Like last Sunday, this Sunday, someone will gather with our church and do so bearing much pain.
Chances are that we may not see the person who is hurting. Whoever the person is, they will likely have a smiling face. When asked how they are doing, they’ll say, “I’m doing well,” even though they’re not. They’ve learned that just saying they’re doing fine will shield them from even more pain because they remember…
The time when they told someone that their marriage was in trouble, only to hear that person tell them they just need to be more understanding of their spouse—words spoken without understanding.
The time when they questioned why God healed other children but let their child die of cancer, only to hear someone say they just need to trust God—words spoken without empathy.
The time when they shared their struggles with anxiety and depression with someone only to hear that person suggest they just pray more about it—words spoken without care.
That time when they confessed their struggles with pornography to someone only to hear someone respond rather terse with a bible proof-text about overcoming temptation—words spoken without grace.
Church folk usually mean well, but I don’t think many Christians know how to respond to people who aren’t doing well. There are likely a variety of reasons but the result is a church culture where people are afraid to let their guard down, to be honest, and let people know that they’re not doing well.
People who know me know that I come at this from the perspective of a parent who had a child pass away. The death of a child is a suffering that has often left me “too troubled to speak” (Ps 77:4, NIV). The result of such grief and pain is a trauma that I’m only beginning to understand.1 As both a person who has endured suffering and a pastor who has walked with others along the journey of suffering, I know that church can be a difficult place to be honest about hurting.
This past Sunday, I shared with the Southside Church the story of Laura and I losing our son, Kenny. One of the reasons I share is because I want others who live with grief and pain to know they’re not alone. I also want them to know that it’s okay to gather without having to act as if everything is okay. I want to cultivate a church atmosphere where people feel free to voluntarily say they are struggling and have people who will listen to them with empathy that flows from God’s grace and mercy.
Should someone have enough courage to share with you how they are struggling, the best response is to have an empathetic presence. By that, I mean not only having the ability to empathize because you have taken the time to sit and listen. Such presence also requires resisting the temptation to speak, offer advice, and even suggest praying together. Being present with a person long enough to sit and listen, giving them the time to share what they want to share (without the pressure to share more than they are ready to share), lets them know that you are a safe person who cares and can be trusted. Such empathetic presence opens space for God to work for his redemptive good (cf. Rom 8:28) in ways that go beyond what we often can imagine is possible.
The reason I’m sharing this now is because we are now in the Holiday Season. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, with Christmas and New Year’s Day around the corner. It’s a season of festivities, family dinners, and parties with coworkers and friends. But the Holiday Season is also a difficult season for some people. Perhaps the best gift you can offer is your empathetic presence to those you know might be struggling. In doing so, you not only acknowledge their pain but also let them know that they are not bearing their burden alone. That’s a gift that is worth more than any amount of silver and gold.
To understand how trauma impacts life, I recommend reading Bessel Van Der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma, New York: Penguin Books, 2014.