I forget his prayer; I remember him being there.
- Monica Coleman

I am often intimidated by not feeling like I know the right thing to say when facing someone’s struggle or suffering. But sometimes words are less important. There is such a thing as the ministry of presence. “It is more a commitment,” writes Sonny Guild, “to give others a personal presence than simply to give them words. When I have less concern about the right words and more concern for being present in people’s lives ministry becomes more meaningful.”

God was and is moved to be present with his people. In the Old Testament, he offered both symbolically cosmic and intensely personal evidence of this: he came in pillars of fire and finely-constructed tabernacles; he whispered to Joshua, “your God is with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9). None of this was the norm for gods of that time: “For what great nation is there,” Moses says in Deuteronomy 4, “that has a god so near to it as the Lord our God is to us, whenever we call upon him?” Jesus came as Immanuel, “God with us” (Isaiah 7). He did not leave without promising the Holy Spirit, God within us. God’s presence is with his people in the Old Testament, with us in Christ, and with us through the Holy Spirit. 

This is interesting, right? God does not promise certain conditions or outcomes in life. He does not promise an easy life. He does not even promise us a particular experience of his word or work. But he always promises us his presence. His presence is a truth, a fact of reality whether we feel that presence or not. And so one of the things we do when we embody Jesus to other people is to simply be present. We don’t necessarily have to say much. We don’t necessarily have to do much. We can just be present.

I can’t think of many moments when Jesus asked for someone to minister to him. But one of them was in the garden of Gethsemane: and what did he ask for then? Simply that his friends be present with him. “Perhaps,” writes Guild, “this illustrates one of the powerful and meaningful ways we minister to overwhelmed people.”

After the death of three of his sons, Joseph Bayly wrote the following in his book A View from the Hearse:

I was sitting, torn by grief. Someone came and talked to me of God’s dealings, of why it happened, of hope beyond the grave. He talked constantly; he said things I knew were true. I was unmoved except to wish he’d go away. He finally did.

Another came and sat beside me. He just sat beside me for an hour and more, listened when I said something, answered briefly, prayed simply, left. I was moved. I was comforted. I hated to see him go.

The ministry of presence can also happen not just in a moment, but through a way of living. Henri Nouwen writes: 

More and more, the desire grows in me simply to walk around, greet people, enter their homes, sit on their doorsteps, play ball, throw water, and be known as someone who wants to live with them. It is a privilege to have the time to practice this simple ministry of presence. Still, it is not as simple as it seems. My own desire to be useful, to do something significant, or to be part of some impressive project is so strong that soon my time is taken up by meetings, conferences, study groups, and workshops that prevent me from walking the streets. It is difficult not to have plans, not to organize people around an urgent cause, and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them.

We live in a world that is increasingly individualized and isolated, in a world where attention and time are scarce resources. Why is this? Because we desire to be useful in some impressive way; we fill our lives with plans and doings. But sometimes the ministry of presence is to walk the streets and learn some names. Sometimes it is to get down on the ground and play with your children. Sometimes it is to sit quietly and hold someone’s hand. Sometimes it is just to listen. These are the ways we come alongside others the way God comes alongside us, and the more I think about it, the more I feel that that kind of presence is itself a true gift.