Finding The Right Words of Comfort

What does one say to distraught and grieving parents who have just buried their young child?

. Truthfully there isn’t much we can say that will help. We can express our sorrow and sympathy. We can offer words of care and concern and of course love. We can tell the parents that we shall pray for them. But for most of us the truth is that we don’t know what to say.

I stood a short distance from the family as mourners came to offer their condolences after the burial. And I watched and listened as people so desperately tried to convey their compassion over the tragic loss this young couple have just experienced.

Some fumbled with words then simply broke into tears. Others offered sentiments that some might consider to be inane or even cruel. ‘You’re both young, you’ll have more children,’ one woman offered. The couple were too lost in their grief to even comprehend what the woman had said.

Perhaps it’s because we don’t know what to say that we sometimes say the wrong things. In our distress with another person’s suffering we often feel that we must offer words that will somehow help move the grieving individuals along.

Personally, I feel there is much more of a spiritual connection and sentiment in the power of a silent embrace. No words are necessary to convey sharing the human emotion of pain and sorrow and loss. Especially when we all accept that there are no answers. And so we weep at what has happened. And so too - God weeps with us.

One elderly gentleman suggested that the child’s death was God’s will. I disagree. The God we worship, our God who watches over us, doesn’t will the death of children, or the pain of their parents. Many, many things that happen in this world are not the will of God. That is part of the price of the freedom we have been given by God.

I watched the couple stand in numb silence as an aunt told them that God wanted their son in Heaven with Him. While I am confident God has welcomed him into His kingdom, I am certain God did not want this child to die right now so that He could have him there.

Others continued to offer the same thought; that they were young and they could have more children. This may be true, but other children will never replace this little life. He was his own person. The empty place his death has left in their hearts will never be filled simply because they have another child. Nor should it be. Every child is unique and precious. I realise that people say such things with a desire to comfort the bereaved. They desperately long to find some way to help. May God Bless them for it.

But know that we are faced with a mystery - the mystery of life, and of death, in which there are no easy answers.

And for the grieving parents who may feel that no one will ever understand their pain?...

God understands. He has a son who died also.

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Bedside Prayer for Death of a Child

Words of Comfort for The Dying

What NOT to Say to Someone Dying

A Child's Death

A Childs Funeral

A Night Vigil For The Dying

I'm Only Dying!

Child Suffering

When Friends and Family Are Needed Most

Exploited Children

Could You Help Save a Child?

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A Child's Funeral

Tomorrow at eleven I shall celebrate the funeral of a three-year-old boy. It will be difficult for me, but a thousand times more difficult, of course, for the young parents, the grandparents and the rest of the family. Here was a young life full of promise, welcomed with love and longing by his family and it all ended almost before it had begun.

The service for the funeral of a child is desperately moving; though for the family, the liturgy of faith and hope will not be easy either to say or to hear. Yet I know that the family will survive; in one sense life will go on and perhaps in time, they will even be strengthened by this dark and awful experience.

All around us, as we share the service together and lay the tiny coffin deep within the earth, the priorities of our world will continue. People will go about their daily work, their shopping, and their gardens. Newspapers will lay on the kitchen table, with headlines about war in Syria, President Obama, or the Royal Family.

For us, at the graveside, all the world will come to a standstill, just for a minute or two-there will be nothing more important than a small box and a few handfuls of soil. It seems like a parable on the subject of perspective.

Our perspectives for those fleeting moments will be unreservedly clear. Nothing else will matter. And then, of course, we shall return to what we call a ‘normal’ life, where perspectives are seldom clear and often hopelessly distorted. Before we know it, perhaps, the great and small issues of our days will take over, and it will be the price of petrol, or the continued rising deaths in Iraq that disturb our peace of mind.

Jesus accused some of the religious teachers of His time of ‘straining out a gnat and swallowing a camel’ - a very vivid way of saying that they’d got their priorities hopelessly out of perspective. Yet who, in our media-saturated world, really knows which are the gnats and which are the camels? What really matters, and what is of minimal and passing importance in the light of eternity?

In our moments of clear perspective, when our priorities are obvious, the values that tend to emerge are love, commitment, kindness, courage and hope. It’s when the tawdry agenda of every day takes over; celebrity, sport, news and gossip (which are often much the same thing), that we cater to the partisan, to cruel and unthinking words, and harsh, judgemental opinions.

It seems a pity that it takes very often a tragedy or crisis to help us see things so clearly.

As I stand by a child’s grave tomorrow morning I hope I won’t be too quick to forget what I learn there.

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A Child's Death

Words of Comfort for the Dying

Having a Good Death

Don't Worry, I'm only dying

Etiquette For Visitors to Britain

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As Long As We're Remembered

There’s a Russian proverb that says ‘Our spirit lives on as long as we’re remembered.’

Our local cemetery is arguably one of the most beautiful in the south of England. The unique designs of some of the headstones are a touching tribute to the sacred memory of its inhabitants. And it’s not unusual for families and individuals to spend time, not only to honour those who are interred there, but also to enjoy its serene and beautiful surroundings.

But there’s a blight that is engulfing the cemetery. From the hilltop, as you look out towards the sea, over the acres of monuments that serve as symbols of affection from surviving family and friends, hundreds of the fine marble and granite masonry tributes lay flat on the ground.

This hasn’t come about as a result of vandalism. It has occurred as a consequence of our government’s sweeping paranoia over the litigious nature of today’s society. Over time, some of the stones have shifted in the permeable soil, thus creating the possibility that should a child or vandal pull on one of the stones, it could shift and thus continue its gravitational journey downward, causing injury or worse. It has happened in another region, once, eleven years ago. And, of course, the parents of the child who pulled the stone over and was crushed, sued the local council.

