A “crisis” is any situation, expected or otherwise, which disrupts the normal flow of life and family. Whether a death, divorce, job loss, move, or mental health emergency, everyone eventually experiences a crisis, and everyone responds differently. Unfortunately, for those providing support, someone else’s crisis can be highly uncomfortable, and there are a number of cliches which escape our lips to occupy the uncomfortable space. From what I’ve studied and seen in nearly a decade of ministry, saying nothing at all and just being present is almost always the best option, but if you feel like you have to say something, I have a suggestion:
What not to say:
“Someday, you’ll look back on this and laugh.”
Why it’s bad:
There’s an old aphorism that “Comedy is just tragedy plus time.” For example, Monty Python managed to get laughs out of the Spanish Inquisition, and Mel Brooks practically built his career on Hitler jokes. There’s an important distinction here though: the Monty Python comedians never experienced the horrors of the Spanish Inquisition firsthand, and Mel Brooks, while Jewish, is not himself a Holocaust survivor. Yes, tragic events can become funny over time, but it’s different when it’s your tragedy.
Telling people they’ll look back and laugh dismisses the emotions they’re feeling in the here and now. It’s the same as saying “You’ll get over this,” only with the added gut-punch of assuming people will find anything funny with enough time.
Lost your job? This will be funny later.
Divorce? This will be funny later.
Nervous breakdown? Funny later.
Death of a loved one? Funny later.
Attempted suicide? Funny later.
Are you noticing how twisted this sounds?
Look, I understand many people eventually find themselves in better situations and can look back on the past with amusement— like when an old married couple tell you the happiest years were when they didn’t have a dime. It’s different when you’re in the midst of it though.
Better option:
Instead of telling people how they’ll feel later, validate their emotions now, and even participate with them to the extent that it’s healthy.
If a grieving person is crying, stay quiet and maybe reach out to hold his/her hand.
If a grieving person is laughing at an old story, you can laugh too.
If a grieving person is angry, just listen without dismissing it.
You don’t have to fully take on every emotion, but learn to be a companion in these feelings. The time for laughter may come, but if it isn’t here yet, that’s okay.
Why it’s better:
When I perform weddings, I always tell the wedding party ahead of time: “I don’t laugh unless the bride laughs.” I’ve seen some wild stuff at weddings over the years —a bridesmaid twerking down the aisle, groomsmen passing a flask during the processional, and more falls, trips, and slips than I can count—, but I know my responsibility on those days is first to God and second to the bride and groom who have put so much effort into their wedding day. As such, “I don’t laugh unless the bride laughs” became my way of saying “No matter who does what, I am unquestionably in your corner.”
When I made the jump to chaplaincy, I found this was still the case.
I’m aware that I have an impulse to try and cheer others up no matter what’s going on, and I’ve had to check that over the past few years. In those first months, I made a lot of situations worse in an effort to turn frowns upside-down; what those people really needed was someone to step into their pain for a moment.
Don’t tell people how they’re going to feel in some future they can’t yet imagine;
validating their feelings now will do far more than the promise of laughter later.