Is a grieving Christian an oxymoron? We often think that Christians are supposed to be full of the “joy of the Lord.” But can grief, eternal hope, and faith coexist in the life of a Christian?
I have attended funerals and watched grieving families remain stoic, even putting on a smile. I have watched well-meaning friends and relatives console them with platitudes, encouraging them not to cry because the deceased are now in a “better place.” But how does a mother not grieve the loss of a child she expected to outlive? How does a husband or wife not grieve the loss of their spouse?
I am wrestling with the reality of the death of a loved one and what it means to respond as a Christian. Often, in our circles, we unwittingly applaud the “tearless” griever. While I do not want to minimise our eternal hope or the joy of meeting Jesus, I want to ask: Is there a place for the Christian to grieve—deeply, honestly, and without caveats?
When Grief Implodes
Rewind thirty-six years. I watched life slip away from my precious father as his battle with cancer came to an end with a few shallow breaths, followed by silence. Caring, well-meaning relatives put their arms around me and told me I needed to be strong for my family. I swallowed hard and buried my tears. For the most part, I was stoic and calm. I read the great promises of Scripture (which I knew to be true) to the hundreds of people who came to pay their last respects to a much-loved man.
A few months later, that grief imploded. My twenty-two-year-old body collapsed under its weight, leaving me with multiple illnesses, eventually culminating in tuberculosis that confined me to bed rest for three months.
Yet through Jesus and his sacrifice on the cross, God redeems even our pain, giving us hope and purpose in the midst of our grief.
The vacuum, the loss, and the silence in our home were deafening. And yet, I knew my dad was with Jesus and that his suffering was over. I was grateful that he no longer had to suffer, because watching his body being eaten away from the inside had been unbearable.
I knew he was safe in the arms of Jesus, enjoying the fullness of eternal hope, and that I would see him again one day. These truths gave me much solace, and yet the grief remained. It took a year before that grief came tumbling out—and before the healing could begin.
Redemption of Grief
We recognise that grief was never meant to be part of the human experience. It entered our world through the fall and the sin of human rebellion. The fall not only alienated us from God, but sin also corrupted our nature, unleashing every kind of evil and bringing pain, sadness, suffering, and grief into our lives.
Yet through Jesus and his sacrifice on the cross, God redeems even our pain, giving us hope and purpose in the midst of our grief. We are reminded that, even through suffering, our grief can refine and deepen our faith (1 Pet. 1:6–7).
A God Who Understands Tears
We can unknowingly conform to this world’s patterns by adopting a stiff upper lip when it comes to grief. We may even view loud mourning and tears as something that “other cultures” do. Yet does Scripture not encourage us to “weep with those who weep” and mourn with those who mourn? (Rom. 12:15) God calls us to enter into the pain of those who are grieving and to empathise with them. Scripture even tells us that God grieved over the sin of his people (Gen. 6:6). Was that a dry-eyed grief? Or, to put it in human terms, did God weep?
Our hope does not erase our grief.
We see Jesus, the perfect human, grieving. The incarnate Messiah wept when he heard that Lazarus had died (John 11:35). He was “a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isa. 53:3). Jesus did not weep hopeless tears; he expressed the full reality of human emotion. He felt the pain of the sisters who had lost their brother. He felt the pain of loss—perhaps even the righteous anger stirred by the presence of death itself. And it was outside Lazarus’s tomb that Jesus made one of His greatest “I am” statements: “I am the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25), holding out the promise that he would ultimately defeat death.
We also see Jesus weeping over Jerusalem (Luke 19:41–44). The Psalms, too, are full of raw, unfiltered emotion expressed through grief and mourning (Ps. 55:3–5; 143:3–4). Scripture does not shy away from tears, sorrow, lament, or the anguish of the human heart.
Grieving Well
Recently, my dear mother-in-law, who was ninety-one, passed away. This time, I let the tears flow. I had learned my lesson: not to suppress them. No longer was I concerned about what people might think of me. I knew the sadness I felt at the thought of never again having those stimulating and hilarious conversations with her. Every memory of those wonderful moments seemed to squeeze the air from my chest, leaving me aching inside. I allowed myself to feel the loss fully.
I wanted to grieve well this time—not because I have no hope, but because the loss of someone we love is real. Our hope does not erase our grief. We can hold both realities together: we grieve the loss of the one we love, even as we look forward to the day when we will all be together in the presence of Jesus.
Here is what I would like to leave you with: weep, if you want to. Let the tears flow when your heart feels as though it is being ripped from your chest. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted (Ps. 34:18). And when you see a friend grieving and mourning, mourn with them—no platitudes, no quoting Scripture, no reminders to “be brave.” Just sit with them in the silence, or weep with them.
Mourning is for this side of eternity. When we cross over, we will enter the new creation with no more mourning, no more tears, no more sadness, no more suffering, and no more pain (Rev. 21:4). But until then, grief and loss will remain part of our earthly experience. We do not grieve as those who have no hope; therefore, we can grieve well (1 Thess. 4:13).
Whatever your way of grieving, know that God sees, knows, and validates your pain. He is the God of all comfort, who comforts us in our suffering (2 Cor. 1:3–4). Invite Jesus into your pain and allow him to meet you there. Invite him into your sad spaces. As your tears fall, he will hold you, sustain you, and, in time, begin to heal your broken heart.
