Sometimes, I feel like the church has a hard time lingering in places of pain.
Abuse. Homosexuality. Bullying. Singleness. Disability. Abortion. Illness. Addiction. Grief.
We tend to skim right over these topics, offering quick, carefully-crafted statements about our stance on the issue. It winds up feeling more like a presidential candidate’s stump speech than a conversation with a human being who actually cares about you.
In our discomfort, we search for something solid to hang onto, one hard nugget of truth, and offer it up whenever the topic arises–a Bible verse, a word of advice, something we read on the internet or heard from Dr. Phil. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, but it’s a bit like offering Tylenol to a person who tells you they’ve just been diagnosed with cancer. Understandable, but the person might think you either didn’t understand the scope of their struggle or were trying to get rid of them, brushing off their pain with a trite, easy answer.
They’re staring down dragons, and we’re saying, in effect, “Yeah, dragons are bad. Hey, did you know The Hobbit is coming out this year? There are dragons in that.”
Because we don’t want to talk about dragons. Just thinking about dragons starts our adrenaline rushing, makes our backs makes prickle with heat, fills our noses with the remembered or imagined stench of sulfer.
No, we don’t like talking about it, so we offer up our nugget like an appeasement to an angry god, then scurry, almost superstitiously, to the next topic, as if talking about the issue will make it manifest in our midst.
As if it already hasn’t.
But how does this help anybody? This pretentious, fragment-of-truth telling? This nervous acknowledgment (and implied dismissal) of life-altering hurts?
All it really does is get people to shut up and stop talking about it. To suffer and struggle in silence, alone, because we obviously don’t want to hear it, don’t care enough to even LOOK at the dragon they are facing, except maybe a quick, begrudging glance out of the corner of our eye.
When did we become such cowards? Are we afraid their dragons are going to devour us, too?
It’s hard to know what to say, how to respond, when people are hurting or struggling. I will be the first to admit that I can really stink at that.
But can I propose that perhaps we don’t have to say anything at all? That perhaps we can just listen, witholding judgement, praying silently, and offering hugs instead of advice?
Maybe people don’t need us to have the answers. Maybe people just need us to listen and love them.
It certainly beats trying to shove an emotional aspirin down their throat.
Jenny, I saw your tweet and knew this was the time to drop by and read you for the first time. I wish I could read everybody that I’d like to read. Anyway…this is right on target. We rush to the Bible verse, we rush, as you said, to the Dr. Phil solution, but we don’t do the one thing we need to do. It’s really simple. We just need to love. We just need to “come alongside”. And we need to listen – listening is a tiny little division of love. We are to “love one another”. So, I’ll promise you, because of your reminder here, that the very next time someone begins to tell me of their problem, I’ll be listening, and I’ll save the Tylenol for when they get a headache ツ God bless and keep you and each and every one of yours.
“Listening is a tiny little division of love.” Well said! Thanks for coming by, Craig!
yeah, we’re so bad at this, often dismissing pain altogether. it’s not that bad, just forgive/get over it.
listen and presence beats quick fixes and easy answers every time.
Oh, I didn’t even think of the “forgive and move on” angle!!! Yes, that’s a biggie too.
Yes! Thank you for saying it.
Thanks, Heather!
This is something with which I struggle when reading someone’s CaringBridge post. I have acquaintances who have posted about their suffering (with cancer or a life-altering brain injury). Because they share their difficulties, I feel a need to respond, since I can’t just hold their hands and listen. I don’t want to not reply and leave them wondering if anyone cares. But I sometimes don’t know what to write. This is the age of electronics, which is good for getting the person’s updates, but creates this awkward situation at the same time. I guess I can just post “I’m praying for you” and leave it at that, but it’s hard to not want to say something encouraging or helpful, even though I can’t pretend to even begin to understand their pain.
Oh, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with saying something encouraging or helpful–far from it! It’s just when advice-giving is factual pronouncements are used as a way to shut down conversation (even when the person doesn’t know they’re doing it). And yeah, you’re right–electronic media has a whole different protocol. Encourage away!
I think people are so afraid of saying the wrong thing that they feel like offering something trite or even dismissive is the better option — it must be “right” because they’ve heard people say it before (it’s a cliche), because Hallmark says it, because it’s what your mom always said when this or that difficult subject came up. Although it’s not always helpful and might even feel insulting to the person hurting, I think it still represents an attempt at reaching out and is better than pretending the issue doesn’t exist at all (which is another common response that is close kin to what you’re talking about here, I think.)
I used to be one of those people — the person who doesn’t say anything about it at all. Then I met a friend who refused to pretend she wasn’t aware of a difficult or awkward thing that had happened. I was humbled and awed by her courage to risk saying the “wrong” thing rather than say nothing at all. And there were many times when I was SO grateful that she didn’t just look the other way or offer a platitude. One time, I was so stunned by her bravery and honesty that I was literally speechless; she called me later to ask whether she had offended me. I told her that quite the opposite was true — how deeply I admired her willingness to wade into the difficult and awkward discussions. It’s a model I’ve held up as an example ever since, and sometimes I succeed.
Wow–what you described in the second paragraph IS inspiring! I tend to default to “pretend the problem doesn’t exist” mode, too–it’s less scary. But I guess something along the lines of “I don’t know what to say, but I care and I’m here” works too. Now I wish I could see your friend in action, to see how she does it!