we are alike,
you and I. You flit from twig to twig just as I flit through the day, each searching for the surprise blessing that awaits, discovering with delight the God who is the whole tree. To the chipmunk
in the rocks— we are alike, you and I. Exploring, enjoying, making our way around boulders and in shadowed nooks, anxious to be our whole selves and do our work just as God made us to do, though all we can see is the next right
step. To the two
jays, brightly blue— we are alike, you and I. You converse in high and low pitch, back and forth in endless squawks, just as I seek to be heard in
relationship to the ones I hold most dear. We learn and converse uniquely, and find that God is the space between and in all we have to say. To the lake, shining
and full— we
are alike, you and I. Sometimes blown by the wind, stirred and anxious in the chaos
around us; sometimes settled and serene, inviting our Creator to see into the depths he
created, and show us ourselves, colored as a
mirror by heaven. Jesus— we are alike, you and I. Wholly and holy human, Beloved before God the Father, seen and known for all that we are, and
in communion with every grace-filled breath, alive by the Spirit who is the wind and
fire of God
One of the benefits of transitioning from part-time to full-time pastoral ministry in 2022 has been the gift of preaching more regularly at First Pres SLC. It's helped me recognize my own rhythms when it comes to preaching and has given me ample opportunity to dive deeply into Scripture.
Most recently, we finished up a sermon series on Jesus’ Sermon the Mount from Matthew 5-7. The greatest sermon of all time. An incredible text to dive deeply into over and over again. And perhaps the most frequently quoted text in the history of the world: “Love your enemies.” “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” “Do to others what you would have them do to you.” I’m guessing you’ve heard some of these before, even if you’ve never stepped foot in a church. Not easy words by any means—in fact, probably some of the hardest words we’ll ever have to wrestle with—but worth building one’s life around nevertheless. Like a house upon a rock. The Sermon on the Mount is the prime directive for those looking to follow Jesus. It challenges cultural narratives, demands humility, and affirms both humanity’s great sinfulness and our ultimate worth. It establishes the church as the hands and feet of Christ. It draws attention to the broken and unseen. It teaches us to reflect and pray. And it calls for desperate and uncompromising trust in the will and grace of God. One can never get enough of messages like that. I preached on three different texts from the Sermon on the Mount in this series. The last two in particular came at times when I questioned them fully but needed them desperately. (Funny how that happens, huh?) Sometimes the Holy Spirit hits you square in the face with what you need to hear when you need to hear it, even—and especially—when it’s hard. For what it’s worth, I hope these words from Jesus resonate with something deep and sacred inside you and draw you into the upside-down, holy, and beautiful life he has planned for you. Salt and Light (Matthew 5:13-16) What does Jesus mean when he says to us, “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world”? Notice he doesn’t say “you should be” or “you will be”—he simply says, “You are.”
Don’t Worry (Matthew 6:19-34) “Do not worry” sounds hard enough in itself, but what about when you tie it in with money, security, and fear? Jesus walks us straight into the heart of worry in this text, and even more so into the wonderful care of the Father who loves us.
Generous Living (Matthew 7:7-12) It starts with “Ask and you will receive” and ends with “Do to others as you would have them do to you”—the famous Golden Rule. How are these two related? Why is it so hard to simply ask for the things we need from God? And what does all of this have to do with generosity?
Twice more in 2021 I had
the privilege of preaching at First Presbyterian Church SLC. These sermons were
each part of a series—the first called “Immerse Beginnings” where we studied from
the first five books of the Bible (known as the Torah or Pentateuch), and the second
from our Advent series looking at different characters in the biblical
Christmas narrative. Both sermon texts are about people at the crossroads. And
both stories point to the near-unbelievable reality that Christ desires to be
in, with, and through us in all things.
Where the Rubber Meets
the Road (Numbers 13:25-14:4) Imagine this: you were
born in the land of Egypt, a slave born of slaves—the most recent generation of
Israelites to serve the mighty pharaohs. As a child, your parents and
grandparents told stories of a different kind of life. They spoke of a God who
once called to their ancestor, Abraham, and promised him that his people would
come into an abundant land that he would give them as a gift. They said that
this promise was repeated over and over to Abraham and to his son, Isaac, and later
to Isaac’s son, Jacob. Then, one day, you hear
of a man named Moses—a fellow Israelite once raised in the Pharoah’s household.
