I stood 10 feet from the gravesite pulling my coat around me and looking on as the service began. One of my students stood near her mother’s open grave with two of her friends standing on either side. “Sixteen is too young for your mother to die,” I kept thinking as I looked on, fighting back tears. Her friends, one wearing a black dress and the other a suit, held each of her hands as the funeral service began.

This image of two teenaged students standing by their friend as her mom was buried is forever burned in my mind. They had been there at the calling hours the night before; and they were here now, lending her their hands and their caring presence. The death had come as somewhat of a shock. Jennifer’s mother had struggled with cancer for a long time; but in the end, death came quickly. We weren’t sure if she and her sister were completely informed about the state of her disease or prepared for what had happened. I remember sitting in the church office as we got the news and being stunned. Two girls lost their mother that day, and I had no clue how to respond. I immediately felt their grief in my own heart as I remembered what a sweet and loving person their mom had been. I felt angry that she was taken away from her daughters at such a young age. I also felt very helpless. How would I go about ministering to this student and her college-aged sister in any meaningful way?

Our pastors stepped into action and began developing plans for how to minister to Jennifer’s father and to offer any assistance they could. I kept thinking, “They are trained in this; they have had hundreds of experiences reaching out to grieving families. I am not.” I began kicking myself for not taking those classes in seminary that would have prepared me for this type of experience. Instead, I had gone the theological route; but would a class really have prepared me for this?
I went up to my office and sat for a while. Although Jennifer was a member of my youth group, and her sister had been in the past, I didn’t feel as close of a connection with them as some of our leaders had. This made it hard for me to know how to reach out to them without them feeling awkward. It brought out insecurities in me as a leader. I kept wishing I had spent more time with them before this happened so I would know how to reach out to them now. Fighting back this wall of insecurity, I picked up my cell phone and called one of my leaders who is a good friend and close with these girls. We sat there with each other on the phone as the full weight of it hit us. After awhile, we developed a plan. We would get together that evening and bring some food to the house and visit with them. This felt tangible to me. I could handle that.

That evening, we stopped by with the food; but their father said the girls weren’t up for visitors. We were disappointed not to be able to see them, but we understood. For the rest of the week, I prayed deeply for the girls and their dad. I passed along updates to our leadership team and let a couple of students know who were close with Jennifer. I sent her and her sister encouraging notes and a Facebook message. Despite all of this, I still felt very helpless. I didn’t know what the right thing to do was in this situation. I wished I was better prepared to minister, but I didn’t know what would have better prepared me.

As the calling hours came around, I went with several other adults from our church. I remembered why I hate funeral homes. The strange smells, the hushed tones, the tacky furniture. I walked in and didn’t know what to say. I went over and hugged the girls and then went and spoke with their dad. He thanked me for ministering to his daughters. He said he didn’t know why, but they loved coming to youth group. I stood by the closed casket for a few moments and then joined the group of leaders and adults from our church who surrounded Jennifer and her sister. We talked and even laughed and joked with them a bit. I was touched by all of the church members who had come to be with these girls and support them in this time of grief. I saw two students from our youth group come in, and I thanked them for coming and being with Jennifer. They said they would be coming to the funeral the next day.

As we stood by the graveside the following morning, I began to think about the ministry of presence. Although I felt that most of what I would do or say would be inadequate at best, I knew my presence was important. The presence of many church members at the calling hours and the presence of Jennifer’s two close friends represented the presence of Christ to her. Maybe there really were no right words to say, no perfect food to bring by the house, no perfect way to minister. I learned the best we could do in this situation was to be there. At the time, it meant simply our physical, loving presence, hugging her and helping her know Christ was present with her through us on one of the most difficult days of her life.