AN OLD FRIEND in the faith calls, and we are glad to hear from them. Our first joyous response is, “How are you?” Their answer comes in a strained monotone as they reply, “Not so good.” There is a brief but awkward silence as our own focus is stirred by a quickly rising concern. We ask, “What’s going on?” Our apprehension is not complete, but it begins to accelerate as there is an awkward pause. Finally, in a choked and broken voice, our friend stammers, just at the edge of where pain howls and tears flow, “My (spouse) died this morning.” Our friend’s deep ocean of grief is fully evident, and there is a tsunami swell beginning.
As we observe only the frothy surface of this wave, a corresponding flow of compassion begins to well up within us. Our own alarm is now fully engaged in this conversation, and the gateway to the center of our compassion opens wide. The Lord is present, and reminds us that “There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.” (Prov. 18:24) And he also reminds us that we are that friend—that’s why our friend in the faith is calling.
Proverbs tell us that, “The human spirit can endure in sickness, but a crushed spirit who can bear?” (Prov. 18:14) This is the beginning of a bitter season for our friend. However, the Psalmist adds “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psa. 34:18)
It is probable that our friend knows these scriptures just as well as we do, but their grief is too strong, and so the Lord gently gives us the wisdom to stay away from a well-meaning but meaningless repetition of bible verses—the insight was for our understanding of how to interact with our friend, not for a sudden healing power. This is not merely an incident for them, but a marker beginning a season of change through very difficult adjustments. The tsunami will swell and crest, but will still have forceful following waves before the ebb and flow of tides return to their predictable boundaries.
We have a compassionate biblical example of consolation to turn to in the Lord Jesus. In a single story, he is both the impending object of grief and the agent of solace for that same grief. He had spoken to his disciples of his death before, but the time is growing imminent. In a scene during the night of the Last Supper, he tells them, “In a little while you will see me no more, and then after a little while you will see me, because I am going to the Father.” (John 16:17a) They are still confused, so he begins to clarify, “Very truly I tell you, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices.” And then he adds, “You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy.” (John 16:20, a, b)
This very night he will be arrested and before twenty-four hours goes by, he will be crucified. He restates this foreknowledge to them, something they will grasp the first part of all-too-well before sunrise. “Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.” (John 16:22) To be very specific, he concludes “I came from the Father and entered the world; now I am leaving the world and going back to the Father.” (John 16:28) The disciples respond, thinking they have grasped well all Jesus has told them. “Now you are speaking clearly. Now we can see you know all things. This makes us believe.” (John 16:28)
The conversation continues in this same way for a while, but begins take on additional dimensions. They have had a convivial dinner together, though strained by Judas’ exit. They enjoy one another’s company, even in the midst of a sense of anxious change. Jesus is not preoccupied; he is focused. They leave for the Mount of Olives and Garden of Gethsemane, and as they go, they are praying and singing hymns together. (cf. Matt. 26:28) He knows what is impending, but he is still practicing a ministry of presence with his disciples.
Jesus’ relationships with his disciples have always been characterized by his honest interaction with them, individually or as a corporate group. He has been supportive, encouraging, and rebuking in turn, but always with their well-being in mind, especially their spiritual well-being. In fact, the prelude to the discussion at the Last Supper includes him saying to them, “I have much more to say to you, more than you can now bear.” (John 16:12) And we note that he adds, “When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all truth.” (John 16:13)
In respect to our not-so-hypothetical friend in need, there is much here to guide us in respect to our actions. Our takeaways from this develop out of our growing understanding of the ministry of presence that we observe in Jesus’ behavior towards his disciples. Even earlier, he has assured them, “I no longer call you servants; I have called you friends.” (John 15:15)
People plunged into a swirling maelstrom of grief don’t need a bible lesson, they need a life-line. They don’t need a mentor or a coach—they need a friend. That’s why our friend called us. They trust us, and in the midst of the whelming flood of grief, they turn to us as a trusted friend. Often, the blest starting place in such a dialogue of trust is not with mouth, but with ears. The blest action isn’t a theological exposition, but a hug. The blest thing to say, for now, is “It’s going to be o.k.” And follow that with “I’m here for you.” Nothing more. And then, be there. Be available—they called because they thought you would be. (For D.W.)
Q. Do I have the emotional resiliency to respond in compassion to my friends’ needs?
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