Blessed be God … the God of all consolation, who consoles us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to console those who are in any affliction with the consolation with which we ourselves are consoled by God.
This is Paul’s initial greeting to the people of Corinth. Paul is explaining to the people who, what and how God is. This particular illustration focuses on God the consoler.
In these weird pandemic times, I like the idea of God the consoler. Who doesn’t like to be genuinely consoled? I’m not talking about disingenuous platitudes, but the kind of consolation where we can release that breath we’ve been holding. That hug from a loved one, or just a truly empathetic friend’s ear. To be consoled is to receive a moment of peace, in the midst of turmoil.
With our sick loved one, consolation is a challenge. Most people, while well intentioned, don’t know what to say or how to respond. Some offer advice they think will be helpful, but isn’t. Some don’t know what to do with the heavy response to the light hearted, “how are things going?” All of their efforts are greatly appreciated, and not necessarily consoling.
It’s equally challenging for us to offer our loved one consolation. Comments intended to be consoling seem to have the absolute opposite effect. Instead of bringing peace and comfort, they bring contention and turmoil. Like well-meaning friends, our intent is genuine, as is our effort. But the circumstances between the consoler and the consoled are so vastly different, it’s hard to translate.
In my experience, the consolation that works best comes from one of two places. Either it’s from someone who acknowledges they are not in the same place, don’t try to fix, but just sit with me in the muck, unafraid of the pain and drama of my world. The other effective consolers are those who are actually in the same spot, people who are trying to support a loved one with the same challenges. They offer a knowing smile, and don’t get ruffled by the details.
Paul, in this writing, is saying that we are consoled by God, and therefore need to turn around and console others.
Given my experience in that consolation sandwich, between people consoling me, and me consoling my loved one, I’m wondering if there’s something that’s so easily lost.
Few people are in the same position I am. From those who aren’t, consolation comes from empathy and companionship, not from people trying to fix or offer advice for a situation they cannot know. Perhaps I can learn something from this about offering meaningful consolation for my loved one. I cannot know their situation. I am not in their situation. And yet I offer loads of ‘helpful’ advice and suggestions. I’m imagining it’s off the mark for them, if nothing else because I’m not in their situation. Note to self: try consoling others in a way that works with me.
Jesus was God’s secret agent to be able to console in a way that works. Jesus was fully human, and after living a tumultuous life on earth, God gained first hand knowledge of what our human experience and life is like. God can console from a place of first hand knowledge of what our pain and suffering is like; Jesus experienced it all.
Paul concludes his greeting with explaining that since we are consoled by God, we should turn around and console others.
This morning, I’m thinking about offering consolation to others, particularly my sick loved one, in a way that works with me, in a way that God consoles me. Comfort, listening ear, empathy. God, like the most helpful friends, doesn’t necessarily try to fix my problems. But God listens, and God is present. That’s my goal.
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