THE ROAD TO HURT IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS
As a
pastor, I often find myself in the company of the bereaved. Death is, ironically, a part of life that has
or will affect us all. And yet oftentimes
we find ourselves at a loss for words when someone we know has just lost a
loved one. This loss for words, coupled
with our desire to comfort the grieving, often produces statements that have
the opposite effect of what we intended them to have. In other words, in our effort to help, we can
often hurt. Over the years I have
collected a list of some of the most damaging though well-intended things
people have said to those who have experienced a recent loss.
“Everything happens for a reason.” At its most basic value, this statement is true. However, the “reason” may be nothing more
than the fact that we live in a world broken by sin in which bad things happen in
the midst of a twisted creation. Nor was it "part of God's will." Death
was never a part of God’s original plan for mankind, but sin crept in, and
death is penultimate result. Knowing
this truth is not going to provide much comfort to the survivor; in fact, by
implication, you might actually lead the grieving to believe that they lost
their loved one because of something specific they or their loved one did or
did not do. While trying to give them
perspective, you might actually give them greater confusion, guilt, or anger.
“Heaven has another angel.” I hear this a lot, and I cringe every time I
do. In the first place, it’s bad
theology. I suppose the thinking comes
from Jesus’ statement that those in the age to come will “be like the angels in
heaven” (Matthew 16:27; Mark 12:25).
However, the context is about whether or not humans will be married in
heaven, not about what we become. Paul
tells us in 1 Corinthians 6:3 that we will actually judge angels, not become
them. Much akin to this is the notion
that our loved ones are now “watching over us,” as if they have become our
personal guardian angels. Again, there
is no supporting Scripture for such an idea, and it seems to fly in the face of
the dead in Christ being in paradise as they await reunion with us. Is it paradise to helplessly watch over us as
we continue to mourn, to make bad and painful decisions, to grow old, grow
sick, suffer, and eventually die ourselves?
This does not sound like a pleasant experience to me.
“Only the good die young.” Great song, bad thinking. Gang-bangers, Cartel members, and drugged-out
celebrities also die young. And how
exactly does this offer comfort to the bereaved? Is the lesson to raise up godless children so
they’ll live a long life? Should we pray
for our children to be untalented and unskilled? Are we the cause of a life cut short because
we pushed them to excellence?
“God wanted them more up there than he did
down here.” This is probably the
one that most makes me have to restrain myself from tackling people at
funerals. It makes God out to be a
capricious monster who felt one more soul among the countless myriads of others
in his courts was more important to him than a parent, spouse, child was to
someone here. Seeing people suffer from
the loss of a close loved one breaks God’s heart (John 11:32-35). God does not use death as a tool to pad his
numbers in heaven; Christ died to put an end to death once and for all.
“God doesn’t give you more than you can
handle.” Again, this is terrible
theology. God can and often does give us
more than we can handle . . . on our own.
But we serve a God who is there, who will be with us every step of the
way, no matter how painful or crushing the journey may get. This is also a roundabout way of telling
someone to “suck it up;” if God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, why
are you such a mess over this?
“It will get better with time.” Possibly true. Not helpful at the moment. Moving on.
“I know how you feel.” No, you don’t. I have to admit I’ve said this before, in an
attempt to connect with a grieving brother or sister, intending to impart the
things I learned that helped me get through the mourning process. But I failed to realize that not only do I
not truly know how someone is feeling during his or her loss, but I was also
making their loss all about me, not them.
“At least you were expecting this. / At
least it happened fast.” There’s
no good way to lose someone. I’ve been
around enough mourners to have learned this one.
“I’m sure you did all you could.” This is often said to those who have cared
for a loved one who suffered through a long, terminal illness. And I know the intent is to recognize the
heroic efforts and faithful love of the bereaved. But it also hints that maybe their best wasn’t
good enough, that perhaps their loved one would still be alive if they could
have done more. A better way to express
this thought would be, “I was so impressed with the way you cared for him/her.”
“You’re still young. You can marry again/have another child.” Do I really need to explain this one? An even more callous statement I heard someone
was told was, “At least you still have other kids.” It’s a good thing I carry a Bible and not a
baseball bat to funerals.
SO WHAT SHOULD WE DO OR SAY?
Show Up, Well Up, and Shut Up. This may sound odd, but I believe the book of
the Bible that portrays one of the best pastoral approaches to the grieving is
the book of Job. Job was a man who lost
all ten of his children in one fateful day.
Three of his buddies came to see him.
Here’s the text:
Now
when Job’s three friends heard of all this evil that had come upon him, they
came each from his own place, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and
Zophar the Naamathite. They made an appointment together to come to show him
sympathy and comfort him. And when they saw him
from a distance, they did not recognize him. And they raised their voices and
wept, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads toward
heaven. And they
sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word
to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great (Job 2:11-13).
There are three principles
here. First, show up. Make your presence
felt. Give them a hug, a handshake, some
kind of personal touch to assure them that you are there. Second, well
up. Allow your pain for their loss
to be evident; this isn’t the time for you to “be strong” for them, but for you
to let them know how broken you are over their loss. Finally, shut
up. Resist the urge to be Mr. or
Mrs. Fix-It. You can’t fix this. Let them know you are sorry for their loss, ask
if there is anything you can help with, and leave it at that. Don’t try to explain things for God or make
everything all right with a pithy platitude.
It’s okay to say, “I don’t know.”
When we shut up, it allows the mourner to speak up. Let them know you are there to listen. The best thing Job’s friends did was sit
there in silence for seven days with him.
The trouble began when they opened their mouths and tried to fix Job and
defend God.
Allow the Grieving to Vent. God’s got big shoulders. He can handle our anger, our outrage, our
despair over a messed-up world. Just
read through the Psalms if you need to be convinced that it is okay for hurting
people to express the raw emotions of their pain, to question God, and even to be angry with him.
Be in It for the Long Run. Most people on the outside forget about
someone’s grief after a couple of months, but the grieving process can last for
years, even a lifetime. Do not be afraid
to ask them how they are doing with their loss.
Be mindful that holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, and other memorable
dates will often trigger fresh bouts of grief.
Reach out to them on these days.
Involve them in your life. Help
them, when the time is appropriate, to find new activities and relationships to
get involved in. Never push them to “get
over it.” Pray for them. Above all, be available.
I’m interested to hear your
opinion on these things, or, if you have heard other well-intentioned but
unhelpful things said to the grieving, what were they?
