They are very dear friends. I preached at their wedding ten years ago. But I preached at her funeral late November last year. Early one morning I received a message from him telling me that his wife was in a coma and it looked like she would not recover. They were in Kuala Lumpur (KL). I went up as soon as I could. There were the hours of praying for a miracle from God. Both my friend and I resorted to making deals with God. But God is not transactional. In any case, He wasn't in the mood for deals. A decision had to be made when, indeed, there was no more brainstem activity. She was deemed clinically dead but her heart was still beating.
Then there was the discussion about organ donation. The family had never discussed this but they decided that it was what she would have wanted to do. She was such a giving person. As she was being wheeled into the operating theatre for the removal of the needed organs, I decided that this was a holy moment that should be marked by prayer and Scripture. But I had never received any training as to what sort of liturgy would be suitable for such an occasion. I wish I could say that I asked the Lord, but I asked ChatGPT instead, which gave me a simple, tasteful liturgy. And then she was gone.
My dear friends have four children, four lovely girls. The oldest of them is eight years old. This was such a painful tragedy at so many levels. What really helped is that my friend has many friends. They surrounded him and did all that was needed in this painful moment. With so many friends helping, I realised that he didn't really need me there. After some reflection, however, I understood what my unique contribution to my friend at this time of deep grief was. I too had lost a wife, and I too had two very young children when my first wife passed away.
I told him, as I've told many, that grief is not a problem to be solved. It is a journey to be walked. And there are no shortcuts. Of course it’s easy and right for me to say this, but every journey is different and his will take all the time that it needs. I promised that I would walk with him as best I can. I remember the days of my widowhood. Many people were caring and said a lot of comforting things. But it was the few other widowers who came alongside, who didn't say very much, but exchanged a “you know, I know” look that meant so much.
It hit me again that, often, what qualifies us to minister to those who are in pain is our own experience of pain. Paul writes in 2 Corinthians:
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. (2 Corinthians 1: 3–4 NIV)
To be qualified for ministry, we think of degrees in pastoral care, certificates in spiritual direction, training in counselling, etc. But there's a training for ministry that involves our own experience of pain. We are not masochists. We don't seek pain. But we're living in a fallen world. Sooner or later, in one form or another, we will experience the brokenness of this fallen world.
I don't think we should rush into using our brokenness to comfort others. We need to live with our brokenness till some degree of healing and meaning has taken place. Then, perhaps, we can redeem our pain by letting it build a bridge to others who are in pain.
I communicate with my friend often. I want to be there for him when he is hit hard with the loneliness that invariably will come. Then there will be the questions that haunt for which there are no answers. The fear of having to work and raise four children on his own will be overwhelming at times. We thank God for his many friends, and that his in-laws are directly involved in caring for the girls. Who knows, there may be a remarriage down the line, but it's way, way, way too early to talk about that.
In the meantime, I will walk with my friend as best as I can since I am in Singapore and he is in KL. I hope that my presence in his life will remind him of the presence of God. Beyond the night there will be a new day. Until then, hang on my friend.