He’s returned to Egypt claiming to hear this God’s voice from a burning bush. He’s
demanding that Pharoah let your people go into the wilderness and worship this
God of your ancestors. Before you know it, this
God demonstrates his power throughout Egypt. There are rivers of blood and
plagues of gnats and frogs. The onslaught hardens Pharaoh’s resolve until one
day, after sacrificing a lamb and spreading its blood across your doorframe,
you wake up to wailing and screaming. The Egyptians hand you gold and beg you
to leave. Moses leads your people out of Egypt, and the power of this God
called Yahweh parts the Red Sea so you can walk through on dry ground. You go to Mt. Sinai, where
Moses found the burning bush, and the sky above splits with lightning. You hear
God’s voice in the stormy clouds. Moses goes up onto the mountain for forty
days and receives instruction for how this new nation—your people—are to live
under the rule of your Savior God. And once again, you are reminded of this Promised
Land, the land that Yahweh will give you. As you walk through the
desert, you wake each morning to sweet wafers on the ground. The priests are consecrated,
offerings are made at the newly-constructed tabernacle, and water comes forth
from a rock. Some of your people rebel and complain along the way, but God continues
to lead you nevertheless. Finally, you come to the border
of the Canaan—the land “flowing with milk and honey” that was promised. You
wait encamped for another forty days as leaders from each of the twelve tribes
of Israel are sent to spy out the land. When they come back, they bring back fruit
larger than you’ve ever seen.They talk
about the land’s abundance and goodness. But ten of them also say, “There are
giants there.We cannot hope to take it.”
Only two of the spies, Caleb and Joshua, are adamant: “We can take the land. Yahweh
is with us.” The cities are fortified.
The people are strong. Your army is outnumbered. But Yahweh has promised to go
ahead of you and give your people this land.What will you do?
Christ in You (Luke 1:26-38) Now, imagine this: you
are a fourteen-year-old Hebrew girl, recently engaged to be married to a
well-respected man in a small Galilean village called Nazareth. You’ve led a
simple life thus far—the kind that’s expected for a child of your age and
culture. You’ve learned the customs of a keeping a home, obeying your elders, and
following the Torah given to the ancient prophet, Moses. You say your daily prayers
to Yahweh, even as the once-great Israelite nation of your people is under
Roman occupation. For the most part, you and yours are left alone. But one night, walking
back toward your home, mind lost in the fear and excitement of this marriage to
come, a bright light fills your eyes. A heavenly being of almost indecipherable
form appears in front of you and speaks with a voice that’s both intimate and
terrifying: “Greetings, favored one. The Lord is with you.” You are paralyzed at this
arrival. You’ve heard of heavenly messengers in age-old stories, but how could
this possibly be happening—here, of all places, and to you, of all people? Your
feet refuse to move, and words catch in your throat. The angel speaks once
more, reading the troubled expression on your face: “Do not be afraid, for your
have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a
son, and you will name him Yeshua—Jesus. He will be great, and will be called
the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his
ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his
kingdom there will be no end.” Most High. David. House
of Jacob. You know these names, but can barely comprehend them now. But the
baby catches your attention. You will conceive, the angel said. But how? You
have never been with Joseph, and won’t be until the marriage is official. That
is the only way this happens. Every girl knows this.Every girl prepares for this. You finally find your
voice: “How can this be?”It comes out
in almost a whisper. The Holy Spirit will make
it so, the angel says.You will carry
the Son of God in your body, and bring him into the world. God desires to
reveal himself, in human form, in you. Gabriel's form stands
gloriously before you.Your hands shake
and you take a deep, bated breath.What will
you do?
It’s been a hell of a
year, right? (Or should I say nearly two now—can you believe it?!) I’m pretty sure that at the start of 2020 none
of us thought to ourselves, “I wonder if we’ll get hit with a global pandemic this
year that’ll stagger the economy, isolate us from our loved ones for months, and
cause us to wear masks everywhere and hoard rolls of toilet paper because they’ll
be sold out at Costco…”
It’s easy in some ways to
look back and make jokes (and we almost have to for our own sanity these days),
but in all seriousness this whole experience has been terribly hard.I know so many folks have lost their jobs and
their homes.I know many of us have
struggled with fear, loneliness, and general fatigue.I’ve literally sat in hospital ICU rooms with
people who had to make decisions about taking their loved ones off of
ventilators due to COVID-related illness and complications—not to mention the other
hundreds of thousands who got sick but made it through. I think this must be
why there’s so many psalms of lament in the Bible.God knows we need to rage and question and cry
sometimes. And yet, we’ve
returned once again to a season of Thanksgiving.What has that been like for you this year? Difficult, I imagine.But perhaps in some ways more meaningful…?It certainly has for me. A year or so ago, a
pastor friend of mine challenged his congregation to make a regular practice of
gratitude.It’s something Scripture
encourages over and over:
“Sing
praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones, and give thanks to his holy name.”
