To Keep or Break the Silence?

A person dies. Perhaps death came suddenly. A tragedy. The spouse, family members are grieving, in shock. The news ripples through the neighborhood, the community, organizations of which that person had been a part, and people feel compelled to respond in some way. The challenge is…

…what words are there to say?

It is one of life’s stickiest wickets. We want to be helpful. We seek to be compassionate and kind. We might even be wired with empathy, which means that we have an inkling of what others are experiencing. Still, what can we say to comfort, to encourage, to foster hope when those things seem entirely elusive? Do we go and speak words we’ve been conditioned to say, or do we simply keep the sacred space of silence? Do we send a card and let Hallmark express what we cannot or quietly text tearful emojis?

We don’t ask to be born. Once we are, we live, searching for meaning and purpose as we do. We do what we can to craft our destiny, but we can’t control every single event in our lives. Most of us choose to let the days and years roll out under some force of fate perhaps we name and perhaps we distrust and perhaps we fear. We know we won’t be around forever. We might imagine ourselves being brave, being bold, being gracious in the face of the ugliness of others’ humanity, of our own. And yet, are there always words that must be said?

Duke Divinity School associate professor Kate Bowler wrote a brilliant book published in 2019 and titled Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I’ve Loved. She begins the preface by stating, “There’s a branch of Christianity that promises a cure for tragedy. It is called by many names, but most often it is nicknamed the ‘prosperity gospel’ for its bold central claim that God will give you your heart’s desires: money in the bank, a healthy body, a thriving family, and boundless happiness.” Don’t we all wish. She concludes with two appendices, the first of which is a short list of things not to say. The second is another short list of some suggested words, along with “6. ****Silence**** The truth is that no one knows what to say. It’s awkward. Pain is awkward. Tragedy is awkward. People’s weird, suffering bodies are awkward. But take the advice of one man who wrote to me with his policy: Show up and shut up.”

There are no good reasons for tragedy, for evil acts, for suffering of any kind. Can we let go of the impulse to cobble together some persuasive explanation and instead hold the sacred space of silence in their wake?