Although my teaching area in graduate seminary was New Testament exegesis and theology, students respected my years as pastor and army chaplain and, so, often addressed concerns about pastoral care to me.

Monday, November 01, 1999

Although my teaching area in graduate seminary was New Testament exegesis and theology, students respected my years as pastor and army chaplain and, so, often addressed concerns about pastoral care to me. One, now a most effective pastor, said: "Tell me what to say to those who are losing someone close, like a parent, spouse, or child. I’m scared to death of funerals!" Many of the times I was part of an army KIA notification team, the line officer who was to deliver the official notice asked me frantically: "What do you say to a young wife who has lost her husband?" or "to a mother who has lost her son?" As a hospital chaplain, visitors have pleaded: "What do you say to a person who is dying?"

My answer has been rather much the same: Something. When you don’t know what to say to a grieving person, say something. Saying the wrong thing will be forgiven; it is saying nothing that hurts.

Today, I just cannot write about some political or even social issue, despite how many things yet demand comment. I am hurting because of a threat to life within our family. I would now like to help others who hurt with things learned through experience.

The most common objection I have heard to talking with grieving people is: "But I might say the wrong thing." Of course you will say the wrong thing. It will fumble out sooner or later, so you may as well say it sooner and get it over with. The more we worry about saying the wrong thing, the worse it will be when it comes and the harder it will be to recover. Just say: That was a pretty dumb thing, wasn’t it? Your friend might say, Yes, it was; then you both move on.

One of our patients, when I was doing clinical pastoral care in a West Coast medical center, was an eighteen-year-old boy dying of cancer. When I came to the ward, I found a note on the board: "Patient requests no visitors-not even family." The nurses told me mournfully how he absolutely refused to see anyone but a nurse or physician, and they could only comment on medical matters. He wouldn’t even see his girlfriend or his parents. I sent a note in that indicated I was the new chaplain for the ward and I needed to justify to my supervisory chaplain not calling on him regularly and would appreciate seeing him once for a minute; then I would leave him alone if he still wished.

He nodded yes to the nurse and I went in. He complained about the "dumb things" people kept saying and that he was sick of hearing the same dumb things every time from everyone. I asked for a couple of examples, thinking I could give a better construction to them. No use: they were incredibly dumb. So dumb, I fear I began to smirk. That happened to be fortunate, because he actually laughed once he heard it from his own lips.

So we made a chart to be posted at the nurses station: "The following dumb things have already been used. Please think of another dumb thing to say, and then come in and try it out." He actually looked forward to what people might think of, and they caught the spirit of the thing. Each tried something dumb, they laughed together, and then they really talked. Then Mike died.

To say nothing to a dying person is cruel. It only deepens the hurt, even though you honestly wish to avoid hurting. It just is not natural or honest not to talk with someone you love. It’s hard for a dying person to forgive a former friend for not even trying to talk.

You will hurt that person by saying the wrong thing, to be sure. Say it anyway. But stick with the person and work it through. It will smart but for a moment, and your continued presence will be all the healing needed. Then he will die, and for the rest of your life you will be glad you said something.

Wallace Alcorn’s column appearws Mondays