“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”
—Romans 12:15
A few days ago, someone tagged me in a Facebook post. It was simple—a collection of alternative phrases for how we might respond to grief.
Instead of saying, “I know what it feels like,”
Say, “I cannot imagine your heartbreak.”
Instead of saying, “You’re strong, you’ll get through this,”
Say, “You’ll hurt, and I’ll be here.”
Instead of saying, “You look like you’re doing well,”
Say, “How are you holding up today?”
Instead of saying, “Healing takes time,”
Say, “Healing has no timeline.”
Instead of saying, “Everything happens for a reason,”
Say, “This must feel so terribly senseless right now.”
And when there are no words at all, let there be silence.
Because love speaks in silence too.
This post resonated with what we’ve been discussing throughout this series.
It was a powerful acknowledgment that the words we choose matter, that how we show up in someone’s grief can either offer presence or create distance.
But the comments underneath? Those were a different story.
Some people were grateful, reflecting on moments when someone used grace-filled statements rather than trying to fix them. But others were defensive.
“Say whatever you want. It’s your words.”
Translation: “I’m not responsible for how my words land.”
Meaning: Right now, I am making this about me.
The mystics called it “holy outrage.” It’s the anger that fuels truth-telling, no matter who gets upset or offended by the telling. Mainly because it is done in the service of love. More love, more support, more kinship and more connection.
Devine points out that, “I mean(t) well” is not enough. In order to impact change we must be honest about the things that need changing. “If someone truly wants to help you inside your grief, they have to be willing to hear what doesn’t help. They have to be willing to feel the discomfort of not knowing what to say or how to say it. They have to be open to feedback. Otherwise they aren’t really interested in helping – they’re interested in being seen as helpful. There’s a difference.” (Devine, p. 186)
Because “I meant well” is not enough.
Let’s sit with that for a second.
Are we interested in helping? Or just being seen as helpful?
Because here’s the truth: No one knows exactly what to say. There is no perfect script. No magic words that can erase pain. But that’s precisely why these conversations matter.
Not so we can get it right, but so we can do it better.
So that, instead of rushing to fill the silence, we learn to hold space for it.
So that, instead of offering words that diminish, we offer words that acknowledge.
So that, instead of trying to fix what cannot be fixed, we simply stay close.
What Love Sounds Like
If words matter, then let’s choose them wisely. Not because we’re afraid of saying the wrong thing, but because we want to offer the right kind of presence.
Instead of advice, offer acknowledgment.
“I hear you.”
Instead of solutions, offer solidarity.
“I’m with you.”
Instead of trying to make it better, be willing to let it be what it is.
“You do not have to navigate this alone.”
And when there are no words?
Let love be the silence that holds space for what is unspeakable.
Prayer
“Holy One, teach us how to love better. When words fail, let our presence speak louder. When we don’t know what to say, remind us that silence is sometimes the most sacred gift we can offer. Help us resist the need to fix and instead, lean into the call to simply be there. Amen.”