Ongoing Care & Follow-Up
- "I'm following up with someone a few weeks after [loss/crisis]. Give me a few honest things to say that don't make them feel like I'm rushing them toward being 'okay.'"
- "Someone I've been caring for seems to be pulling away. Give me a gentle way to check in without pressuring them."
Hospital & Home Visits
- "I'm visiting someone dealing with [situation] this week. Give me a short, real thing I could say and a short prayer that fits without overpromising an outcome."
- "A family in our church is struggling with a decision about hospice care for an elderly mother. Give me a few helpful, Bible-based responses to their hesitation."
Building a Go-To Library
- "Give me several grounded, non-cliché ways to talk about [topic — suffering, doubt, forgiveness] that I can keep in my back pocket for when it comes up, so I don't look like a deer in the headlights."
Knowing When to Refer
- "Someone's situation with [topic] sounds like it may need more than pastoral care alone. Help me think through how to gently suggest professional help without making them feel ambushed."
Premarital Counseling
- "I'm starting premarital counseling with a couple this week. Give me a simple session outline covering [topic — communication, finances, expectations, etc.]."
- "This couple has a real difference in [area — faith background, family expectations, etc.]. Help me think through how to address it honestly before the wedding, not after."
Actual Answers Provided By Selah
"I'm following up with someone a few weeks after losing their job. Give me a few honest things to say that don't make them feel like I'm rushing them toward being 'okay.'"
This isn't really a theology question — it's a pastoral one, and a human one. Happy to think through it with you.
A few things that tend to land well, and why:
"I've been thinking about you." Simple, but it matters. It says the situation hasn't left your mind — that they haven't dropped off your radar now that the initial shock has passed. Most people brace for the check-in to trail off after a few weeks.
"You don't have to have figured anything out yet." This one explicitly names the pressure they're probably feeling — from themselves, from the job market, from well-meaning people asking "so what's next?" It gives them permission to still be in the middle of it.
"What's the hardest part right now?" Better than "how are you doing," which invites a reflexive "fine." Asking about the hardest part signals that you're ready for a real answer, and it lets them name what's actually weighing on them — which might be money, or identity, or the daily rhythm disappearing, or something they haven't said out loud yet.
"I'm not going to tell you it'll work out." If you can say this honestly — and mean it — it can be a relief. People are tired of being reassured. Sitting with them in the uncertainty, without fixing it, is often more sustaining than optimism.
What to avoid: "Everything happens for a reason," "at least you have time to find something better," "this might be a blessing in disguise." These rush the person toward a resolution they haven't reached yet, and they implicitly ask the person to feel differently than they do.
The throughline in all of these: you're not asking them to move. You're just showing up where they actually are.
Is there something specific about this person or situation that's shaping what you want to say?
"Give me several grounded, non-cliché ways to talk about suffering that I can keep in my back pocket for when it comes up, so I don't look like a deer in the headlights."
That's a genuinely good thing to want. Most people freeze because they've been handed clichés that sound theological but land hollow — and they sense it, even if they can't say why.
Here are several frameworks that actually hold weight. I'll give you the core of each so you can make it your own.
"I don't know why, and I'm not going to pretend I do."
This one is harder than it sounds because it requires resisting the pull to explain. But the book of Job ends with God condemning the friends who did explain — and vindicating Job, who protested and demanded. Permission to say "I don't know" is one of the most scripturally grounded things you can offer. The silence that follows isn't emptiness — it's honesty, which is what the person actually needs.
"God isn't watching this from a distance."
Not as a slogan, but as a theological claim with teeth: the Incarnation means God entered the human condition — hunger, exhaustion, grief, abandonment. When Jesus cries from the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?", he's not performing. That cry belongs to him. So when someone feels abandoned by God in their suffering, the Christian response isn't "God is still there somewhere" — it's "the Son of God spoke your words from the cross." That's solidarity, not distance.
"You're allowed to be angry at God."
This surprises people, but it's the most Psalm-shaped thing you can say. Psalm 88 ends in darkness with no resolution. Psalm 22 — which Jesus quoted dying — begins with "Why have you forsaken me?" The lament tradition in Scripture doesn't tidy itself up. The person who is furious at God and says so is more in relationship with God than the person who performs calm acceptance while seething underneath. Anger directed at God is still address — it keeps the conversation alive.
"Suffering doesn't always come with a reason, but it doesn't have to be the last word either."
This separates two things people often fuse: explanation and hope. You can refuse to explain ("God's teaching you something," "there's a reason for this") while still holding open the future — that what is broken now is not the permanent state of things. Romans 8 holds both: the honest groaning of creation and the confidence that redemption will be complete. You don't have to know the reason to hold the hope.
Sometimes, just naming the darkness.
Wolterstorff — after losing his son — wrote that what he needed wasn't comfort or explanation, but someone willing to not look away. "Mourn with those who mourn" (Romans 12:15) is its own theology. The person who sits with someone in their grief without rushing to fix it or explain it or spiritualize it is doing something real. Sometimes the most theological thing you can say is "this is terrible, and I'm not going anywhere."
These aren't scripts — they're orientations. The one that fits depends on who's in front of you and what they're actually carrying. But having a few of these internalized means you're not reaching for the first thing that comes out, which is usually the cliché.
Is one of these landing more than the others for you? Or is there a particular situation you're thinking about when you imagine needing this?