How to Grieve with Others Well

Photo by Marlon Sommer


One of the things that I have been pondering during this season is how well we as humans, and maybe even more so, we who are Christians grieve with each other. I have been observing what the reactions are to a hurting and suffering world in this season, and it has challenged me to want to do and be better because I think grieving well and accompanying others in their grief are things that we aren’t really taught to do.

Those of us who believe in Jesus and live our lives in such a way as to serve Him and follow Him with our lives (as best we can—humans that we are) are acquainted with a suffering God at least in name or theory. Many of us have seen Mel Gibson’s movie, The Passion of the Christ, and have read the passages of Jesus’ physical anguish and resurrection (especially since Easter was just a while ago). We know on a head level that Jesus did not shy away from suffering but rather embraced it for our sake with an obedient heart. Why, then, do we find it so hard to enter into the suffering of others? Why don’t we see it as part of our own calling in picking up our own cross to follow in His footsteps? What does that even look like exactly?

Many times, we speak or act from good intentions but don’t realize that we are often propelled by hearts of fear or by shallow beliefs simply because we haven’t had to walk that dark of a road yet. Maybe we have walked through difficulties but haven’t even entered into the emotions of our own suffering. How can we enter into the suffering of others if we have been denying our own processing of loss or pain?

In this season, we have all been quoting a lot of scripture. It’s natural and good that we would want to know what something or Someone bigger than ourselves has to say about so much turmoil and uncertainty. But, sometimes, I feel like we want to reduce truth to memes and sound bites. Digging into the Word of God during crisis is right and good—I’m not diminishing its value at all—but it isn’t a substitute for relationship and presence. No matter how much truth a cliché may hold, it can come off as very cheap and dismissive because there is no substitute for human or divine connection. In the same way that we wouldn’t slap a Band-Aid onto a broken bone, we shouldn’t be so quick to depend on knee-jerk responses to people who are deeply hurting and deeply questioning. We would do ourselves and others a great service if we would be willing to walk deeper into the uncertainty, the mystery, the unknown.

I think much of our discomfort with entering into the suffering of others stems from our overall discomfort with suffering in general. Within mainstream Christianity, sometimes I have felt like people are afraid to be seen suffering. I think it flies in the face of prosperity messages we’ve heard for many years and subtle attitudes that have told us that being a Christian means that our physical lifestyle will always depict ease, comfort, health, and provision. It is true that God is our Provider, and He does promise us that He will be what we need. He also has a heart of love, and all good things come from Him as the Father of lights. But He never promised us that we wouldn’t go through suffering. In fact, quite the opposite is true—He says in John 16:33:

“ I have told you these things so that in Me you may have peace. You will have suffering in this world. Be courageous! I have conquered the world.”

In other versions, the words “difficulties,” “trouble,” “sorrows,” and “tribulation” appear. This world is full of humans who all possess free will. We are all so deeply connected, and we knowingly and unknowingly harm each other and our Earth all the time. We have great capacity for good and redemption, but we ourselves are also the source of much suffering. The fact that we will experience suffering in this world does not lessen God’s grandeur or sovereignty or omnipotence in any way. That fact that Jesus said that in this world we would have suffering also doesn’t mean that He has sent or caused the suffering. More than anything, suffering is an invitation.

I recently watched a video where Rick Pino interviewed Steffany Gretzinger about the importance of worship during this time. (If you’d like to watch that interview, here is the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jddowCZQzQ) One of the things that Steffany referenced was how similar this time of quarantine is to the time of Passover especially since the timing of it has also coincided (at least for a lot of the world). She also mentioned how the Passover had so many regulations and instructions for how to participate in God’s intervention at the original Passover (which foreshadowed Jesus and the fulfillment of the new covenant) and also how they were to continue to commemorate God’s salvation in their time of need. The regulation that stuck out for her and that has echoed with great power for me is that they were instructed to eat the whole lamb—including the undesirable parts. And the consumption of the lamb was to be accompanied by bitter herbs. This is such an impactful image that I think speaks volumes about the invitation that has been extended to us in this time. So often, Christians or even just people in general just want to learn the lesson and get on with it. Certainly, there are things to be learned from COVID-19 and ways that we should be considering improving as humankind. But, to be so quick to just “do our time” and “learn whatever it is we’re supposed to learn” so that we can get back to normal lessens the value of the process. And, I think it also cheapens how we think God relates to us. This mindset reduces Him to a school teacher waiting to slap us on the wrist or a mother who sends her kid to the corner for punishment time. We all operate in such a shame and punishment paradigm so often that the easiest assumption to make is that we’ve somehow been bad and that we need to straighten up to have our freedom again.

