My current husband of 4 years, I worked for 25 years ago when he was a pastor. He taught classes on the art of listening and including what is not being said—as well as silence. He is now in Hospice and I am so thankful to have learned what I now can give back to him. He also introduced me to Wendell Berry so it’s come full circle. Thank you.
Oh Joyce. It says something about how much I struggle with the things I wrote about here that my immediate thought was "what can I say?". I did pray for Wes, and for you. I am sorry.
Well put, Will. Thank you. We have a difficult relationship with how we view being a pastor as a job. It's easy for me to quantify sermon preparation, counseling sessions, meetings, etc. But how do we quantify sitting with someone? And yet this is so crucial. One of the reasons our sermons fall on deaf ears is because we remain strangers to our people. And much that is at the heart of what it means to be a pastor (perhaps the phrase "ministry of the word and prayer" is helpful here) is simply not that important in terms of our job responsibilities.
It seems that our instinct is to try to come up with some words that may comfort those we love. My friend was diagnosed a month ago with breast cancer, and each ensuing scan seems to build on the bad news. Right now she is overflowing with fear, grief, fury, and hopelessness. It’s helpful to think that instead of trying to come up with meaningful words (not platitudes), I can perhaps give support by just being present and staying quiet.
My current husband of 4 years, I worked for 25 years ago when he was a pastor. He taught classes on the art of listening and including what is not being said—as well as silence. He is now in Hospice and I am so thankful to have learned what I now can give back to him. He also introduced me to Wendell Berry so it’s come full circle. Thank you.
Oh Joyce. It says something about how much I struggle with the things I wrote about here that my immediate thought was "what can I say?". I did pray for Wes, and for you. I am sorry.
He also shared this quote by Collin Murray: Grief is the price we pay for love, do not pity those who pay the price but those who choose not to.
Thank you for this. The ministry of presence (and active listening) is hard to quantify and therefore often neglected.
Well put, Will. Thank you. We have a difficult relationship with how we view being a pastor as a job. It's easy for me to quantify sermon preparation, counseling sessions, meetings, etc. But how do we quantify sitting with someone? And yet this is so crucial. One of the reasons our sermons fall on deaf ears is because we remain strangers to our people. And much that is at the heart of what it means to be a pastor (perhaps the phrase "ministry of the word and prayer" is helpful here) is simply not that important in terms of our job responsibilities.
Good word. Thank you for sharing it.
I call this comfort ‘bearing witness’, it is an honor to offer this to a suffering soul. 💫
We are not all that comfortable with silence. When we feel too uncomfortable we throw out words hoping to quell our anxiety.
“What’s Your Part In It?”
“Let me explain”, his opening gambit
about my life and how to fix it.
He and I were having a chat
I said I felt sad because of all that I lost
I was adrift in my life, bereft
the beauty in my life and respect
were taken and all that I had left,
past the shame, was to start from scratch.
To start to fix me he asked
what part of it was my fault,
“what’s your part in it?”
Between the empath and the expert
it’s easy for me to pick
unsolicited advice is an insult
the listener as mirror is a gift.
It seems that our instinct is to try to come up with some words that may comfort those we love. My friend was diagnosed a month ago with breast cancer, and each ensuing scan seems to build on the bad news. Right now she is overflowing with fear, grief, fury, and hopelessness. It’s helpful to think that instead of trying to come up with meaningful words (not platitudes), I can perhaps give support by just being present and staying quiet.