From the book ‘The Power of Stillness:’
There’s a Hebrew phrase, tikkun olam, that means “healing the world” or “repairing the world,” which in Judaism suggests an idea of humanity’s shared responsibility to heal, repair and transform the world. It speaks of our responsibility to be partners with God in completing His vision for the world so His presence can be fully revealed. As we invite the healing work of Christ into our lives, He then invites us to be a healing presence in the lives of others.
Watch with Me
In order to be a healing presence for others, we need to first truly be there—sitting with them, feeling their hearts, truly being with them. One of the greatest gifts we can offer people is to be in their lives in a lifting, healing way—even and especially when they are hurting the most.
The term compassion comes from the Latin com-passion, or “to suffer with.” We can’t truly minister to one another unless we can have true compassion for one another, a capacity to “suffer with” one another. Catholic priest and writer Henri Nouwen recognized the challenge of running towards another’s pain when he taught: “Let us not underestimate how hard it is to be compassionate. Compassion is hard because it requires the inner disposition to go with others to the place where they feel weak, vulnerable, lonely, and broken. But this is not our spontaneous response to suffering. What we desire most is to do away with suffering by fleeing from it or finding a quick cure for it. . . . And so we ignore our greatest gift, which is to enter into solidarity with those who suffer. Those who can sit in silence with their fellow man, not knowing what to say but knowing that they should be there, can bring new life in a dying heart.”9
During one ministering visit to a sister in his ward who struggled with depression, Jacob made some humorous remarks in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. At one point the sister interjected, “Please stop, Jacob. I don’t need you to distract me from this or make it go away. I just need you to be here with me.”
Similarly, in long battles with cancer, Jacob’s mother and brother each remarked on how nervous it made some to be in their presence. People often tried to steer conversation away from what was happening, almost needing the distraction. In some cases, his mother and brother felt as if they needed to comfort those visiting. Jacob recalled:
On one occasion, though, I’ll never forget our Bishop arriving at the hospital and walking quietly strait to Sam’s bed. Without so much as a greeting to anyone else in the room, the bishop felt prompted to hold his hands in his own, and, looking directly into his eyes, he said, “Oh, have we’ve been praying over you! How are you doing?” Deep comfort came in an excruciating moment. I weep even today to think about witnessing that encounter, watching a servant of the Lord doing just what my brother needed in the moment.
No distraction. No platitudes. Just being there.
In the Savior’s own worst moment, what did He ask of those closest to Him? “Tarry ye here, and watch with me” (Matthew 26:38). Just stay close . . . don’t leave me alone. If that is what Christ Himself needed, how about the many hurting around us? Are we willing to do that, even if it hurts us a little? ~ Jacob Z. Hess, Carrie L. Skarda, Kyle D. Anderson, Ty R. Mansfield, The Power of Stillness (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 2019), 115-16
