Rather than cry in front of me, he chose to walk out. Was that a failure of pastoral care? I’m not sure. Whatever he came looking for…well I doubt he knew just what he came looking for, stopping by the office out of the blue, launching into his story after the briefest of hellos. Somewhere in his emotional turmoil he knew that church can be a safe place. He knew that when you are sideways with grief over losing a friend in a nasty accident, church should be one place you can come and feel whatever it is you are feeling.
Except when it came to actually feeling it--sitting in front of me and saying out loud how he didn’t understand such horrible things, seeing my open, waiting face-- it was all too much. His eyes filled up with tears. His words were shut-down by sadness. I said, “It really hurts to lose a friend like that.” And the truth of it was so real that sitting still was no longer an option. So out the door he went, chased away by the strength of his own emotions. My voice trailed after him, "Thanks for coming by...I'll be thinking of you." Maybe he didn’t want to break down at all, let alone in front of me. It probably had nothing to do with me, it usually doesn’t.
“I’m comfortable with your pain." That's a phrase I’ve learned from family systems coaching. Easy to say. Hard to do. Even harder to feel as true. Especially when the whoosh of air from his escape still lingers in my office.
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