Learning to Comfort Well
Learning to Comfort Well
By Rev. Dr. David D. Swanson
Excerpted in part from his book Everlasting Life: How God Answers Our Questions About Grief, Loss and the Promise of Heaven.
It was no surprise when I read last week that sixty-one percent of Americans said they will feel sad and lonely this holiday season with another thirty-seven percent saying they wished they could skip it altogether. While the external trappings of this time of year suggest all is merry and bright, the reality is far from it, leaving many to bear up alone under the weight of their burdens, griefs and personal pain. As a result, what many people actually need this Christmas is not another gift or party. What they need is far deeper and more meaningful: They need to be comforted.
This is exactly what Isaiah acknowledged in the Old Testament when he wrote in Isaiah 40:1, “Comfort, comfort my people…” We find in those words a balm for our wounds, but we must also realize that more often than not, comfort is something we extend to each other – person to person. If we are to be comforted, if our pain is to be eased, it will come by another human being who sees it and moves toward us. The problem is while many of us have the emotional intelligence to see when others are hurting, we lack confidence in being able to say the right thing, to help another, and so, in our insecurity, we wind up saying nothing. It is as Edward Cole said of funerals in The Bucket List, “I don’t know what most people say at these occasions because in all honesty, I’ve tried to avoid them.”
With a little thought and intentionality, let us endeavor to not only see the wounds and griefs of others, but to offer the comfort so desperately needed. As you think about what a gift that could be, here are a few things to think about:
Presence. The most comforting thing you can offer to a wounded soul is not eloquence of words, but something far more simple: your presence. For that person, they will not remember much or anything of what you say, but they will absolutely remember that in their time of sorrow, you showed up. Who needs you to show up for them this year?
Words. When we move to comfort another, in our insecurity and awkwardness, we can inadvertently say the wrong thing, things that puzzle or even add to the person’s discomfort. Things like:
1. It’s going to be okay. Their world is bleak and dark, plus you don't actually know that for sure. It feels as if it will never be okay, so any promise that it will be okay comes off as disingenuous.
2. Call me if there’s anything I can do. People say that because they want to say something that makes them appear willing to help. I think it comes from a truly genuine place, but such a comment puts the onus on the wounded ones to make the contact.
3. I know how you feel. Here's what happened to me. The truth is you don't. In an effort to appear empathic, we will often share our own stories of pain or difficulty. We want them to know we understand, but the reality is we don't. Our experience of pain or suffering is not normative for anyone else, so to suggest we know how another feels is false. When we comfort another, our task is to be present and listen, not to tell our own story.
Instead, offer words such as:
I’m so sorry. It’s hard to overestimate how helpful that phrase can be. It allows people to know you identify with their suffering in some way. Most of the time, you don’t need to say much more.
I sure do miss John. A statement like this allows grieving people to talk about their loved one—something they desperately want to do. If we don’t bring up his or her name, it can feel to grieving people as though we have forgotten, as though no one remembers what they are going through.
I love you. How simple those three words sound, and yet we say them far too rarely. When those around us walk in the darkness of human brokenness, they need to be reminded that they are not in it alone. They want to know that someone is not only with them, but loves them.
Finally, comfort is often best offered through physical touch. Clearly, we need to be careful in how we do this, but what often happens is that wounded, broken people isolate themselves. They rarely see another human, but studies show how important the touch of another can be. It may be as simple as taking their hands or putting a hand on their forearm, or when appropriate, to embrace them, to hold them. I remember doing a funeral for a man who died of cancer at 60 and afterward, as his widow wept, I held her in my arms. Later, she said, "I don't remember much of that day, but I'll never forget how tightly you held me. It felt as if you were keeping me from breaking apart." A hug may be the great gift we offer in this season.
I pray your life is great and that you're gliding through these weeks in great joy, but rest assured, many people around you are not. Let's endeavor to see those very people this Christmas and offer them the great gift of comfort.
Published in the Orlando Sentinel on 12.10.23.
As you read this article from David, you may be reminded that his wife – our beloved, Leigh – has recently been diagnosed with breast cancer and will undergo a double mastectomy on December 19, 2023. Please keep the Swanson Family in your prayers this holiday season. If you would like to send a note to extend words of comfort and care, please address it to
Dr. David Swanson
c/o First Presbyterian Church of Orlando
106 E Church St, Orlando, FL 32801
Updates on Leigh’s surgery and recovery will air on Facebook Live’s Wednesday Update episodes on 12.20.23 and 01.03.24. You may also watch the episodes by clicking the link in our weekly Newsletter. SUBSCRIBE HERE.
The Swansons covet your prayers and letters of comfort at this time. If you wish to provide a meal or Uber eats/groceries, please CLICK HERE.
Blessings and comfort to you and yours this season!