The Well-Meaning Words That Let Us Off the Hook

I have a confession to make. I have spent years offering words of comfort to people in pain, and I am beginning to wonder how much of my comfort was actually for them and how much was for me.

When someone comes to me with a heavy thing, a painful thing, a thing that I do not know how to carry, I reach for words. I reach for verses and promises and silver linings. I reach for spiritual phrases that sound like help.

But lately I have been asking myself a hard question: Am I reaching for these words because they will help the person, or because they will help me? Am I offering comfort, or am I offering escape? Am I serving them, or am I serving myself?

This is a hard question. But I think it is an important one.

The Self-Serving Nature of Comfort

When someone comes to us with pain, we have a choice. We can stay or we can run. We can sit or we can speak. We can be with them or we can offer words about them.

Often, we choose the words. Not because words will help, but because words will get us off the hook. Words are easier than presence. Words are more comfortable than silence. Words give us something to do when sitting there feels unbearable.

So we offer words. We offer verses. We offer promises. We offer platitudes. And we feel better. We did something. We helped. We opened our mouth and made an attempt.

But did they need our words? Or did they need our presence? Did they need our verses? Or did they need our company?

Let me give you an example. Someone comes to you with a struggle, a long-running difficulty that has been wearing them down. They are tired. They are losing hope. They come to you looking for something, hoping for someone who will sit with them in it.

And you say: "Well, Romans 8:28 says all things work together for good. Have faith. God is in control."

You have offered words. You have done something. You can leave now feeling like you helped. You can move on to the next thing. You did your duty.

But did you help? Or did you escape? Did you serve them, or did you serve yourself? Was your word for them, or was your word for you?

James is asking the same question. You say words, but do you do anything? You offer comfort, but does it help? Your words might make you feel better, but are they actually meeting the need?

Words that do not meet the need are for us, not them. They are our escape, our way of feeling like we did something without actually doing anything.

The Hook We Are Trying to Get Off Of

What hook are we trying to get off of? What are we trying to avoid?

Sitting in the silence. Sitting in the not knowing. Sitting with someone else's pain, which reminds us of our own pain, which we do not want to feel.

Presence is hard. Presence requires us to stay present in the discomfort, to sit with them in the difficulty, to not try to fix or solve or explain. Presence requires us to be still, and being still is harder than speaking.

So we speak instead. We offer words instead of presence. We give verses instead of company. We quote Scripture instead of sitting in silence.

The hook we are trying to get off of is the hard thing: staying. The hook is the discomfort of not knowing what to say. The hook is the weight of their pain pressing down on us.

But here's the truth: they did not come to us for words. They came to us for presence. They came to us for someone to sit with them in it. They came to us because they did not want to be alone in it.

When we offer words instead of presence, we are not helping. We are abandoning. We are telling them that we will not sit with them in it. We are telling them to figure it out on their own.

Jesus is asking the same question. When we did not help, when we did not stay, when we offered words instead of presence, when did we do that? When did we see them and neglect them?

The answer is: every time we offered words instead of presence. Every time we quoted Scripture instead of sitting in silence. Every time we tried to fix instead of staying.

The Difference Between Help and Escape

There is a vast difference between help and escape. Help serves them. Escape serves us. Help stays. Escape leaves. Help says "we." Escape says "here is something, and I am done."

Help acknowledges the difficulty and commits to staying in it. Escape acknowledges the difficulty and commits to leaving as soon as possible. Help says "I am here." Escape says "here is a verse."

Here is the test: after we offer our words, do we feel better? Or do they feel better? If we feel better, our words were probably for us. If they feel better, our words might have been for them.

But even that test is not perfect. Sometimes we feel better when we have actually helped. Sometimes they feel worse after our help because we dismissed their pain with our words.

The real test is simpler: did we stay? Did we remain present after offering our words? Or did we leave as soon as we opened our mouth? Presence is the test. Staying is the test.

If we stayed, we probably helped. If we left, we probably escaped.

Notice what the "one" does. They help the other up. Not by words. Not by verses. Not by platitudes. They help by presence. They help by staying. They help by being there.

This is what it means to help someone up. Not to tell them they will be okay. Not to quote Romans 8:28. To help them up, we have to be there to help. To be there, we have to stay.

The Harm of Self-Serving Comfort

I want to name something that is rarely talked about. When our comfort is actually escape, when our help is actually self-serving, we are not just being unhelpful. We are actually doing harm.

We are teaching people that they cannot come to us for real help. We are teaching them that when they are in pain, they will get words instead of presence. We are teaching them to go somewhere else for real help.

We are creating isolation in the name of help. We are creating abandonment in the name of comfort.

Think about what happens in the person receiving our self-serving comfort. They came looking for presence. They came looking for someone to sit with them in it. They came because they did not want to be alone.

And we offered words. We gave them something to think about instead of someone to be with. We gave them answers instead of accompaniment. We gave them an escape hatch instead of a staying partner.

Now they have to manage our need to have offered something, on top of their original pain. They have to pretend to be helped by our words, when what they really needed was presence. They have to thank us for the help we did not actually give.

This is what self-serving comfort does. It makes the helper feel better and leaves the one who is hurting having to manage the helper's need to have helped.

What Actual Help Looks Like

So what does actual help look like? If our words are often for us, what is actually for them? Let me offer some things:

Staying. Actually staying. Not offering words and then leaving. Not giving verses and then moving on. Staying. Being there. Remaining present.

Asking. Asking what they need. Not assuming what will help. Not giving what we think will help. Asking them what will help.

Silence. Being okay with silence. Not filling every moment with words. Sitting in the quiet together. Being present in the quiet.

Not knowing. Admitting we do not know what to say. Not pretending to have wisdom we do not have. Being honest about our limitations.

Presence. Just being there. Not doing anything. Not fixing anything. Just being present with them in their difficulty.

Notice none of these are flashy. None of them are memorable. None of them give us something to feel good about having done. But they are what actually helps.

This is what actual help looks like. Not impressive to others. Not satisfying to us. But actually helpful to them.

The Invitation to Stay

We are invited to something better than self-serving comfort. We are invited to presence. We are invited to stay in the hard thing with the person who is going through it, to sit in the difficulty without trying to rush it or fix it.

This kind of presence builds relationship. It says: "You do not have to go through this alone. I am here. Even when it is hard. Even when I do not know what to say. I am still here."

When we stop offering escape, we free people to actually receive help. We free them to be real, to struggle, to not understand. We free them to be human in process.

This is the better way. It costs us more. It requires us to stay when staying is hard, to sit when sitting is all we have to offer, to be present when presence is all we can give. But it produces something that self-serving comfort never can: real connection, real help, real relationship.

Let us be people who stay. Let us be people who offer presence instead of words. Let us be people who help instead of escape. Let us be people who are actually there.

The law of Christ is to carry burdens, not to quote verses about burdens. To carry means to be there. To carry means to stay. To carry means to be present in the heaviness.