lessons i learned in cpe: #4. showing up is more important than knowing what to say

        Since the start of January when my chaplaincy internship at St. Mark’s Hospital began, I’ve been in a process of reflection about how we as humans relate to one another—and particularly how we deal with grief and pain.  There were some wonderful “lessons learned” through that experience, and hopefully they’ll be as helpful for you as they have been for me.    
 
If you’re interested in Lessons 1-3, please click here, here, and here (respectively).  And without further ado... Lesson #4:
 
Showing up is more important than knowing what to say.
 
You know the situation that’s implied here, right?
 
Someone lost a loved one.
Someone lost a job.
Someone got a bad diagnosis.
Someone got divorced.
Someone is suffering with depression.
Someone’s kid just got incarcerated.
Someone’s humiliating secret just got shared...
 
That kind of situation.
 
I heard about a lot of these from patients in hospital rooms.  Even if it had nothing to do with why they were there, they needed to talk about them anyway.  And it’s nice when someone shows up to listen or pray or help process.
 
It’s possible that this lesson’s phrase may not be new to you, but perhaps the practice of the phrase still is.  Some individuals are loving comforters by nature (these people are saints—don’t take them for granted), but many of us struggle when the people around us are in pain.  We may feel sad or awkward.  We don’t know what that person needs.  We don’t know what to say.  We don’t know whether to acknowledge the elephant in the room or try to make them feel better about it or avoid it altogether.  We don’t know if it’s rude of us to be happy or “normal” around them.  We worry about saying the wrong thing, so we choose to stay away.  We “give them time” or “let them have their space.”  We don’t show up.
 
Let me tell you a little secret: that kind of avoidance speaks more to your discomfort than it does to their suffering.
 
I’m not judging anyone here, by the way. I do the same thing all the time.  I’d rather people think of me as a kind and thoughtful person so if there’s a chance that I’m going to accidentally offend or burden someone, it’s safer to save our interactions for circumstances that are more predictable.  At the very least, it’s easier for me.      
 
But it’s precisely that ease that makes it very lonely for the person who is experiencing the pain.  I can tell myself it’s about them, but odds are it really isn’t.  Unless they’ve specifically asked for space or time, it usually means a lot to people to know that someone is willing to sit in the boat with them and ride out the storm.  We humans are relational creatures.  One of the first things God said is, “It is not good for the man [or humans in general] to be alone” (Genesis 2:18). 
 
Don’t kick yourself if you’ve messed this up in the past.  I think it’s safe to say we all have, and still do.  And over-bearing concern (the other end of this spectrum) doesn’t help a lot either. It’s not your job to fix them or their situation.  Seriously, not your job.  Empathizing to the point of taking on someone else’s pain is not going to help them.  It’s just going to make them feel like they need to comfort you and that’s not their job.  You’re not their Savior.  That’s Jesus’ job.    
 
But please, when you see someone you love—or even someone you know—who’s in pain or struggling with something, don’t walk in the other direction.  Just show up... even if you don’t know what to say.
 
And in case you’re really bothered by that and are looking for some pointers to keep in your pocket, here are a few suggestions:
 
Please DO NOT say:
 

“Everything happens for a reason,” or “It’s all in God’s will.”  Even if this is part of your theology, it is not what they need to hear right now.

 

“At least… [fill in the blank here].”  Looking on “the bright side” will not help them work through their pain; it just encourages them to bury it.

 

“Just give it time.”  While the expression “time heals all wounds” may carry some truth, they’re still in this moment when it still hurts.  Acknowledge that instead.   

 

“You’ll get over it.”  No, no, no, no, no.  People don’t just “get over” things.  But they can learn to incorporate them into their larger stories if given the opportunity to do so.

 

“Let me know if you need anything.”  This one may sound surprising (and there may also be times for an exception), but in general, when you say this, you’re putting the burden on them to reach out for support if they need it.  The truth is, they do need it.  And by showing up before being asked you’ll be doing a lot more good. 

 
Please DO say instead:
 

“I don’t know what to say . . . but I’m here for you regardless.”

 

“I know this sucks, and I love you.”

 

“It’s okay to be sad/angry/confused/numb/[whatever it is that they’re feeling].”

 

“Do you want to talk about what happened? (And, if not, that’s okay, too.)”

 

“Here, I brought you food.  Would you like me to stay?  If not, I’m happy to drop it off and check in again some other time.”

 
This is not an exhaustive list, but somewhere to start.  If you’ve been in a tough situation and have other “please don’t” or “please do” suggestions to add, you are welcome to share them.  It’s always helpful to hear it from someone who’s been there.  And if you’ve been subject to loneliness or painful comments by others in your time of grief, please forgive those of us who’ve made your difficult situation harder.  We know not always what we do.  But we love you still. 
 
