They Stood Still

I was in the place I love most in the world, surrounded by the people I hold dearest, in the moment I never wished to be. We found ourselves in a perfect circle, the Georgia June sun warming our foreheads and our feet resting on the beautiful ground where he walked only two weeks earlier. 

The barn was on the hill behind us, and beyond it, the rolling pasture full of knee-high grass waved shalom in the warm breeze. Bass as big as Labradors churned on the surface of the fishing pond and an elusive beaver chiseled away at hardwoods. But in those many minutes that followed, my friends stood still and silent. 

It was a holy huddle. Our heavy tears hit the hot red clay and mingled near the garden he planted. I thought of the jar in heaven the psalmist writes about where God keeps our tears. Surely mine was spilling over.  

The compassionate faces of my dearest friends were like a roadmap of my life from the time I was two until I was nearly 35. In the lines on their beautiful faces were the tracks of immense shared joy and laughter. 

And now we stood, my heart broken and them absorbing each sob, captive in the wreckage of my grief. That day, their faces were solemn, focused on my every word, stricken with the same shock running through my body. They were shrouded in a still and silent love. 

As I was reading Job recently, I was deeply moved by Job’s friends. His three buddies did a lot of things wrong, but they did one thing really right. 

“Now when Job’s three friends heard of all this adversity that had come upon him, they came each one from his own place, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite; and they made an appointment together to come to sympathize with him and comfort him. When they lifted up their eyes at a distance and did not recognize him, they raised their voices and wept. And each of them tore his robe and they threw dust over their heads toward the sky. Then they sat down on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights with no one speaking a word to him, for they saw that his pain was very great.”

Job 2:11-13

In a moment of deepest loss and unthinkable grief, they came from far away and they sat with him. FOR SEVEN DAYS AND SEVEN NIGHTS. I can’t even fathom sitting in one place for that long. Then add in the dirt and heat. And the desert factor. And the no talking. It sounds impossible. Completely miserable. And yet this is what they did to share in his pain.

They created a space for him to weep and mourn, they tore their own robes and put dirt on their heads. They entered into his grief with silence and they carried his burden with their presence. For a whole week. I can only imagine how much they must have prayed. 

What we do for each other in an hour of need mirrors what God does for us. We draw near, just as He does. Because we are powerless to change loss, we draw near— to God and to each other. My friends did this for me. As believers, we share the pain, we shoulder the loss, and we pray to the omnipotent One. 

In the South, we also bring casseroles. Those are good, too.

I think of the people who laid down their lives- there are countless ones engraved on my heart who served, fed, cleaned, and cried.

There were those who came from Florida and New Jersey, California and Idaho. They dropped it all, even if it was a day trip from another state. For the believer, it must go deeper than “paying respects.” They came and resided in our grief.

Many of my friends were able to be there in the circle that day. The ones who couldn’t be there had my house cleaned, brought me a meal, kept my children, or wrote me a card. 

They (probably reluctantly at times) read this blog and willingly let the pain singe them. Most importantly (and less glamorously), they prayed, in the middle of the night or driving down the road, they brought my grief before Almighty God. 

More commonly, Job’s friends get criticized (rightly) for the things they said to Job. God’s wrath kindled against Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar, not because of what they did but because of the words they spoke to Job regarding God that were untrue (Job 42:7). God relented and did not deal with them according to their sin, and thankfully if we are in Christ, He doesn’t deal with us according to ours. 

I think back on things people said and did that might have hurt me or my family, the things that were not correct about God. I remember the well-meaning things that felt uncaring and self-centered. Thankfully, God gives added grace to forgive in such trying times. Friends should accept each other’s presence as an offering of love, and have abounding grace for each other. 

I have been that someone. I have failed to respond appropriately for my friends in their hour of need, and I undoubtedly will be that person again. I am ashamed of things I have said trying to ease their grief and stop their suffering. How searing my words might have been, how callous. So I don’t blame other people nor do I harbor resentment for things said to me. How could I?

I have, however, changed how I hope to respond when my friends enter times of loss. 

I hope to say less. I hope to listen more. And if needed, I hope I will sit, present for the sobbing, breathing in the deep pain and loss, for as long as it may take to carry the burden as much as I am able. 

And I hope I will pray fervently.

I also hope I won’t ask, “What can I do?” or say, “Let me know if you need something.” Not that these are wrong things- they are great things. But I hope I will more likely just do something or anticipate a need. 

While love often speaks, I think more often in times of suffering, love just does. 

Even if the “doing” is standing still and silent.