Their father
Ephraim mourned for them many days, and his relatives came to comfort him. (I Chronicles 7:22)
He looks at his watch and thinks, OK, I have thirty minutes. He hugs, talks, does everything he can think of to comfort, At thirty minutes, the one he came to comfort says, “You know, thanks. I feel much better.” He walks away, another comfort victory to his record.
He looks at his watch and thinks, OK, I have thirty minutes. He hugs, talks, does everything he can think of to comfort, At thirty minutes, the one he came to comfort says, “You know, thanks. I feel much better.” He walks away, another comfort victory to his record.
Have
you ever been comforted by someone for whom it was just another task, or who
expected you to be comforted in a manner convenient to the comforter? I think
most of us understand that comfort doesn’t work that way. At least, we know it
when we need to be comforted. When we are the one doing the comforting, it’s
hard not to think that the few minutes we have should be enough, or the effort
we put forth should do the trick. How can the person not be all better when we’ve
done what we could.
In today’s passage, Ephraim has lost two sons, and he mourned for them for many days. His relatives came to comfort him. How long did they stay? I suspect they put their lives on hold for at least “many days,” not including whatever travel time they might have needed to get there. They probably had employees who could keep their businesses going while they were away. I’m not sure how much time a household slave would have been given off for the death of his children. All too often, I suspect life was supposed to go on as usual.
I know that we tend to feel as though we can’t dedicate the “many days.” We’re far more like the slaves of long ago than we are like Ephraim or his family. The most we tend to get, even for the death of a spouse, is three days off from work. After that, we might be allowed to take a couple days personal time or a couple days of vacation. What happens when the couple days isn’t enough? What happens when we aren’t the primary mourner? I think I was allowed two days when my uncle died. Most of us have learned to mourn around our “real lives.” I’m amazed sometimes at how we manage to compartmentalize the grief of our lives.
The problem remains. Comfort isn’t something you can set a timer for. I think we’ve learned to do what might be called “crisis comfort.” It’s just enough to make it so the person doesn’t do something stupid, and then we simply must go on our way and the person has to figure out how to cope on his own. We only have so much time and so much energy available. But this doesn’t help me figure out how to comfort someone, or to be comforted by someone. I just suspect that comfort is one of those inconvenient things (like love) that one can’t really put in our modern planners.
In today’s passage, Ephraim has lost two sons, and he mourned for them for many days. His relatives came to comfort him. How long did they stay? I suspect they put their lives on hold for at least “many days,” not including whatever travel time they might have needed to get there. They probably had employees who could keep their businesses going while they were away. I’m not sure how much time a household slave would have been given off for the death of his children. All too often, I suspect life was supposed to go on as usual.
I know that we tend to feel as though we can’t dedicate the “many days.” We’re far more like the slaves of long ago than we are like Ephraim or his family. The most we tend to get, even for the death of a spouse, is three days off from work. After that, we might be allowed to take a couple days personal time or a couple days of vacation. What happens when the couple days isn’t enough? What happens when we aren’t the primary mourner? I think I was allowed two days when my uncle died. Most of us have learned to mourn around our “real lives.” I’m amazed sometimes at how we manage to compartmentalize the grief of our lives.
The problem remains. Comfort isn’t something you can set a timer for. I think we’ve learned to do what might be called “crisis comfort.” It’s just enough to make it so the person doesn’t do something stupid, and then we simply must go on our way and the person has to figure out how to cope on his own. We only have so much time and so much energy available. But this doesn’t help me figure out how to comfort someone, or to be comforted by someone. I just suspect that comfort is one of those inconvenient things (like love) that one can’t really put in our modern planners.
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