Don’t Skim It.
Hey New Life!
I hope this email finds you doing well! You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about grief lately. (I know, kind of a downer way to start, but stick with me…)
Specifically, I’ve been thinking about how Jesus was called “a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3).
Acquainted with grief. Like a friend. Jesus knew grief well.
It’s not something we dwell on much in church, is it? “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Prince of Peace” sells better. “Grief-stricken Savior” feels a bit heavy…
I’m just not sure we know what to do with grief. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, but I’m not sure we know how to grieve, you know? It’s awkward. It’s messy. It feels like stepping into quicksand – you don’t know how far down you’ll sink or if you’ll ever climb out.
So you know what we do? Like a rock skipping across the surface of a pond, we skim. We say the quick line, pray the quick prayer, move on.
But Jesus didn’t skip across the surface of grief. He plunged into its depths. He was well-acquainted with it.
Jesus Didn’t Fast-Forward
In John 11, Jesus stands outside His friend’s tomb. He knows resurrection is seconds away. If it were me, I’d be humming the victory song under my breath, ready for the mic-drop miracle. Instead, Jesus breaks down. He cries.
Not because Lazarus is gone (He’s about to fix that) but because He sees the sorrow of Mary, Martha, and the crowd. The One Person who could legitimately say, “Don’t worry, this will all be fine in five minutes,” doesn’t. He lingers in their pain.
He grieves with them. That should shows us something really important.
The Mistake We Make
Paul tells us in 1 Thessalonians 4:13 that we don’t grieve like those without hope. But somewhere along the way that changed to, “Christians don’t grieve at all.”
So if we’re not careful, at funerals, in small group, when giving advice, we may rush people past sorrow. We throw out clichés: “God’s in control. Heaven’s coming. Count your many blessings.”
Are those statements true? Absolutely. Are they helpful in the moment? Not usually.
The unintended consequence is brutal: when we don’t learn how to grieve, we don’t know what to do with our pain. So we bury it. We mask it. Or we medicate it.
What Grief Actually Looks Like
And let’s be clear: grief isn’t just about death.
It’s about the silence that fills the house when your kids move out.
It’s about the pain of a friendship that fades away.
It’s about the gut-punch sorrow that comes when a dream collapses.
It could even be a good, necessary change (like retirement or a new season of life) that still hurts.
If we don’t name those moments, we can fall into the trap of thinking sorrow only counts if someone died. If all we ever strive for is toughness, we’re racing into denial, not faith. We’re opting for a way of life that seems foreign to the Scriptures. And foreign to the way God designed us to live.
Jesus shows us the way.
Three Reminders About Grief
1. Don’t Skim It.
Grief isn’t an obstacle to get over. It’s a road to travel. Don’t think you have to push yourself (or others) ‘through it’ as fast as possible. Nobody is keeping stats on how fast you can push past the pain. Sometimes the most Christlike thing you can do is sit in the ashes awhile.
2. Resist the fix.
When we see someone hurting, our first instinct is to fix it – quote a verse, offer advice, try to make it better. But often the best thing you can say is simply, ‘I’m here.’ Honestly, that might be the most pastoral sentence any of us can offer…especially if it comes with a donut.
3. Show your scars.
When you admit you’re grieving – a loss, a dream, even a disappointment – you give people permission to do the same. Don’t turn every conversation into a therapy session, but don’t pretend you’ve got superhero skin either. Vulnerability doesn’t weaken us. It makes us human.
Will We Linger?
Imagine a church where grief isn’t ignored, but it also isn’t hopeless. Where lament isn’t a sign of weak faith, but an act of worship. Where pastors and leaders don’t skip across the pain like a smooth rock across the surface of a pond, but sink into it long enough to feel its weight. Just like Jesus did.
Maybe it’s time we follow in the footsteps of Jesus and become acquainted with grief.
So the question isn’t just whether we believe in hope. The question is whether we’ll sit in grief long enough for hope to mean something.
Will you?