Anyone who has suffered devastating grief or dehumanizing pain has at some point been confronted by near relatives of Job’s miserable comforters. They come with their clichés and tired, pious mouthings. They engender guilt where they should be administering balm. They utter solemn truths where compassion is needed. They exhibit strength and exhort to courage where they would be more comforting if they simply wept.

- D. A. Carson, How Long, O Lord? (2nd edition, Baker Academic, 2006) p. 221.

Over the last two posts, we have looked at some of the ways in which people understand and explain the presence of evil, pain and suffering in the world. Initially I was planning to leave it at that, but the more I thought and prayed about the issue, the more I was convinced that that was not enough.

No matter how thorough your understanding of these ideas, there will still be times when explanations and theories are not enough. Platitudes about building a better character will sound hollow in the ears of a date-raped woman; explaining God’s higher purposes for creation will probably not comfort a man who has just lost his family in a car accident. In this post, then, I wish to offer some suggestions about comforting those who are grieving, ill or suffering.

At this point I should offer a brief disclaimer: I am neither a trained nor an experienced grief counsellor. I debated about whether to write this article at all, given my lack of qualification, but came down in favour of doing so in order to bring a necessary balance to the last 2 articles. Much of what I will offer here, then, is drawn from the experiences of others and as a result your mileage may vary.

The first thing that you need to know about counselling those in grief is that it is not your job to ‘fix’ them. Your chief allies in such a situation will be your ears, not your brain or your mouth. You do not need to have all the ‘answers'; you do need to have a compassionate heart and listening ears.

Frequently in the midst of suffering the most comforting “answers” are simple presence, help, silence, tears. Helping with the gardening or preparing a casserole may be far more spiritual an exercise than the exposition of Romans 8:28. The Scriptures themselves exhort us to “mourn with those who mourn” (Rom. 12:15).

- D. A. Carson, How Long, O Lord? (2nd edition, Baker Academic, 2006) p. 223.

The second thing I would say is this: don’t be afraid of, or embarrassed by, strong emotions. Unless you are able to accept the tears, the uncomfortable silences, and even the anger, you will not be able to meaningfully share in the journey. By being embarrassed, you add to their burden because (naturally) they then feel they have become an embarrassment to you – and hence they won’t want to be around you. Consider these words from C. S. Lewis, written in the period after his wife died of cancer:

An odd byproduct of my loss is that I’m aware of being an embarrassment to everyone I meet. At work, at the club, in the street, I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they’ll say something about it or not. I hate it if they do, and if they don’t… Perhaps the bereaved ought to be isolated in special settlements like lepers.

- C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed (HarperSanFrancisco, 2001) pp. 10-11.

There is no such thing as ‘normal’ grief. There will often be common areas, but no two people will grieve in exactly the same way. Some people will want to talk about things, to remember the good times out loud with you; others will not, preferring to process these things privately. Some will want to have others around; others will not cope with being around people. Some will turn to God for comfort; others will rage against him.

This last, by the way, does not necessarily signal a loss of faith. Even a man like C. S. Lewis, so greatly respected for his faith, may have severe doubts in the midst of trials.

Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms [of grief]. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be – or so it feels – welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is in ruin, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become. There are no lights in the windows. It might be and empty house. Was it ever inhabited? It seemed so once. And that seeming was as strong as this. What can this meani? Why is He so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?

- C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed (HarperSanFrancisco, 2001) pp. 5-6.

All of these preferences and emotions are valid – there is no such thing, in my view, as a ‘wrong’ way of expressing grief. Don’t fall into the trap of trying to tell your friend how they ‘should’ feel or act. In other words, share their journey without dictating the destination, or even the mode of transport.

I am sure that there are many more things to be said than these brief cautions, but I don’t have the experience or wisdom to know what they are. Perhaps you have some suggestions, based on your own experiences… why not leave a comment to share them with us?