Care Through Preaching: Reflections From Parish Life
“The most precious gift we can offer others is our presence. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers.”
Before a recent funeral, a parishioner and I were speaking about the man whose life we were celebrating, his family, and his illness. The parishioner was speaking about her former response to friends in grief, stating that she now felt it was not a good response in light of experiences she and her loved ones have had. “I used to say, ‘I know how you feel,’ but now I feel that is a horrible response. I do not know what they are going through!” she said. I replied, “After a death in my family, I had many well-intentioned people come to me and say, ‘I know how hard this is for you,’ or ‘I know what this is like.’ I learned that, while there might be common elements between their experiences and mine, the experiences were unique, and those comments could do more harm than good.” I shared a principle learned in ministering to people with Alzheimer’s and other forms of dementia: we enter into that person’s reality, whatever it might be at that moment. A person with Alzheimer’s or other dementia might think (s)he is in a past time in her/his life, or the person might need something comfortable or familiar, such as music or scripture. Whatever state the person is in when we enter is the reality that we have to face, good or bad, and however close or far it is from the present time. Often the alternate reality is not harmful and can teach us something about the person’s life and what is important to her/him. I have taken this principle as a part of being present for those whom I serve: each person has a reality into which I enter, and I can better serve that person if I am curious about what that reality is. Being present for one another is a tremendous gift, but it is not easy.
In life, many presume to know what a person is going through without taking time to be present for him or her. Four important components of being present for other people are listening to what (s)he is saying, observing her/his actions, not rushing to fill space with words because of a fear to be with someone in what might be a very dark and uncomfortable place, and not making assumptions that we know what the person is going through at that time. You and I have our own stories to tell, and I want to hear yours. My life might have similar threads running through it, but I respect your experience greatly: it is yours and will never be just like mine. If I make assumptions about what your life is like, I find that I have not allowed myself to simply be with you, whatever you are dealing with. If I do not listen to you, then I attempt to create your story by not hearing the details; instead, you are your own best storyteller, knowing intimately the details of your own life. If I rush to fill uncomfortable spaces with words, I likely am not providing you the comforting presence you need at that time.
During times of crisis, doubt, exhaustion, and deep pain, there is no one-size-fits-all cure, other than to be present for the other person, paying attention to what (s)he is saying verbally and nonverbally. If a person speaks of feeling overwhelmed due to a surplus of events in her/his personal and professional life, I do not want to give platitudes; many times, in my experience, the other person needs someone to listen to what her/his life is like at that time, allowing her/his voice to be heard: this person’s voice is valid and worthy of being heard as the person is a child of God. Each of us has a unique situation, and each has a voice worth hearing; this applies to parishioners, students, family, colleagues, and, well, everyone. Our presence will beget greater capacity for presence with one another; it becomes a spiritual practice, helping to weave it into the fabric of our various ministries.
Mentoring is a Gift of Presence
When I began seminary, I was thankful for those students who listened to my frustrations and did not brush them off by saying, “Everyone has to do that.” These students listened to my concerns, of which there were many, and helped me to navigate seminary life balanced with a personal life. They helped me to learn how to take my own pulse, so to speak, so that I could see when I needed to retreat for a bit in order to reengage, to ask for help, or when to push forward, despite difficulties. Since then, I have tried to do this for other colleagues in ministry. As others have done for me, I try to listen to their experiences, answer their questions, and remind them that they are God’s beloved, that cannot be measured by exams and papers. I seek to offer a compassionate ear during and after seminary. Sometimes, they need to hear that something is normal; other times, they simply need to verbalize what is going on within and around them. As others have done for me, I seek to respect where they have come from prior to answering their calls to ordained ministry since their experiences are often valuable parts of the clerics they will become. Answering a call to ordained ministry is filled with highs and lows and everything in between, and what is joyful for one will sometimes be painful for another. More than anything, I remember those who were simply present with me in the darkness.
Being present is one of the greatest gifts we can give to one another. We are made by God to be in relationship, loving God and loving our neighbors as ourselves. I do not know most of you personally, nor do you know me. While being present can seem a simplistic concept, it can be difficult to put into practice. The busyness of my own life can cloud my ability to be present to you. Am I able to be open to you and your experiences at this time? Am I willing and able to enter into your reality? I do not know exactly what your life is like, but I can listen to your experiences, respecting them and learning from them without making assumptions or filling space with my words. I ask only that you be present with me, too.
