfort-givers never assume that time will magically heal all wounds and know that deep losses leave us different than when they found us. I lost my Dad to cancer almost 25 years ago, but I’ll never be the same as I was before and neither will my Mom who lost her husband of 30 years. And that’s OK, because above and beyond the fact that life is short and has its pains, there are bigger lessons to be learned.
None of us will escape this life without painful losses, but sorrow doesn’t have to make us less – it can enlarge our soul and give us clarity by helping us sort out what is important in this world and what is not. It can lead us to simpler lives that are less cluttered with nonessentials.
May the Lord’s grace and peace be yours when you next experience loss, and may He give you wisdom and discernment when you are called upon to reflect His love to others who are grieving.