 

“For if they fall, one will lift up the other; but woe to one who is alone and falls and does not have another to help.” 

–Ecclesiastes 4:10 

midway between heaven and earth: a sermon from psalm 8

If you’ve never been to Utah before, here is my shameless plug that you should come visit.  Seriously.  Northern Utah, southern Utah—it doesn’t matter.  You either get incredible mountains or gorgeous red rock canyons.  It’s all beautiful.  See for yourselves:

Lake Blanche in the Wasatch Mountains

Angel's Landing in Zion National Park

This is our second time living in Salt Lake City; and while I miss Washington and everyone in it so much, it’s always a treat to be less than 20 minutes from 4 different ski resorts and 30+ different hiking trails.  And it’s in that context that when I was invited to preach at First Presbyterian Church in Logan, I chose Psalm 8 as the text for the sermon.  I’ve edited it a bit (writing and speaking have their differences), but here was the Word for the day…
 

*****

 
If you were to take a Bible and flip it open right down the middle, odds are that you would probably land yourself in the book of Psalms.  This book is a wide collection of poems, songs, histories, and laments that the people of Israel used in their worship.  It is basically the prayer book of Judeo-Christian tradition.
 
There are several different forms of psalms in this book, but one of the most predominant (along with prayers for help) are hymns of praise.  And the first of these praise hymns that we find in the book is Psalm 8 (also called a creation hymn), which goes a little something like this:
 
¹ O Lord, our Sovereign,
              how majestic is your name in all the earth!
 
You have set your glory above the heavens.
²             Out of the mouths of babes and infants
you have founded a bulwark because of your foes,
              to silence the enemy and the avenger.
 
³ When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,
              the moon and the stars that you have established;
⁴ what are human beings that you are mindful of them,
              mortals that you care for them?
 
⁵ Yet you have made them a little lower than God,
              and crowned them with glory and honor.
⁶ You have given them dominion over the works of your hands;
              you have put all things under their feet,
⁷ all sheep and oxen,
              and also the beasts of the field,
⁸ the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea,
              whatever passes along the paths of the seas.
 
⁹ O Lord, our Sovereign,
              how majestic is your name in all the earth!
 
When we look at this psalm, there are two important poetic features we should take into account to start.  Why?  Well, because I’m a nerd who finds the technical literary aspects of Scripture fascinating (and this is my blog so I can call attention to whatever I want 😉).
 
But more importantly, it’s because understanding some of the elements of Hebrew poetry in the Psalms can give us not only a deeper appreciation for how beautiful they are, but also insight into what the psalmist was trying to convey in the poem itself.  And that can help us interpret the significance and meaning of the psalm for our time and place.  
 
So, poetic device #1: the inclusio. 
 
Psalm 8 starts with an emphatic shout-out of praise to God:
              “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”
 
And (you may have noticed) this is the same way the psalm ends.  Verse 9 repeats:
              “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”
 
This repetition is a handy device in Hebrew poetry called an inclusio.  What it means is that the first and last verses “include” or “bookend” the rest of the text.  So the whole poem begins and ends—and contains—praise for the majesty of God “in all the earth.”
 
Notice the psalm doesn’t just say “in all of Israel.”  It says, “in all the earth.”  This stakes the claim that Yahweh (who is called “the God of Israel”) isn’t just the God of one nation, but the God of all the nations.  He isn’t just one God among many that deserves praise, but the only God—the Creator God, the Lord, the one who rules over everything that has been made from “above the heavens” to “whatever passes along the paths of the seas.”  Look out the window at whatever landscape surrounds you.  The God who created that is the God we’re praising in this psalm.   
 
Here in Salt Lake City, I can see the Wasatch Mountain range right outside my door.  Just two weeks ago, I was on top of Grandeur Peak with a 360-degree view in every direction.  We miss that beauty most of the time—take it for granted, even—but the ways in which creation echoes the majesty of God is exactly what the psalmist is calling attention to in this psalm.  It’s so important that he (or she) says it twice, at both the beginning and end of the song: “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” 
 

View of Mt. Olympus & Salt Lake City from Grandeur Peak

In between this inclusio, there are many other themes that the psalm highlights…

There’s the creation language of “heavens and earth” that reminds us of Genesis 1 and 2.
There’s the royal language of “Sovereign” and “majesty” that establishes God’s rule over the earth.
There’s the role of humans in having dominion over that earth and the works of God’s hands.
 
