You may have discovered that people can make some cruel remarks to those in grief. A good example of this would be the two people, from different social circles, who listened, on separate occasions, to the news that my wife had died. These two men had both lost their wives through divorce. They both said to me, in their own words, “It is easier for you than it is for me. It would have been far easier for me if my wife had died.”
When the first such comment came to me in conversation, I was quite taken aback, unsure on how to respond, so I just listened while the man made his point. I listened to his description of the never-ending pain of knowing that his wife had rejected him, and that now she is engaged to another man. The pain never ends. I did walk away with these thoughts heavy upon my mind, just as I did after the second such incident.
Although I should probably think this through in more detail still, I have come to some tentative thoughts on this type of response to your own grief.
Firstly, I have wondered, how does one measure this kind of pain? How is the agony of grieving quantified? Is there perhaps a “painometer” upon which a grieving person's sorrow can be gagued and tabulated on a comparative chart? Of course, at first impulsive reaction, this is the argument I have been tempted to shoot back at such a cutting comment, yet I have realized that this argument works both ways. In the grip of sorrow, you immediately presuppose that your pain is more intense than the pain of the other person. How could it not be? And in that instant, you discover the truth about your own heart—you have just made yourself guilty of the cruelty of which you accuse the other person. Just as they are claiming from their own subjective experience that their pain is worse than yours, you are claiming from your subjective experience that your pain is worse than theirs. I had to confess this sinful attitude and to completely opt out of the “can you top this” competition. Does it matter whose pain is worse? Does it not matter how you respond in love to another person, even if you believe they have spoken cruelly to you? (Proverbs 19:11)
This brings me to the second point. Regardless of the intensity of pain each individual experiences, pain needs to push a sorrowing person to a specific point. That point is to be able to show compassion on other people who are in pain, regardless of how strong you perceive their anguish to be, and whether it can be compared to yours or not. Hard experiences are kindly granted by God to equip His people to help other people who endure similar hardships. Until this has become your conclusion, you have not come to see the beauty of God's wise and loving design. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)
To abdicate this satisfying privilege of character growth leads grieving people down a tightening spiral of morbid self-focus. With increasing ease, such a person minimizes the pain of others, magnifying their own, demonstrating an absence of love or care for other people. Ironically, it is this very care that a tightly-bound person desires to be shown by others. Clearly, when Jesus spoke of doing to others what you would have done to you, he was highlighting the glaring fact that this doesn't come naturally to people. We will insist that other people show us kindness and love as a right, regardless of how bitter we are toward others. God puts his finger on this spot in our hearts through pain. (Hebrews 12:7)
How grateful I am for the kind work God has done in my heart through stinging pain. In my experience, pain brings a grieving person into a greater awareness of their dependence upon God. You depend upon Him because of your utter weakness. You are truly in a sad state. Yet it is in that very state in which a hurting person experiences the most intimate and delightful communion with their heavenly Father. He is near to the brokenhearted. (Psalm 34:18) There is eternal reward in meek submission to God in pain. It shows the nature of a heart that has been granted spiritual eyes to see. (John 3:3) Grave consequences await the soul who remains consistently hostile toward God through pain—eternal consequences. If pain is what you seek to avoid, hostility against God in your pain is the currency with which you purchase an eternal agony in inestimable grief.
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