Now when Job's three friends heard of all this evil that had come upon him, they came each from his own place, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite. They made an appointment together to come to condole with him and comfort him. And when they saw him from afar, they did not recognize him; and they raised their voices and wept; and they rent their robes and sprinkled dust upon their heads toward heaven. And they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great. Job 2:11–13 (RSV)
Job not only lost his children, his wealth, and servants, he was afflicted with terrible boils all over his body. It is hard to imagine the physical, spiritual, and emotional pain he felt as he sat on the ash heap. His wife was of little comfort: 'Do you still hold fast to your integrity? Curse God and die.'
Job was not alone in his misery. His friends heard of all that had befallen him. They agreed to go to Job and comfort him as best they could. It was a right and good thing for them to do.
It is a Christian charity to be with someone who is suffering. Job's friends came to him, wept with him, and mourned with him. They then sat with him, in silence, for seven days. No one spoke a word for no words could be spoken to overcome the suffering.
Job's friends showed compassion for him. They suffered with him. Their compassion was in their tears, their mourning, and their silence. Their silence was at the heart of not only their compassion but all compassion. Our presence is often the most healing thing we can do. Yes, we may weep with them, and our hearts may ache for them, but to with them in silence is where love is powerfully shown.
When someone is bearing great sorrow, we are tempted to think that we must say something. It is not wrong to say, 'I am so sorry.' Beyond that, we must guard our words. The one who is grieving is the one who is to speak. Ours is to listen, to take in all they say as they let their anguish flow. We may respond to their pain with the assurance of our love for them. We may speak of the love of the Father for us, even in a dark and painful place.
Unless you have yourself gone through the same loss and pain they have, it is best to keep silent rather than say, 'I know how you feel.' Our hope and prayer that the pain will ease with the passing of time, but when the loss is still new, again, silence is the best.
A gentle touch can bring more healing than ten thousand words. I have sat for many hours with someone as they were dying, merely holding their hand. A touch of love and compassion will connect the grieving with the community of love that surrounds them.
We are with them for as long as they need us to be. Compassion has no time limit; our love in Christ will not flag or fail. It will simply be.