Last week I had a conversation with three different women who are doing the hard and holy work of walking with friends who are in the early stages of grief after loss. It’s such a difficult and sensitive space to step into; one that requires discerning care. Each of these women expressed a desire to bring comfort, but also a deep sense of caution, maybe even trepidation, about stepping into these places of vulnerability. In their deep compassion and care, they did not want to do or say something that would bring more hurt to the heart of their loved one who was already hurting so deeply.
All three of these women asked the same core questions: “How do I comfort these friends who are hurting? How do I ensure I don’t say the wrong thing?”
Often, we do not know how to step into spaces of loss. There is a beautiful and godly desire to bring comfort, yet when facing the reality of walking with the grieving, we are also confronted with the limits of the comfort we can actually offer. This holy work often brings with it an acute awareness of how easy it is to say the wrong thing and unintentionally add more pain to the one who is already suffering.
While no two people grieve the same way and engaging someone’s grief will always be deeply personal, here are three ways I encouraged these friends as they step into the space of walking with friends facing loss:
- A Gentle Greeting
The most frequent greeting in our western culture is some form of, “Hey, how are you?” or “How’s it going?” It’s a generic way of saying hello, yet the reality is, we are rarely seeking to learn how a person is doing. It’s often said in passing and the most frequent response is some form of, “I’m good, how are you?” It’s a surface level formality; a linguistic tool that establishes a neutral connection.
After my son died, this neutral greeting of, “how are you?” felt paralyzing. It felt awkward and hard to know how to answer. I was not okay, so much so that it felt impossible to answer this greeting with anything more than a shrug.
I found great mercy from those who would simply greet me with, “it’s good to see you.” There was no question to answer. There was nothing to which I needed to respond. It felt like a gentle kindness to my broken heart.
My counsel to these women seeking guidance was first off, simply greet your friend with a hug and tell them, “it’s good to see you.” Start with a gentle greeting that asks nothing of them. While extremely simple, it provides a soft onramp to engaging sorrow.
- Presence Over Words
In our desperate attempt to bring comfort, it is easy to say too much or say something that inadvertently causes more pain. Fear of this reality can leave us feeling completely paralyzed. Yet, as I consider both scripture and my own experience with loss, I have learned that a quiet presence is far more powerful than spoken words.
The day after we lost Ezra, my family and I went to the mountains. Some of our closest friends traveled up the very next day to just be with us. To this day, I don’t remember a single word they said. But I vividly remember their presence. They wept with us. They prayed with us. They were simply there.
Scripture shows us a powerful contrast of this dynamic. Consider Job’s friends versus Ruth’s devotion to Naomi. Job’s friends started well with silent presence, but they eventually began to speak out of arrogance, heaping judgment and pain onto Job’s suffering. Their words were so severe that God later declared, “My anger burns against you… for you have not spoken of me what is right” (Job 42:7).
In contrast, when Naomi faced the devastating loss of her husband, her sons, and her home, scripture tells us that “Ruth clung to her” (Ruth 1:14). Even though Naomi was so overwhelmed by grief that she renamed herself “Bitter,” Ruth did not offer corrections or theological explanations. She simply clung to Naomi. She offered presence without words. When stepping into the holy space of sorrow, words carry risk. Presence and nearness offer a comfort that will be remembered forever.
- Right Perspectives Take Time
Deep sorrow can be blinding. It can alter a person’s perspective, at least for a season, making it easy for a sufferer to say things that feel untrue, hopeless, or disconnected from reality. The immediate temptation in those moments is to bring theological correction; to point the hurting heart back to truth in hopes that truth will overshadow grief.
Yet, when someone is in the depths of despair, the truth can feel more like burning acid than a comforting blanket. While that doesn’t make the truth any less true, there is profound wisdom in trusting that the Spirit will restore right perspectives in his perfect timing.
Consider the prophet Elijah. After confronting Ahab and defeating the prophets of Baal, he fled into the wilderness. He was discouraged, weary, and totally exhausted; so much so he begged God to take his life. God did not correct him. Rather, he sent an angel to offer Elijah a meal, and then allowed him to take a long nap. Even after resting, Elijah was still in despair, crying out to God: “I have been very jealous for the Lord, the God of hosts. For the people of Israel have forsaken your covenant… and I, even I only, am left, and they seek my life, to take it away” (1 Kings 19:10).
Elijah felt totally alone. Despite the fact that he had recently interacted with another devoted follower of God, Obadiah, despite the fact that Obadiah told Elijah that he had hidden and fed 100 prophets in a cave (1 Kings 18:13), Elijah felt alone and told God that he was the only faithful one left. And God did not immediately correct him. He let Elijah talk. After that, he allowed Elijah to experience his presence, and then he offered him the gentle correction and encouragement he needed.
When someone is grieving, they will likely think, feel, or say things that are distorted by pain. We must resist the urge to correct them, even if we mean well. God’s interaction with Elijah reminds us that while there is a time for gentle redirection, it rarely needs to happen right away. We can trust the Spirit to work in his time.
We often feel ill equipped to walk with those who are hurting. The desire to always say the right thing is a beautiful piece of compassion that reflects the heart of God. Yet the reality is, we will always fall short. As you learn to step into these holy places, start with a gentle greeting, not a neutral question. Bear in mind that hurtful words will be remembered, but so will a steady presence; err to the side of presence over words. And allow the Spirit to sort out wrongly held views. He cares far more deeply for the sufferer’s heart and his own glory. Let him lead through that process.
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