When There are No Words

I spend a lot of time with people who are hurting. It comes with the job. And there are certain phrases and sentiments that I hear expressed a lot when somebody dies or life otherwise falls apart around someone.

“She’s in a better place.”

“This too shall pass.”

“God is in control.”

“It was just his time.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

I’m sure some people put a lot of thought into these things before they open their mouths. Often, though, this sounds to me like a filler—you feel the need to say something—or an obligatory expression of faith, something that you’re “supposed” to say at times like these.

I was reminded of all this when I read Job 13:12 this week. Responding to the words of his three “comforters,” Job doesn’t mince words:

Your pronouncements are like maxims of dust;

Your responses—like lumps of clay.

Job was enduring tremendous suffering from unimaginable loss. After he put all of his anguish and hurt into words in chapter 3, one of his friends felt like he needed to say something and told Job many of the things you’re “supposed” to say at times like these. Job’s response led the other friends to chime in, and this back-and-forth leads to chapter after chapter of pronouncements like:

If your sons committed a sin against him,

He has dispatched them for their offense. (8:4)

Your kids had this coming. God acted appropriately.

Can you fathom the depths of God?

Can you reach the limit of the Almighty? (11:7)

God’s just too big for you to understand. You can’t see the full picture here!

But to the man whose life had become a black hole of loss, these words were “maxims of dust.” Their words couldn’t stand up to a gentle breeze, much less the full, grim reality of Job’s experiences and questions.

We’ve all said the wrong thing to somebody before. In 16:4, Job admits that “Even I would speak like you, if you were in my place.” We’ve all felt that pressure to find the right words when we reach the front of the line at a wake. And, realistically, no words will be enough when someone’s experienced terrible loss.

But the failure of Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar to offer Job anything but “lumps of clay” should instruct us.

The people we know and love who are suffering don’t need a theological explanation for what they’re going through—Where was God? How could God let this happen?—like these three tried to offer Job.

They probably don’t need trite proverbs about loss or sympathy card slogans—Our loss is heaven’s gain!

They certainly don’t need blame—You should have known this would happen the moment you quit bringing those kids to church.

And they don’t need someone who will argue with their outpouring of grief and pain.

What they need from you and me, I believe, are the simplest, truest words we can offer.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.”

“I’m here for you.” (Backed up, in the weeks and months ahead, by “What do you need today?”)

At first, though, they may just need a quiet presence, a warm hug, listening ears, and sympathetic eyes. As Job told Zophar, “If only you would keep silent, yes, silent—for that would be wisdom for you!” (13:5) When you feel like there are no words for a situation, maybe you’re right. Maybe no words would be best.

Like one of my seminary professors once said, reflecting on people’s responses to her own battle with stage 4 cancer, “I hope everyone simmers down on the explanations for other people’s suffering, and just steps in with love.”

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