What Can I Say?

“Rejoice with those who rejoice,

and weep with those who weep.”

Romans 12:15

Yesterday I spoke with a woman whose younger sister was brutally murdered. In the course of our conversation, I asked whether she attended church, and she said she didn’t and hadn’t since the time of the murder. I asked her why, and she answered that the unintentionally hurtful comments of others had caused her to doubt the faith and leave.

Tragic experiences can drive people further or closer to God, and the words and actions of believers often seem to have an influence.

As I thought about this, it occurred to me that, for better or worse, the Lord has allowed me to experience and witness quite a few ‘tragedies’. In my personal life, I experienced the sudden and unexpected death of my first wife due to an aneurysm and the diagnosis of a son with a severe disability. Less personal, but still deeply affecting, I witnessed, at close hand, the aftermath of the 2004 tsunami in Asia; and then, along with the rest of the world, the destruction of the twin towers.

I do not believe, in any way, that my experience of tragedy is unusually great, but I do believe I can speak to tragedy as one who has experienced and witnessed it.

That said, in light of my conversation with the lady yesterday and of this date (the anniversary of the 9-11 attacks), I thought I would share a few thoughts on what one should and should not say to someone experiencing tragedy, in particular to someone who has recently lost a loved one to death. These are just my opinions and the list is not exhaustive.

What you should not say:

 “I know exactly how you feel.”  

No, you don’t. You are not Almighty God and you do not have privileged access into the inner recesses of my heart. My pain is uniquely mine. Only God know exactly what I’m feeling. That said, there is a possible exception, and that is when you have experienced a tragedy identical (or very similar) to the one being experienced. In that circumstance, you can say, “I think I know a little of what you’re feeling” and then share briefly (and I mean briefly) what you experienced.  And leave out the word “exactly.”

 “God never gives us more than we can handle.”

This is the sort of inane platitude that shows one is clueless concerning true pain. Yes, you might protest, “but it’s true. He doesn’t.” But regardless of the truth of such platitudes, your comment only comes across as irrelevant and trivializing. My reflexive internal response to your comment will probably be, “Balderdash,” my pain feels like more than I can handle.

 “God must have wanted her/him with Him in heaven.”

So what you’re telling me is that God’s desires trumped mine and He didn’t give a rip that taking my loved one ripped my heart apart? Or are you trying to make some sort of theological statement – that everything, including this, happened because God wanted it to happen? Even though this seems to me the most horrid thing that could have happened? And, then, are you simultaneously trying to tell me that this is the Almighty God Whom I should worship, love and adore? I think your comment may fall a little flat.

 “Time heals all wounds.”

Sure, if you’re speaking in terms of eternity (and of a believer’s wounds). But if you’re talking about one’s experience in this lifetime, that’s a lie. There are some wounds that never heal. There are some pains that never go away. There are some losses of which time only dulls the ache. And your telling me that time will heal my wound suggests that I will someday ‘get over’ my loss. Not true. And frankly, it might lead me to think you are dishonoring the memory of my loved one. How could I be ‘healed’ of missing ________?

 “I’m here for you.”

Don’t say this unless you really mean it. Funerals bring out many well-wishers, but most are gone in months. People go back to their lives and forget the pain of those who mourn. If you say, “I’m here for you,” prove it by being a friend through the next months and years, extending yourself even as the mourner doesn’t seem to be “getting over it.” If you, as a follower of Christ, say you are ‘always here’ for someone and then prove a liar, what have you communicated concerning the One you say you follow? The One who says, “Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

What you should say:

 “I love you and I care about you.”

Again, only say this if you mean it. But if you follow Jesus, you should mean it. This communicates that I matter, that I am important to you, and you want to help.

 “I’m sorry.”

This says you sense my pain and loss, and it expresses that understanding without attempting to mitigate the extent of my pain.

 “I don’t know why this happened.”

I don’t know why a sovereign God permits horrible tragedies to be part of our human experience, and, frankly, neither do you. Yes, I can pontificate on man’s fallen sin condition and the ‘fairness’ of each man’s death and suffering, but I cannot explain why one person lives eighty years and another dies at twenty. And you can’t either. Don’t try. Your explanations ring hollow as I instinctively realize you are not God.

 “I’m praying God will give you the strength to carry on.”

Once again, don’t say this unless you really mean it. Don’t tell me you’ll pray for me unless you really will. And if you do commit to praying for me, do so with consistency and fervency. Bear the burden with the one who mourns.

Nothing.

Saying nothing speaks volumes. Just stay silently with me. Let me talk when I’m ready. You really don’t have much to say anyway.

When my wife died, I was blessed to have an amazing friend come and stay with me for several days – Cameron Craig. He travelled to Louisiana where we were at the time and came alongside me to help. For days he accompanied me as I took care of things. And he said very little other than, “I’m sorry.” But his presence communicated that he loved me and cared about me, and his involvement in my life from that day forward (and his wife’s too), showed that he really was there for me. He mirrored Christ’s faithfulness and compassion for me. His presence in my life permitted me to affirm, in spite of hardship, that God is good. God did care. Time did dull the ache, and when I met Nicole and married, I was honored to have Cameron stand as my best man.

I hope you can be an encouragement to those who suffer. My prayer is that each of you will be a ‘Cameron’ to others in need, having the wisdom to know what to say and what not to say.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,

the Father of mercies and God of all comfort,

who comforts us in all our tribulation,

that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble,

with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4

-- Christian Pilet