Dear Friends,
Many
years ago, when I was fresh out of seminary and pastoring a small church
outside of Syracuse, New York, I received word of an accident. I was new to the
area and did not know the family, but as soon as I received the call, I
left the church and walked up the street to the site of the accident.
I had been informed that a dad was
outside mowing his lawn when the blade of the mower struck a rock, became
disengaged, and like a missile hurtling through the air, had
embedded itself in the skull of his four-month-old son.
Seminary
had not prepared me for this kind of visit, and at a time like this, words have
a way of escaping you.
As
I walked up the street to the accident, I thought to myself, "What
am I going to say to this dad?"
You
see in seminary we had been trained to know the right thing to say and do. but
in this instance, I found myself speechless.
As
I arrived on the scene, they were loading the tiny child in the ambulance, and
I was informed that he had died.
Off to the side of the ambulance, I saw
the dad weeping uncontrollably, and as I walked up to him having no thought of
what I would say to him, I remember looking him straight in the eye, and
without saying a word, I just wrapped my arms around him and for what seemed
like minutes we stood there embracing one another while tasting the salt
in one another's tears.
I don't remember saying a thing, but
the embrace and the tears must have communicated a message more powerful than
any sermon I could have preached.
He was Roman Catholic and his priest
had performed the boy's funeral but a few days after the funeral, the dad
called me and told me how much he appreciated all I had done.
I was surprised to hear his words, for
at the time of the accident, I had felt embarrassed by the fact that I had said
so little, and I wondered what it was that was so deserving of his
appreciation.
When I said to him, I felt embarrassed
that I didn't have much of anything to say to him, he interrupted and said,
"O yes you did. You held and cried with me, and that meant more than you
will ever know. That was as
great an encouragement to me as anything you could have ever said or done."
Sometimes, as that once popular song
expresses it, "You say it best when we say nothing at all."
That day I learned one of the most
valuable lessons of ministry that one could ever learn: Sometimes
"presence" can be more valuable than preaching.
I thought back to the days surrounding
Jean's death. Several of her closest friends arrived while my girls and I were
keeping her vigil, and I don't remember much of anything they said, for
they didn't say much at all, but what I do remember was that they were there,
present in my pain and like this dad, tasting the salt in my tears.
Yes, it is true, sometimes we say it best when we say nothing at all.
Yours in faith and friendship,
Tom
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