He meant well, this pastor trying to ease the pain of a stranger, but he was too young to have learned the "dos" and "don'ts" of comfort-giving. So this particular patient shifted in his bed uncomfortably while the pastor tried to teach him that other people had troubles worse than his, so "he should draw comfort from that, at least."

A fool finds no pleasure in understanding, but delights in airing his own opinions. -Proverbs 18:2

 

     "If you think that's bad."

 

     He meant well, this pastor trying to ease the pain of a stranger, but he was too young to have learned the "dos" and "don'ts" of comfort-giving.  So this particular patient shifted in his bed uncomfortably while the pastor tried to teach him that other people had troubles worse than his, so "he should draw comfort from that, at least."

 

     True enough, if this man wasn't hurting so bad from having been buried under a crane-and if he wasn't still traumatized by the memories of the long hours it took for workers to get the crane off of him, he probably would have agreed with the pastor that a family with a seriously ill child had it worse than he did.  But neither he nor I could understand how that made his suffering better, or why somebody would pile the heartbreak of another person onto somebody in distress already.

 

     I heard it again, recently, too, this same unhelpful phrase. "If you think that's bad."

 

     This time it was somebody who'd been around long enough to know better, but still the words poured out.  "I know it's frightening not to be able to find a job," this would-be comforter said to a mutual friend of ours, "but at least you haven't lost your home like ____________.  He's been out of work almost two years!"

 

      Again I thought, "How does this make him feel better?"  If anything, it probably made him worry the same thing could happen to him, too. 

 

     With rare exception, I've learned what people usually want is a person with a good set of ears and a quiet tongue.  "If I want help," one old-timer taught me when I was tripping over my knight-in-shining-armor-solve-the-problem-and-be-a-hero self, "I'll ask for it.  Until then," he said, with disappointment in his voice, "please just hear me."  Listening to him describe his recently departed wife, I finally got it:  No words could ease the hurt he was feeling. 

 

     I've since learned that's true of most pain-be it death or divorce or lost homes or even lost jobs. 

 

     Pain is pain is pain, and everyone experiences pain differently.  To suggest one person's pain is worse than another's is to reduce human beings to mathematical equations with cookie-cutter emotions.  When you find yourself saying "if you think that's bad.", you lose them every time.

 

     So one of the most valuable lessons I've ever learned as a Christian, or a husband/father, or a caring friend is that "he who talks least usually helps most."

 

     Want proof? Consider the matter of prayer: God already knows everything you're going through; everything you're thinking; even things you don't know or understand about your pain.  Still, He asks us to tell Him our trials, to ask Him for help.  Why? Because He's always known what it takes us years of hurting others to learn: Talking to a listening heart lays in the first healing stitch and makes us distinctly aware we're not in this thing alone. 

 

     What better way to live out our claim to want to be more like Him? What better gift could we give the wounded and struggling around us?  As someone once correctly said:

 

     "God gave us two ears and one mouth. We should use them proportionately."

 

--Randy Kilgore

--Randy@madetomatter.org

www.madetomatter.org