 Ever had that friend who tries to fill every quiet moment with chatter? You know, the one who treats silence like it's a horror movie villain? (Spoiler alert: in grief support, silence is more like the unsung superhero.)
Let's talk about the art of keeping quiet or as I like to call it, "How to Not Fill the Air with Words When Someone's Heart is Already Full." Picture this: You're sitting with a friend who's just experienced a loss. Your brain is frantically scrolling through its internal Rolodex of "Things People Say in Sad Movies." Meanwhile, your friend is sitting there, tissues in hand, in complete silence. And you know what? That's perfectly okay! In fact, it might be exactly what they need. Why Silence is Golden (And Not Just Because You're Tired of Talking):
The Ministry of Presence (AKA How to Be There Without Using Your Words):
When to Break the Silence:
Remember: Silence isn't awkward unless we make it awkward. Think of it like a warm blanket – sometimes the most comforting thing is just wrapping yourself in it and being still. Fun fact: Research shows that humans get uncomfortable with silence after just 4 seconds. But guess what? We're not here for our comfort, we're here for theirs. So let's practice being comfortable with the uncomfortable. Think of it as emotional yoga, minus the stretchy pants. Pro Tip: If you feel the urgent need to fill the silence, try:
Remember: Sometimes the most profound ministry happens in the spaces between words. And if all else fails, just channel your inner mime (minus the face paint and invisible box routine).
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 You know that moment when someone says exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time? Like when your well-meaning aunt Barbara suggests that "everything happens for a reason" while you're trying not to cry into your coffee? Yeah, we've all been there, on both sides of that conversation.
Welcome to our "Helpful vs. Hurtful Words" series, where we're going to navigate the sometimes-awkward, always-important world of speaking to those who are grieving. Think of this as your friendly guide to not putting your foot in your mouth (we've all done it) while actually being the support person you want to be. First things first: Let's address the elephant in the room. Words are tricky little creatures. They can be like warm hugs or like stepping on Legos – and nobody likes stepping on Legos. The Hall of Fame of Well-Intentioned but Ouch-Worthy Comments:
Instead, Try These Gems:
Here's the thing: We're all human, trying our best to support each other through life's toughest moments. And sometimes, we're going to mess up. That's okay! The key is learning and growing together. Think of supporting a grieving person like learning to dance. You might step on some toes at first, but with practice and awareness, you'll learn the rhythm of grief support. And no, you don't need to perfect the grief support cha-cha – just being present and mindful is enough. Remember: You don't need to have all the answers. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is simply, "I don't know what to say, but I'm here."  Hey friend, Let’s be honest, grief is awkward. Not for the person feeling it (they’re too busy surviving it). But for the rest of us? The ones standing there, heart aching, wanting to say anything that will make it better? Yeah. We've all been there. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked into a room—whether as a pastor, a friend, or just a fellow human—and thought, "Okay, Erin... don’t mess this up. Say something wise. Comforting. Biblical, maybe." Then... nothing. My brain goes blank, my heart pounds, and all the “right words” I thought I had? Gone. Here’s the beautiful, freeing thing I’ve learned (sometimes the hard way): You don’t need to have the right words. You need to be there. That’s it. Really. It’s called the Ministry of Presence, but don’t let that fancy phrase scare you off. It’s not reserved for pastors or chaplains in stiff collars. It’s for anyone who’s ever thought, "I wish I could do something... but I don’t know what." Guess what? Being there is “something." When There Are No Words... Good. We live in a world that hates silence. Awkward pauses? We rush to fill them. But grief doesn’t need noise. It doesn’t need silver linings or well-meaning clichés (please, for the love of all things holy, don’t say “everything happens for a reason”). Grief needs space. Someone can be willing to sit in that space without trying to redecorate it. Let me tell you—some of the most powerful moments I’ve had with grieving families were when I said absolutely nothing—just sat beside them, held a hand, passed a tissue box without a word. Let them cry, talk, or stare at the wall if needed. It feels small. But to someone whose world has shattered? That quiet presence feels like a lifeline. So, How Do You "Be There" Without Feeling Useless? I get it—you want a checklist. Something to do. So, here’s your friendly, no-pressure guide to showing up well: Just... Show Up. Don’t overthink it. Don’t wait until you’ve crafted the perfect text or baked the ideal casserole. (Though casseroles are always welcome.) A simple “I’m here” goes a long way. Sometimes I’ve said: "I don’t have words, but I didn’t want you to be alone." And you know what? People breathe easier when they hear that. Zip It (Unless They Open the Door). If they talk, listen. If they cry, pass the tissues. If they say nothing... match that energy. You’re not there to host a talk show. Think of yourself as a weighted blanket for soul comforting by presence alone. Don’t Try to Fix the Unfixable. Grief isn’t a leaky faucet or a Wi-Fi issue. It can’t be solved. So, permit yourself to stop looking for solutions. Your job isn’t to make it better—to make sure they don’t feel alone in the "worse." Offer Help That Doesn’t Require Brainpower. “Let me know if you need anything” sounds nice, but a grieving person doesn’t have the energy to figure out what to ask for. Instead, try: "I’m headed to the store—can I grab you anything?" "I’ve got Tuesday free—can I come by and do some dishes or laundry?" Or even: "I’m dropping off coffee tomorrow morning. I’ll leave it on the porch if you’re not up to talking." Trust me, these small things feel huge. Stick Around (Even After Everyone Else Moves On)- Grief doesn’t follow a schedule. It lingers long after the casseroles stop coming. So, check in weeks—or months—later. You’re Enough, Just as You Are If you’re still thinking, "But I should be doing more..." Let me gently stop you right there. So, remember this little chat next time you’re standing at the doorstep of someone’s grief, and you feel that panic rising. Take a deep breath, walk in (or send that text), and know: You don’t have to bring magic words. Just bring you. Let’s Keep Walking This Road Together If this resonated with you, if you’ve ever felt the weight of wanting to help but not knowing how—I hope you’ll stick around. I’m starting a series on grief, faith, and how we show up for each other when life gets hard. No sugar-coating. No spiritual clichés. Just real talk, hope, and a little humor to get us through. Subscribe or pop back next week when we tackle: “What Not to Say to Someone Who’s Grieving (And What to Say Instead)” Spoiler: It’s easier than you think. Until then, friend-- Be kind to yourself. And remember, a presence is a gift. Keep offering it. |
AuthorAbout Rev. Dr. Erin Marie Burns (But please, just call me Erin!) I’m a pastor, writer, and professional "showing-upper" when life gets messy. Around here, we talk about grief, faith, hope, and how to care for people when words just aren’t enough—because let’s face it, sometimes life hands us more questions than answers (and that's okay). I believe in the holy power of just being there, that coffee should basically count as a spiritual practice, and that God shows up in the small, quiet moments—like a kind text, a shared silence, or a garden full of stubbornly beautiful dahlias. When I’m not writing or walking alongside folks in hard seasons, you’ll probably find me: Attempting to tame my garden (the weeds usually win). Practicing archery like I’m training for a medieval adventure. Chasing family time, deep conversations, and maybe a slice of pie. If you’re looking for real talk, a little humor, and gentle reminders that you don’t have to fix everything—you’ve found your spot. Pull up a chair, grab a mug of something warm, and stick around. We’re in this together. P.S. Come back next week—grief, faith, and hope aren’t one-time conversations! ArchivesCategories
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