"Naming the Elephant"
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gray behemoth, but in the interest of courtesy, you say nothing.
One of our interns reported on a pastoral call he and his wife paid to a recently widowed church member. They met at a restaurant for dinner, then visited at the man’s house for an hour and a half.
The intern felt pleased with the whole evening. “Did you talk about Ruth (the deceased spouse)?” I asked. “Oh, no,” he replied, “we were able to get through the whole time without referring to her.” He said it as if he had pulled off a skillful conversational coup. He was proud of the achievement. I sat appalled. “A bereavement call without reference to the main character?” I asked. “You may have had a good time, but the dominating presence in the room was Ruth, the recently deceased. Joe was thinking of her constantly and so were you. How could you not speak of her?”
They had ‘leaned around the elephant’ all evening as truly as in the fictional tea party. The intern now saw success crumble to failure as I pointed out his responsibility to introduce con- versation about the grieved wife.
Grieving people report that it happens all the time. Friends, neigh-bors and colleagues avoid what the bereaved long for: they want to talk about the one who has died. They themselves are reluctant to insert their agenda. They quickly discover the general uneasiness of people with such delicate topics. So they wait, quietly longing for a caring soul to bring up the loved one’s name, that memories may be shared. Often they wait in vain.
Caring
encounters call for courageous ‘naming of the elephant.’ Naming the elephant
is talking about the obvious, even when uncomfortable. It is daring to
ask, to mention, to bring up an avoided topic. The lady with the African
elephant in her living room had lived with it so long she didn’t think
of explaining it to her guest. The widowed church member wasn’t sure his
guests wanted to speak of doleful things at a time of mirth. It was up
to the visitor.
Bill W. arrived at my Saturday morning class one day with serious wounds on his face. Scabbed now, they looked about a week old. “What happened, Bill?” I asked. “I slipped on the rocks at Newport Beach,” he said. “I fell flat on my face.”
We groaned together for Bill a minute, then I asked, “Bill, how many people have asked you this week what happened to your face?” “None,” he answered, “you’re the first one.”
Part
of me was incredulous. The other part — the part that thought to ask —
wasn’t so surprised. Folks have an incredible knack for leaning around
elephants of all kinds.
Seminarian Karl trucked off to a nursing home to look in on Harry, recently transferred there from an acute care hospital. The connection was made, a conversation ensued, and prayer closed their visit.
Reporting on the encounter, Karl added that Harry was missing one leg. “Did you ask about it?” someone queried. “Oh, no,” said Karl. “I didn’t think I should do that.” A note of self-satisfaction seemed present. In fact, he “blew it.”
Care, most of the time, falls short when the glaring concern is sidestepped. What better to focus on than the angst of the amputation instead of acting as if it wasn’t there.
A
young teacher’s little girl was being admired by a colleague. She waxed
eloquent over the positive qualities of the child. All the while the appreciative
mother was remembering that the complimentary friend had lost a child
to leukemia. Finally she gently raised the tender issue. She carefully
segued from her own healthy, little girl to the other’s heartache. The
invitation was accepted and a healing conversation ensued, seasoned with
tears.
Friends were bantering over coffee about the circumstances one couple entered after a dangerous house fire. The teasing centered on their temporary life in fine motels and elegant restaurants, paid for by the insurance company. The mock envy continued into the great good fortune of replacing smoke-soaked clothing with brand new wardrobes. Laughter and hilarity prevailed. Then one of the jokesters changed her tune. “It must have been awfully frightening,” she offered. A brief silence followed her reflection. Tears came to the eyes of the displaced couple. Suddenly a total mood change descended. The fun was over. Something very good began. Call it serious “therapy” about the horror of the devastating fire.
Avoiding the uncomfortable, the sad, the different and the unusual is conventional behavior. Mostly it connects to not wanting to make someone uncomfortable.
For example:
If your husband has died, I think bringing his name up is likely to trigger your tears. Therefore I will walk around the painful and stay on the surface.
Good intentions—Faulty conclusions. True, tears are likely if we talk of the deceased loved one. But false to think the tears are unwanted or signal a theme to stay away from. People want to talk of loved ones lost, even though tears flow.
Most
of the time, (not always) the missing limb, the wounded face, the child
who died of leukemia, the deceased spouse can be inquired about and do
not need to be side-stepped. A caring person must take such risks to gain
access to life’s deeper levels. Skating on the surface profits little,
helps minimally. Tiptoeing in to sensitive territory holds maximum potential
for reaching helpfully another’s hurts. The ‘elephants’ are topics or
conditions clearly, but silently, in the minds of people present with
each other. Sometimes in mentioning them a distraction is eliminated,
allowing for uncluttered interaction.
For example, I tower above most people at 6’6”. When I meet new people my height seems to distract them. Routinely I am asked, “How tall are you, anyway?” A quick statistic and that irrelevancy is out of the way.
When the ‘elephant’ is a delicate matter like a death in the family, the naming takes on a different color. Then a care connection occurs, offering an opportunity, not to get it out of the way, but to favor the person with true interest and concern. Even then, however, if there is other business to be done, talking of the ‘elephant’ has a way of temporarily releasing some pressure. Then other work flows more smoothly.
Not all elephants are to be named. It’s okay to ask my height. No one inquires of a small person, “How little are you anyway?” When a death is attributed to lung cancer, little but curiosity is served by asking survivors if the victim was a smoker. Likewise, with auto crash victims and your burning wonder about a latched seat belt. Don’t ask! It makes no difference now!
In a caring person’s heart lies a desire to be helpful. Most care requires a little risk. ‘Naming the elephant’ is seldom a sure thing, but a loving tactic God’s people sensitively try for the cause called loving kindness.
(Next time: “Weeping With Those That Weep”, one of the most important strategies caring people must use.)
Dr. James Kok is Director of Care Ministry for the Crystal Cathedral Congregation of Garden Grove, CA. He has been an ordained minister of the Christian Reformed Church of America for 35 years. He speaks extensively throughout the United States and Canada. His hands-on work as a pastor has led to a profound understanding of the issues and dynamics of personal grief and human suffering on which he has written and spoken at length.
