For when we speak...

The Book of Job is the oldest book in the Jewish and Christian Scriptures. It tells, in dramatic fashion, the story of a man named, Job. Prosperous in all aspects of life, he is brought to the point of utter ruin, through a series of utterly horrible events. Sitting in clothes of extremely uncomfortable burlap cloth - an ancient practice of mourning - while covered in boils, Job helplessly scrapes the pustules on his body with a shard of potter - probably from one of the pieces of his wedding set.

Job is not alone in his suffering. Along with a nagging wife, perhaps the writer of Proverbs had this scene in mind when he wrote, “Better to live on a corner of the roof than share a house with a quarrelsome wife” (Proverbs 21:9), lo and behold, Job has friends! The triad come for a visit as they’ve heard of the great suffering of the-once-rich-and-powerful Job. Coming to “sympathize and comfort” Job in his suffering, their intentions seem quite pure. But, we must be reminded, the path to Hell is lined with good intentions.

For a time they literally join him in his misery and there’s complete silence:

“When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads. Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was.”

For seven days and seven nights no one said a word. Utter silence. All four are heaped in despair, one habitually scraping the scabs from his skin. It’s in speaking that troubles multiply.

And this is a lesson for chaplains. There are times for sharing words but I’ve found these are far fewer than my theological tradition taught. The power of shared suffering is inexplainable. Why? In all the people I’ve sat with, held hands with, shared tears with, I have no idea what my presence meant to them other than a whispered, “Thank you” or a nod of the head with a forced but intentioned smile. I’ll never fully understand what it means to them, so I can’t articulate to what depth my being brings. I know I’ve felt great comfort when others have simply shared the shadows of my life - and significant anxiety when they’ve felt obliged to give advice. I crave the former, loath the latter.

I’ve held onto this lesson in Job for many years and I believe it’s the key to a first responder chaplain’s effectiveness. Some take it too far and never say anything, and I think this is ill intentioned; again, the path to hell. But for ninety-percent of the time, simply being with people in their crisis and trauma is sufficient in bringing a sense of peace and protection. Aloneness and loneliness crush spirits.

As a chaplain, I hope you keep this lesson in mind. This is more than simply, “a ministry of presence”. I feel this concept is over emphasized. As my years in chaplaincy deepen, “a ministry of presence” means far more than just standing there. But this is a bit off-topic. A lot of people can show up, but only a few bring with them the mystery of comfort, peace, hope, and safety.

As a first responder, it’s okay not saying anything to the victim of a dwelling fire or a pediatric death. In these moments there are very few appropriate words other than, “I am so sorry.”

So, when we speak, we’d better have something profoundly helpful to say for support and resilience. Hollow words with empty promises or subtle accusations, like the words of Job’s friends, are better left unsaid. For when we speak, there must be life.