But without looking at the poetry of the psalm, we could miss another important clue into what the focus of the psalm is in the midst of these themes.  Which brings us to…
 
Poetic device #2: the chiasm. 
 
A “chiasm” is a second form of repetition in Hebrew poetry that’s used for clarification and emphasis in a text.  The term is based on the Greek letter “chi,” which looks like an X.  And what it means is that somewhere in the text there is a central “inversion point” where we can read what’s been written in the text thus far… then somewhere in the middle it hits that central point… and then the text begins to reflect (or repeat) itself backwards with the same concepts as before but in opposite order… until what you’re left with is a mirror image of the beginning.  The two halves are symmetrical—and it draws attention to what’s going on in the center (almost like an hourglass). 

When we look at this form in Psalm 8, take a look at what we find directly in the center:
 
V. 1: The majesty of God (“O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”)

Vv. 2-3:  Elements of God’s creation (“the mouths of babes and infants… the moon and stars.”)

Vv. 4-5:  The glory of humans (“What are human beings… a little lower than God.”)

Vv. 6-8:  Elements of God’s creation (“the beasts of the field… the birds of the air.”)

V. 9: The majesty of God (“O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”)
 
It’s us.  We find us. 
 
In the midst of the magnitude of God’s glory and all of creation, the psalmist points us directly inward and begs the question:  Who are we? 
 
Who are we, God, that you would think of us, much less care about us?  
“What are human beings that you are mindful of them?”
 
Truthfully, humans are like tiny specks of dirt in the middle of the vast and wild universe.  We have very breakable bodies, and an almost insignificant lifespan in the context of history.  And, if we’re honest, we’re a little bit of a mess at least some (if not most) of the time.  There is plenty of reason for us to have no more value than any other living thing God created.
 
And yet… we stand at the very center of God’s creation, having been made “just a little lower than God, and crowned… with glory and honor.”  Midway between heaven and earth.  A little lower than God and with all creation under our feet.
 
We start and end this psalm by giving glory to God, and yet what we find is that, for some unfathomable reason, God has given it back to us.  One of the reasons I love this psalm so much is that it strikes at the core of our human identity—our relationship with God and the rest of the world.
 
So, what does that mean then?  What does it mean for how we’re intended to be in the world?
What does it look like to “have dominion” over the works of God’s hands?
How do we recognize each other as having been crowned with God’s glory and honor… especially if we’re different from one another, or don’t agree with what the other believes? 
 
If there is one thing that this psalm reminds us, it’s that God is Sovereign over all of creation, but that he has also set us in the center of it and that what we do with that unique position matters.  
 
The problem with being the broken human beings that we are is that we’ve had a tendency to take this glorified role and abuse it.  Our “dominion” has turned into control and exploitation rather than the love and care and stewardship that it was intended to be.  We see this in our relationships—in the ways humans constantly fight with one another.  And we see this in the way we’ve mistreated the rest of creation and we are now finding ourselves in an environmental climate crisis.  We clearly have not lived up to the honor and dignity that this role assumes.
 
Sometimes I just want to throw my hands up and say, “I don’t know, God… I don’t know how we can make such a mess of things.  I read this psalm of praise and I’m baffled by it.  Remind me again… What are human beings that you are mindful of them?” 
 
You and I may not feel powerful, but this psalm reminds us that we are in the midst of the praise of God (in the middle of the inclusio) and at the center of creation (the crossroads of the chiasm).  We have been gifted a ridiculous amount of power for good and evil in this world… but how do we stand in that holy place in the way that God intended?
 
In verses 5 and 6, the psalm says:

“YOU have made humans a little lower than God,

and crowned them with glory and honor. 

YOU have given them dominion over the works of your hands;

YOU have put all things under their feet.”

 
What this tells us is that before we can even consider the work that is ours to do in the world, we have to consider the One who gave us that work in the first place. 
 
Before we can stand in right relationship to one another and the rest of creation, we have to stand in right relationship with our Creator.   
 
He is the one who has crowned us with glory and honor and calls us “Beloved.”
 
If we don’t know where we stand with God…what our identity is as his Beloved… and what our worth truly is in his eyes, we will abuse the rest of creation trying to define that worth for ourselves.  If we try to determine our identity from anything less than God, our concern becomes how those people and things serve our need, and not the other way around. 
 
But, as this psalm says, when we recognize that our identity and glory comes from God, we can humbly receive it.  We can stand in this place that’s midway between heaven and earth, and we can reflect that glory and honor out into the rest of the world and say, “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”   

Amen to that.  

Photo credits:  Lake Blanche (here) and Angel's Landing (here)