-Psalm 30:4
“O
give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures
forever.” -Psalm 136:1
“…give
thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for
you.” -1 Thessalonians 5:18
Not to mention, if you do
an online search for “the science of gratitude,” you’ll find that dozens of
institutions have researched how the practice of gratitude contributes
physically and emotionally to the well-being of our lives. So, taking that to heart,
I started making a semi-regular habit of journaling about what I’m grateful
for.As it turns out, there has been
a lot in this past year.In the spirit
of fostering collective gratitude as much as collective grief, I wanted to
share a few that I’ve written down:
For my husband… he is the best human and
companion I could ever ask for (11.9.20)
For the people who are doing the hard work for
racial justice (11.12.20)
For heaters that allow us to do safe family
dinners outside in Jen and Ty’s carport (11.13.20)
For opportunities to preach at MOPC and in Richfield
(11.18.20)
For Matt bringing me coffee in bed (12.8.20)
For getting my first COVID vaccine shot!
(1.6.21)
For warmth and a safe place to live (2.17.21)
For my parents and the ways they love me and my siblings
(2.19.21)
For my CPE group and all the insights and wisdom
that come out of our time together (3.3.21)
That I am learning to accept limits and boundaries,
to have grace, to be vulnerable and genuine, to listen well and not always “fix”
but sit compassionately with pain… even my own (3.31.21)
For hugs from my dad and laughs with Jess all
weekend (4.26.21)
For a walk with the dogs yesterday with Karina
and Sher (5.30.21)
For my amazing job at FPC and all the great
people there (7.23.21)
For the friends we have and the ones we have yet
to make (7.27.21)
For our D&D group and having other adults in
the world who love to just PLAY (8.20.21)
For the peace that comes with trusting God and
knowing that where I am in this moment is exactly where I’m supposed to be
(8.30.21)
That Matt and I have enjoyed 9 wonderful years
of marriage! (9.23.21)
For fall weather and yellow leaves (10.29.21)
For the love of God and all the ways he blesses
my life with gifts—seen and unseen (11.30.21)
There have been many, many
more… and it’s good for my soul to look over them from time to time.It reminds me that even in the stress of the
last twenty-one months, God is still present and giving me many reasons for joy.I hope you’ve found that to be true as well! I’d love to hear what you’re
season of Thanksgiving has been like as well.What are you grateful for this year?
Three months ago, I was
preparing to take a Stated Supply Pastor position in a small town in central
Utah.That is, until a few details
failed to work out and it unexpectedly fell through.I wasn’t sure how to feel about it or what
was going to happen next.It was all a
bit of a shock.I had just finished my
Master of Divinity degree and been certified “eligible to receive a call” by my
ordination committee.It had seemed like
the next right step… until it wasn’t. Then, less than a week
later, I got a voicemail from the Associate Pastor at First Presbyterian Church
in Salt Lake City (a former mentor in my ordination process) asking if I’d like
to come work with her at the church as a Pastoral Associate.Not a called position, only temporary and
part-time, but a chance to do pastoral ministry in a historic church with
incredible pastors and staff and a committed congregation.It was as if God winked at me and said, “Did
you really think I didn’t have a plan?” I’m pretty sure I danced
like a fool in my kitchen that afternoon.
And talk about being
overwhelmed by grace!These last three
months have been amazing… I’ve learned so much
about the ins-and-outs of daily, practical ministry. I’ve met many wonderful
and passionate people. I’ve been able to lead
worship, events, and volunteer trainings. I’ve had meetings with
intelligent, prayerful church members who care deeply about the life and health
of our community. I’ve sat on the floor
with preschoolers drawing and talking about God’s creation, and at tables with
college students processing transitions. I’ve preached several
Sundays. I’ve been offered ridiculous
amounts of affirmation and encouragement. And every time I go into
the sanctuary, I’m struck by how awesome it is to look at our beautiful stained-glass
windows. Regardless of what
happens next, what’s been happening now is a gift. As I love getting to
study and preach, I’ve made a habit of posting my sermons here (for wisdom,
interest, feedback… whatever folks would like to make of them).In the thick of it all I’m three sermons
behind, so rather than post the entire things, here are some teasers and major
thoughts from Amos, Ephesians, and Genesis: True Worship (Amos 5:21-24) Imagine someone showed up
in the middle of your Sunday worship service and said, on behalf of God:
“I despise
what’s happening here.
I take
no pleasure in your religious holidays and celebrations.
