Sometimes I wonder if there is a group of people who have lost a loved one, and they hear a platitude, and they sigh with satisfaction and say, “That is just what I needed to hear.” Maybe there are. I haven’t met any yet. It doesn’t mean they aren’t out there. So far, I and my fellow grievers I’ve had the pleasure to join hands with are in agreement: platitudes hurt.

What’s the big deal with platitudes? Or sharing God’s word with someone experiencing loss? Or pointing them to the hope in Jesus? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? I’ve heard 1 Thessalonians 4 read at Christian end-of-life services, most often with a tone of positivity. The message is, “We shouldn’t grieve without hope! They will rise again.” Doesn’t sharing God’s promises with the grieving fall under 1 Thessalonians 4:18, “Therefore, encourage one another with these words”?

I’m guessing many of us believe so. However, grieving and walking with those who are grieving is more complex. This is one section of Scripture that informs how we grieve. There are many more we need to consider. As a Bible teacher, one of the tools we use is to let Scripture interpret Scripture. This won’t be an exegesis on 1 Thessalonians 4, though I will also draw our attention to a verse that seems to be the banner verse for this blog series, Romans 12:15. “Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep.” We’re not great at the weeping with each other part. So let’s look at what sharing platitudes, Bible verses, the “at least” statements, and the like are telling the griever, and what would be a better comfort.

Megan Devine is an author, psychotherapist, podcaster and grief advocate. In her book, “It’s OK That You’re Not OK” she talks about one potential problem behind the desire to give said platitudes. On page 20, Megan says,

“Most people approach grief as a problem to be solved. Your friends and family see you in pain, and they want to relieve your pain. Whether that aim is stated clearly or not, it’s the sole reason why words of comfort usually feel anything but comforting to you in your grief. Intentionally or not, by trying to solve your grief, they aren’t giving you the support you actually need.”

This can be a common motivation. Let’s get you out of your grief! Out of your pain! The problem with this, as Megan goes on to say later, is:

“Grief is not a problem to be solved; it’s an experience to be carried.”

When 1 Thessalonians 4 is used improperly, it’s used as a cover-up for grief, a reason to rejoice. It directs the bereaved to mask their pain, not bring it to Jesus, who is grieved with them.

Another thing I wonder is how many Christians today, if they were transported back to Lazarus’ tomb when Jesus arrived, would have scolded Jesus for weeping. “You know he’s going to rise again! In fact, it’s going to happen in the next three minutes! What’s the big deal? Dry those tears; it’s Resurrection Day!”

So many grievers today get that message, and I firmly believe it angers our God.

Another point Megan brings out in her book is the hidden message behind these words of comfort. She calls it the ghost sentence, or the second, unspoken half of the sentence.

“The problem is, there’s an implied second half of the sentence in all those familiar lines. That second half of the sentence unintentionally dismisses or diminishes your pain; it erases what is true now in favor of some alternate experience. That ghost-sentence tells you it’s not OK to feel how you feel. Ex: “At least you had her for as long as you did. (so stop feeling so bad).”  If you cringe or feel angry when friends and family try to comfort you, it’s because you hear the second half of that sentence, even when they don’t say it out loud. The implication is always there, speaking louder in its own silence: stop feeling how you feel.”

• “At least she’s not suffering” (so stop feeling sad)
• “You can have other children” (so stop feeling sad)
• “He died thirty years ago” (so stop feeling sad)

Think about 1 Thessalonians 4 again. When used well, it will free people to do what Paul is saying: grieve with hope. Unfortunately, it’s often misused with the ghost sentence: “They will rise again” (so stop feeling sad), telling people they shouldn’t grieve at all.

Megan continues,

“Friends and family want you to feel better. They want to take away your pain. What they don’t understand is that in trying to take your pain away, they’re actually dismissing and minimizing the extent of your grief. They aren’t seeing your reality for what it is. They don’t see you.“

Here is the main problem with these platitudes and the ghost sentence. It’s not how God responds when we hurt.

I have been combing my Bible since Mom died to see what God says about pain, grief, sadness, lament, and death. I felt terribly wrong for feeling so devastated. Especially when I would get these kind of statements. It felt like I was sinning. Thankfully, I chose not to listen to that guilt but to seek what God actually says. I’m not done, but let me tell you, I have found nowhere in Scripture that tells me to avoid my pain or to stop feeling sad. In fact, I’ve found the opposite. I’ve seen that God grieves, God laments, counts my tears. Jesus weeps and wails, he’s well acquainted with our grief, is ever present in my sorrow. The Holy Spirit groans on our behalf. The psalmists and prophets hurl their unfiltered pain at God. Grievers are in good company with the God of the Bible. He knows. He sees you. He sees your pain. And he feels it too.

Isn’t this a better way? To see the one who is grieving? To bear witness to this part of their story? Megan agrees.

“To truly feel comforted by someone, you need to feel heard in your pain. You need the reality of your loss reflected back to you — not diminished, not diluted. It seems counterintuitive, but true comfort in grief is in acknowledging the pain, not in trying to make it go away.”

Mark Vroegrop, a pastor and the president of The Gospel Coalition, wrote a book on lament called “Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy”. In it, he shares how his church began to transform as they learned how to lament together. One thing he observed was that as lament became an option, grieving people started coming out of the woodwork. There are many hurting people who have had no avenue to bring their pain to church, or even to God. They stay silent, because it seems no one wants to hear that part of their story. How unlike God that is. He wants all of it. Raw form. Every part of us. Including the most devastating and most ugly.

I’ll wrap up this post with one more quote from Megan Devine. She says,

“It is an immense relief to be able to tell your story without someone trying to fix it.”

Isn’t that true? It is part of the process of grieving. We need our story to be heard, and to be witnessed. We don’t need anyone to fix it. Thankfully, Jesus does this for us, no matter how terrible we are at doing it ourselves. But again, if we’re his body, this is something in which we should be growing. If you don’t know how to help a grieving person, start by listening. Simply ask them to share. Get curious about their loss. If they feel safe sharing, know that you don’t have to say anything. You’re being asked to witness and to enter a sacred part of their heart. So witness it, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll be strong enough to feel some of their pain along with them. Perhaps you’ll even weep with those who weep.