In response to this possibility, the stones have been laid down. Letters have been sent to last known addresses, offering the recipient the opportunity to restore the memory of their loved one. But if the letters are returned, or if there is no reply, the stones will be removed. And the named memory of the departed soul will be eradicated.

It is not meant as a poetic statement to say that the very nature of our nation’s existence was built upon our resilience and our steadfast principles of honour. In the past, if you tripped and fell over, you got up off the floor, dusted yourself off and just got on with it!

But today, our society has become addicted to seeking ways to blame others for our own negligence or acts of stupidity. And it would appear that our government has no interest in the preservation of individuals who are no longer able to speak for themselves or pay taxes to support the perpetuity of their memory.

So in a short time those stones will be removed. The tears that were wept, the sacrifices that were made to pay for the monuments, the generations of care that was given to the grave – all will be wiped away. And the names and memories of those individuals will disappear.

As we walk through the cemetery on this early spring morning, we call out those names one last time. And in this final tribute, we are reminded that there is life immortal that shall survive the grave.

And their imperishable spirit is forever with the Lord.

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These photos from Bexhill Cemetery are only a small sample of the beautiful masonry tributes that are currently at risk. Further information regarding Bexhill Cemetery is available from Rother County Government and Bexhill Today news. The entrance to Bexhill Cemetery is located at the corner of Turkey Road and Saint Mary’s Lane.

I share in the frustration over how to address this situation. Should Rother council fail to follow Health and Safety laws, the cemetery could be forcibly closed, with its gates locked, thus preventing anyone from visiting the cemetery until such time as the safety directives are followed. It is truly a paradoxical situation.

One thing I do beg of you, however, is please do not harrass or attempt to intimidate the cemetery manager over this situation. She is not the creator of these laws! She shares in the same frustrations as the rest of us over this matter. So, please, please, leave her alone! Otherwise I may have to come have a word with you! And you certainly wouldn't want that! :-)

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Remembrance Day

Falling In Love At Clapham Junction

Finding Words Of Comfort

When A Crisis Must Take A Backseat To Need

My heart is breaking for the children in Moldova. We have such a crisis on our hands at present.

During my visit over the Orthodox Easter, I told Vasile Batcu that the children would need to be out of Aschiuta Home and in Summer Camp by the 10th of June, in anticipation of the arrival of volunteers, as well as the funds to renovate the children’s bathrooms.

If you read one of my other blogs, ‘Anglicans,’ you will be aware that not only did the volunteers not arrive, the funds to pay for the supplies and local labour failed to materialise as well. We did receive two contributions: one in the amount of USD$850.00 and a subsequent contribution of USD$250.00. There were never any volunteers organised, there was no fund drive at one of the churches. It was an awful situation that affected so many and I only had myself to blame for not following the most basic of due diligence.

With a budgeted cost of circa GBP£4000, or USD$6900.00, we are left in an absolutely dreadful situation. The bathrooms are simply unusable. And with up to thirty-four children in the home at any given time, plus house parents and volunteers, even the absence of one of the two toilets can create a crisis.

I received a joint telephone call this morning from Vasile and Inna, asking me to advise them what we should do. My best guess was that the funds we’ve received will have to go towards some of the camp costs, as the children are already there and utilising the services. However, it doesn’t address what we’re going to do when they return.

It has been an emotionally challenging week. The sadness of the child’s funeral at the end of the week overwhelmed many. Plus my friend Sarah slowly moves in and out of a coma now. I still talk to Sarah, as I know she can hear me, but the lines on her face deepen as the cancer spreads.

As I was leaving the ward yesterday another patient called out to me. Her name is Mrs Pearce. I had not met her before. She was wild eyed and frightened. I had heard her, as I sat with Sarah, calling out to no one in particular, that she wanted to go ‘home.’ Although the ward they're in is not generally for the terminally ill, it just happens that Mrs Pearce is suffering from cancer as well.

Mrs Pearce asked me to stay with her for a bit. She said she was afraid and she wanted to go home. I held her hand and stroked her forehead. I asked simple questions: how many children did she have, grandchildren, where she was born – all truthfully intended to help her mentally escape from her present surroundings.

I promised that I’d bring her some fresh strawberries tomorrow. I’ll need to purée them as she's unable to manage any solids. But I suspect she still may have difficulty in eating them.

It had been my hope that the children and I would escape for our own ‘Star Picnic,’ on Saturday night. I needed a bit of a diversion from the challenges of the week. It wasn’t to be.

As I stood at the nursing station, disinfecting my hands with Isopropyl, one of the ward nurses came up to me. I’ve known her for several years. In fact, I celebrated her mother’s funeral sometime last year. ‘Father, would you mind if we had a word?’ she asked with a sense of urgency in her eyes. ‘Of course,’ I smiled.

As I followed her into the small office I thought she was going to tell me that Sarah would most likely not live more than a day or two. I had already thought this myself, so my heart was prepared and I had imagined how nice it would be for her finally to be free of her pain.

The nurse sat down with me. I glanced over at her desk and saw the photos of her two children; Laura is three and Michael is five. ‘Father, I thought you should know, I’ve just been diagnosed with bowel cancer.’ She said it matter-of-factly.

‘I’m so saddened to hear this,’ I began. ‘Let’s take a break now and talk about it.’
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Children In Crisis Exploited Children Death Of A Child

Anglican Prayers Falling In Love At Clapham Junction