I’m reaching the age where I find myself being separated by more and more people as death reshuffles life in its ever-existing process of making all things new.  We celebrate new birth as babies bring us new joys and new hopes and give us a glimpse of the future that we know we will not be able to see.  New life is a blessing.

But what about the life that vanishes before our eyes and the loved ones that have surrounded and have been nourished by the deceased?  Rather than something given as in new birth, something has been taken away.  That is when we hear the call to comfort.

In Genesis 25:11, Abraham has died, and the scripture says that “God blessed Isaac his son.”  I take that to mean that God comforted Isaac.  As imitators of the Holy One, it is then our task to do likewise.  As the prophet Isaiah says (40:41), “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people.”  So, we have an obligation, do we not, to comfort?

How does one do that?  How does one step into the situation of comforting the one who is dealing with the intolerable burden of intense loneliness?  What does one say?  What does one do?  Comfort is not a gift that one could beautifully wrap and ‘hand it over to the bereaved’.

In the Hebrew scriptures, the one who had so much taken away from him and experienced a mountain of loss in so many areas of his life, was the righteous man: Job.  He is visited by three friends, and they sit with him for seven days….in silence.  Let me underscore that, in silence.  “There is a time to speak and a time to remain silent” says the book of Ecclesiastes.

The call to comfort is not a call to convince.  It is not a call to tell the sufferer what you think, or what you believe, or how you would handle the situation, or what they should do.  It is not about ‘ought’ ‘should’ ‘could’ ‘must’ or “If I were you I would…”  It is not about “the inevitability of death”, or “it could be worse”, or “life must go on”.

What one brings to the mourner is one’s presence.  One’s presence speaks volumes.  Words can be cold, clumsy, and even hurtful regardless of intent.  Silent presence brings warmth. A friendly smile blesses the tie that binds.

Job’s friends stayed seven days.  I think they thought more highly of their own presence than they should.  A good friend knows when not to prolong their visit.  When I step into the sunshine, it refreshes me.  When I stay in it too long, it zaps my energy and dries me out.  Keeping your visits short may be like finding out that your very best gift has come in the smallest of boxes.  

Dr. Frank Leeds III

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