paul

I had been on staff with Young Life for about six months, when I picked up the phone. The shaky teenage voice on the other end was “Paul”. Paul was in 11^th grade, and as best he could, he told me they just found his mom and she had taken her own life.

My heart raced. Grabbing my keys, I was on my way to his house. I remember panicking. I don’t know what to do, I wasn’t trained for this. Running through my mind were a thousand reasons not to get involved. But I went.

Too often, when we find ourselves unexpectedly in the presence of deeply hurting people, we panic. We feel unqualified, unequipped. We are terrified to enter in. When we find ourselves in this place we revert to the basic questions,

“So, how are you doing?” “Do you need anything?” “Want me to bring a meal over?”

To which the person replies, “No, you don’t have to do that. Please don’t go to all the trouble of doing that. We’re doing fine.”

And we say, “Well, OK, let me know if you need anything. I’m praying for you.”

Most of us, including myself, aren’t very good at asking for help, or learning to lean on others when we are in distress.

When I arrived at Paul’s house, police were walking around with clipboards doing whatever they do. I went and pushed the front door open, walked into the house, and slowly walked in to see if anyone was around. A broken hurting husband met me in the hallway without words. His eyes were swollen, his posture was shaky, and he appeared to be as fragile as a human being could be. He turned towards the kitchen, which I perceived as an invitation to follow him.

Entering the kitchen, he pointed to Paul and continued through the room until he disappeared into the back rooms of the house. Paul looked up from the kitchen table, his long, dark hair pulled back under a black baseball cap worn backwards. Our eyes met for what seemed like a full minute. There were no words.

Paul didn’t speak. He walked into the living room and slumped down on the couch and stared at the wall in front of him.

I sat down beside him and told him, “Hey man, I love you. I know you are hurting bad right now. I’m just going to sit here with you if that’s ok.

He replied, “Yeah, man that’s cool. Thank you.”

I probably sat on that couch with him for about three hours.  Paul didn’t say much; just smoked one cigarette after another until the pack was empty and he crumpled it up into his fist and hurled it against the wall.  Off and on there were tears, as reality sank in, and he moved to the realization that this was no dream. It really happened.

I think as humans our default response in these situations is to be active–to do something—to say the right thing—to fix it. Our ceaseless activity and desire to quickly repair what is broken have no power in these places. What I’ve found to be the most helpful is simply to have the courage to enter in—to show up. This is a ministry of presence.

Stay here and watch with me. —Jesus in Gethsemane hours before his betrayal. (Matt.26)

As Jesus set his course to Golgotha, he experienced a time of great distress and mental anguish. And in those hours, asked a few of his closest companions to come simply be with him…to walk with him through the fire.

Jesus turned to a few of his closest companions. “Come with me.” They went to Gethsemane. “Stay here and watch with me.” Then Jesus walked a few more steps and trembled to the ground in prayer.

If I had been in Gethsemane with Jesus, I would have questions:

“What’s the plan?”

“What are we watching for?”

“What are we doing out here?”

“How can we fix this situation?”

“What can I say to relieve his distress?”

“What can I do to make him feel better?”

I might have tried to talk him out of the whole thing; to call the whole thing off. “Let’s think of another way. There must be other options. You can’t let this happen.” I would vow to fight to the death before I would let him be taken only to find myself fleeing into the night, deserting him all together.

I deeply believe Jesus simply desired the strength and comfort found in the presence of the Father together with his close friends during a time of great anxiety and distress.

He needed their presence. Their presence was an act of love given by doing nothing but being there. Jesus didn’t need them to do anything or to become busy serving him. And he didn’t necessarily need them to say anything. Just watch. Pray. Be here with me. That was enough.