I won’t
accept your confessions or your thanksgivings.
Your
liturgy and your sacraments mean nothing to me.
I refuse
to listen to your songs or your prayers.”
What would that be like?How would you respond? We’d likely feel shocked,
and even offended.We might wonder,
“Well, what the heck are we doing here?” or we might tell ourselves this stranger
is clearly of unsound mind and dismiss them outright.But if we could take it at face value, what
would it mean that God hated our worship? This is exactly what the
people of Israel had to wrestle with when the prophet Amos showed up in their
temples (see Amos 5:21-23).He was sent
to warn them that God wasn’t at all pleased with the way they kept up their
religious rituals but were trampling on the poor.The priests and landowners thought they could
get rich, scheme people out of property, and walk all over their neighbor while
still appeasing God… but God wasn’t having it.Instead, he said,
“Let justice roll down like waters, and
righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”(Amos 5:24)
The problem wasn’t that
the Israelites’ rituals were wrong—it’s that they were empty.It was hypocrisy.To worship God and then oppress your
neighbor is to miss the point of worship altogether, because love of God and
love of neighbor go hand-in-hand, as Jesus said (Matthew 22:37-39). True worship, on the
other hand, changes our hearts and compels us to act with justice and mercy
toward our neighbor.To see those who
are marginalized and oppressed.To treat
everyone with dignity as children of God.True worship doesn’t change God for our benefit, it changes us for
God’s benefit—so that we can love Him and love others in the way that he does.
Members of the
Household of God (Ephesians 2:11-22) As Christians read the
Bible today, we recognize that the story within is our story. We claim it because ultimately, it is God’s
story and we have been adopted into his family in Christ. The Apostle Paul points
out, though, that unless we come from a Jewish heritage, this wasn’t always the
case. There was a time when we Gentiles
stood outside the covenant promises of God—outside the family. And this distinction between who was “in” and
who was “out” caused a lot of contention.
Jews and Gentiles treated one another with contempt, disregard, and even
violence. Sound familiar? We humans still love
to draw dividing lines between who is in and who’s out. We see or hear people of different
backgrounds, experiences, political persuasions, or faith traditions and we
treat one another with contempt. We
disparage one another in person, online, and in the media. Accusations are made, wars are fought, and we
continue to be mired in hostility. But then, Paul uses 5
very important words: “But now in Christ Jesus.”
“But
now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the
blood of Christ. For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into
one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us.”(Ephesians 2:13-14)
Do you believe it?It sounds too good to be true.Even when we desire to be one family and we
come together in worship, we’re all still broken humans with rough edges… and
when we rub shoulders with one another, it can still hurt. The idea of being one
family without hostility is still as radical today as it did when Paul wrote
this letter.But now in Christ Jesus,
it’s a reality whether we like it or not.There are no individual Christians.We are now “members of the household of God” being joined
together as a holy temple to the Lord (v. 19-22).Jesus is our peace.Welcome to the family.
God’s Rescue Plan
Begun (Genesis 12:1-5 & Galatians 3:6-9) The first five books of
the Bible are called the Torah, the “teaching” or “law” of God.But rather than being just a series of rules
and regulations, the Torah tells the cosmic story of creation and its
aftermath. In Act 1 of the
narrative, God creates the heavens and the earth, populates the land and seas,
forms human beings in his image, and sees that it is good.The first humans live in perfect relationship
with their Creator. Act 2 follows shortly
thereafter with human rebellion and the beginning of sin.Humanity decides not to trust God and instead
wants to decide for themselves what is evil and good, and we quickly see the
harmful and violent consequences of their actions. After sending a global
flood and allowing humans to spread out on the earth once again, God finally institutes
Act 3—his rescue plan for creation—through a man named Abram and his wife,
Sarai.The pivotal point takes place in
Genesis 12 through a call, a promise, and a response. God calls Abram (later
renamed Abraham) to “leave your native country, your relatives, and your
father’s family, and go to the land that I will show you” (v. 1).And while this may have sounded terrifying to
Abram—to leave his home and entire support system—God also yolks himself to
this call with a promise:
“I
will make you into a great nation.I
will bless you and make you famous, and you will be a blessing to others.I will bless those who bless you and curse
those who treat you with contempt.All
the families on earth will be blessed through you.”(vv. 2-3)
In this moment, Abraham
decides to trust God and responds to the call with obedience.He leaves everything he knows, steps out in
faith, and heads in the direction that God showed him. And God does indeed
bless him.While the story is brutally
honest about how broken Abraham’s family continues to be, they nevertheless
grow into nations and kings… and from the line of Abraham finally comes Jesus. Jesus is the
culmination of the Rescue Plan—our ultimate blessing.Through him, all families on earth have been
forgiven their sin and invited back into right relationship with their
Creator. The moral of the story
here is that when God calls, there is always a purpose; and whatever he
promises, he always performs.He
is worthy of our trust—so don’t be afraid to step out in faith with
whatever it is that his Holy Spirit is calling you to today.
