Sometimes Being There is Enough

Scripture Reading: John 11:28-36

28 After she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary aside. “The Teacher is here,” she said, “and is asking for you.” 29 When Mary heard this, she got up quickly and went to him. 30 Now Jesus had not yet entered the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. 31 When the Jews who had been with Mary in the house, comforting her, noticed how quickly she got up and went out, they followed her, supposing she was going to the tomb to mourn there. 32 When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

33 When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. 34 “Where have you laid him?” he asked. “Come and see, Lord,” they replied. 35 Jesus wept. 36 Then the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”

Text: Job 2:11-13

11 When Job’s three friends, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite, heard about all the troubles that had come upon him, they set out from their homes and met together by agreement to go and sympathize with him and comfort him. 12 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. 13 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.

There are moments in life when we simply do not know what to say. Someone has lost a person they love. Someone receives frightening news from a doctor. A marriage is struggling. A child is going through a difficult time. Someone tells us something painful, and we search for the right words. What should we say? How can we make it better?

Sometimes, because we do not know what to say, we become uncomfortable and even stay away. But perhaps one of the most important things we can do does not require knowing what to say. Sometimes it is simply being there.

There is a powerful scene at the beginning of the book of Job. Job has lost almost everything—his children, his wealth, and his health. Three of his friends hear what happened and come to him. When they see him, they weep. Then they sit beside him for seven days and seven nights, and Scripture says,

“No one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.”

Anyone familiar with the rest of Job knows that Job’s friends do well until they start talking. Once they begin trying to explain his suffering, much of what they say only adds to his pain. But for those first seven days, they get it exactly right. They simply stay with him.

When we love someone, we naturally want to offer solutions. But some problems cannot be solved. Some grief cannot be taken away. Sometimes there are no answers that will satisfy our hearts. In those moments, God might not be asking us to solve anything, but just to be there.

That is why one of the most meaningful things we can do when someone is grieving is simply attend the funeral. We might think, “I wasn’t especially close to the person,” or “I don’t know what to say.” Be we should go anyway. We do not need many words. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about you. I’m praying for you.” Years later, people might not remember exactly what we said, but they often remember that we came.

Think about your own life. Who came when you were in the hospital, called during a difficult time, or sat with you when you were anxious or sad? And not only during difficult times—who came to your graduation, wedding, child’s performance, or birthday? We remember those people because their presence told us something even the best words sometimes cannot: “I care…”

This message is at the very heart of the Gospel. When God saw the brokenness of the world, He did not simply send us a message. He came. John tells us,

“The Word became flesh and lived among us.”

Jesus walked with people, sat at their tables, welcomed children, touched those whom others avoided, and stopped for people everyone else walked by.

We see this beautifully when Lazarus dies. Mary falls at Jesus’ feet in grief. Jesus knows that Lazarus will soon walk out of the tomb. He could have told Mary, “Don’t cry. Everything will be fine.” Instead, He shares her sorrow. Scripture gives us those simple, powerful words: “Jesus wept.”

Jesus knows resurrection is coming, and still He weeps. That teaches us something beautiful: love does not always rush to explain everything, how the future will unfold. Sometimes we can just sit, simply be with someone in their present moment, present pain. That is why Paul tells us,

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep.”

Sometimes the person who needs our presence is right in our own home. We can sit at the same table without really being together. Someone can tell us about their day while our mind is already somewhere else. Being there might simply mean looking at someone we love and asking, “How are you?”—and then giving them enough time and attention to actually answer.

During Youth Camp, we visited the elderly at Bethlen Home and asked them what advice they would give younger people. One woman, who had been married for sixty years, told us that one of the most important things in a happy marriage is to listen to the other person and give them enough time to explain what they think and feel.

Years ago, when my daughter was about six, we were playing a simple game together. She wanted to repeat it again and again. Finally, I asked her, “Why do you like this game so much?” She looked at me as though the answer should have been obvious and said, “Because we are together!”

Perhaps that says more than we realize. We might never know how important an ordinary act of simply being there can be.

We cannot be there for everyone. The important question: Who has God already brought into my life? Who have I been meaning to call? Who is grieving or lonely? Who is going through something difficult? Who needs someone to listen?

Perhaps a name is already coming to mind. If so, maybe that is where this message becomes more than a sermon. Let us make the call, send a message, visit that person, invite someone for coffee, sit with them and listen!

We do not have to find the perfect words. Sometimes our presence simply says, “I’m not sure what to say, but I care about you, and you are not alone.”

And sometimes, that is enough. Amen.