During my unit of CPE at
St. Mark’s I spent a lot of time in hospital rooms, but also with my peers and
supervisor in group sessions twice a week.We each processed our experiences of chaplaincy in detail. As it turned out, we ended up talking as much
about our own stories, flaws, and fears as we did the patients.It was enlightening and terrifying.But it taught me another important lesson
when it comes to vulnerable conversations… It’s easy for other
people’s baggage to get caught on your own baggage. I definitely hadn’t
expected this going in.I’d done a fair
share of processing my own emotional and spiritual baggage before this
internship began—learning about my personality, my strengths and weaknesses,
how my childhood experiences with addiction and divorce and being the oldest
child shaped my coping mechanisms and social habits, etc.I thought I had a pretty strong sense of who
I was… enough to “keep myself out” of the conversations with patients and just
focus on them. Big mistake. The truth is: no
matter how hard we try, we bring our whole selves—baggage and all—everywhere we
go, including conversations with other people.As I wrote in “Lesson #1,” everyone
has a story, and our stories shape who we are (in both good and bad ways).When other people’s stories remind us of our
own, it impacts how we feel and how we’re able to respond. One of the most formative—and
informative—exercises we did as part of our CPE group work was called a “verbatim.”Each of us, several times over the course of
the internship, wrote out word-for-word (as best we could recall) a spiritual
care conversation we had with a patient during our clinical hours.We then brought these verbatims to our group
and spent an hour evaluating each one together.The patient remained anonymous, but we noted in the written assignment:
-Some basic demographic information,
-Our first impressions when we walked in the room,
-Our thoughts and feelings throughout the
conversation based on the verbal and nonverbal interactions,
-Our assessment of the individual’s spiritual
care needs, and
-How we thought we “did” as spiritual caregivers
(our strengths and areas of growth).
That final evaluation of
ourselves also included a reflection on how we related to the individual or
their story, which turned out to be a major factor in the quality of the
conversation!For instance, the first
patient I wrote out a verbatim on was a woman that reminded me significantly of
my mother.As I processed the conversation
with my supervisor and group, they helped me see that the ways I interacted
with her—including the topics of conversation I leaned toward or away from—were
heavily influenced by how I relate to my mom.Despite my best intentions in keeping the conversation focused on this woman,
I indirectly channeled my own assumptions and habits based on my own experience,
which (to my later disappointment) kept me from engaging in certain ways that
may have been helpful and healing.To
their credit, my group was incredibly gracious and supportive, but we didn’t
hold back on one another.I went from
feeling like “I did a pretty good job” to “you’ve got to be kidding me—how did
I not see that?”
Since that experience
(and many others like it), I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on the reality
that my history has affected me in the past, but is also still affecting
me now in ways I might otherwise prefer to ignore.No matter how much work we’ve done to grow
through our experiences, they still have an impact on how we relate to the
world—“who we are” in relationship to other people—for better or worse.None of us can truly be an unbiased third
party. And the best response to
that is not to “try harder, stupid.”That goes back to “Lesson #3” about how burying our baggage or
pain is ultimately damaging.You won’t
being able to receive others’ thorny personalities and stories any easier by
pretending your own thorns don’t exist—they’ll just get tangled on one another
regardless.BUT we can learn to
have grace and make space.
When you notice that someone’s
behavior or stories are making you uncomfortable or hitting raw nerves, let that
show you where you still have work to do in addressing your ownbaggage…
and then learn to practice self-compassion. Give yourself permission
to feel whatever’s coming up in those moments.Ask yourself what’s behind it.What
assumptions did I make about that person?Why did that comment make me angry (or sad, or scared, etc.)?Why did I feel like I needed to react in that
way?Who taught me to believe whatever I
just said? Be gentle with whatever
you discover.Then, even if there’s more
to work through, your ability to identify and be compassionate with yourself in
whatever is coming up will make it much easier to receive whatever the other
person is bringing to the table. I realize that could sound
overly simplistic, but it’s not.It’s
hard to be fully aware of yourself when you’re trying to keep your focus on
someone else.But it can and does make a
difference.I’ve still got a long way to
go, but it certainly has for me.
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 theirjob. 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.”