On the contrary, I think in the same way that Jesus asked us to participate in Communion to remember Him and His sacrifice, I think He is also asking us to eat the whole lamb during this time. We want to be close to a Jesus who is powerful and turns water into wine and provides money in a fish’s mouth. We want to walk closely with a Jesus who heals the sick and raises the dead and turns over tables in the temple. We want to be the child sitting on Jesus’ lap or the one who discovers Him at the empty tomb. In short, we want to be associated with His victory. But are we also willing to be close to the Jesus who wept with vigor in the Garden of Gethsemane? Do we want to be with the Jesus who was deeply betrayed by someone He had poured Himself into? Are we willing to be the one carrying His cross for Him as He walks to His grueling death? This is what it means to eat the whole lamb. It means that we are a friend of Jesus in every moment on the journey. It means that we don’t get to pick and choose only the victorious Jesus; it means that we’re willing to keep company with Him in His darkest hour. This is the invitation both now and always. What if this isn’t about learning a lesson but is more so about communing with His heart and getting close to Him in ways we’ve glossed over before? When we think about our friendships, I would guess that the ones that have weight, that have stood the test of time, and that feel like our greatest refuge and security are those that have walked with us through suffering. Are we willing to be those kinds of friends to Jesus? And, are we willing to see Jesus in others and be those kinds of friends to others?

There are numerous foods in the Passover dinner, yet Jesus chose to associate Himself with bread and wine. I had a moment a few weeks ago as I was making bread when I was kneading a dough so long my forearms hurt, and it occurred to me—Jesus chose to be associated with foods that go through a grueling process of being broken down. Dough is stretched and pummeled. Grapes are crushed and bruised to make wine. And they both go through a period of waiting and aging to reach their greatest value as food. When we take Communion, we are partaking of the finished product, but the invitation to eat of His body and to drink of His blood (as these foods represent) is both for healing and salvation and also for intimacy. The same cup that He asked God the Father to take from Him in the Garden of Gethsemane (that He ultimately decided to drink) is the same cup that is offered to us in Communion. We don’t have to make the sacrifice; He already did that. Our calling is to just be with Him through it all.

In Matthew 5:4, it says:

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

This very well could be one of those cliché verses that we’re throwing around in this time, but the truth of the matter is that there is no shortcut offered here. We don’t receive comfort unless we’re actually willing to mourn. This isn’t a recipe for dodging grief. It’s the invitation to walk through it with the hope that comfort is on the other side.

Jesus is our example when is comes to loving others well in the midst of grief. In John 11, Jesus’ friends, Mary and Martha, send word that their brother, Lazarus, is sick. Jesus already knows what is going to happen and how God is going to be glorified—so much so that he intentionally waits a while before going to his friends. He knows that He has a miracle to perform and a plan of God to fulfill. Yet, when he reaches his friends and Lazarus has already been dead for four days, He is not heartless in His response. He still knows the power He possesses and the outcome, yet, He willingly enters into the suffering of those around Him. As He sees Mary and the rest of the Jews accompanying her weeping and mourning, He weeps with them.

Our choosing to mourn with others is not something that has to be based on the outcome. We may know that life will go on or that someone will recover from a financial hardship. We may feel comforted with the security that the person has a personal relationship with Jesus and will go or has gone on to be with their Heavenly Father. But those truths do not remove our Biblical call to mourn with those who mourn because that is loving. In Romans 12:15-16, it says:

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.”

In 2 Corinthians 1:3-4, it says:

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”

Comforting others is a way of depicting a facet of God’s character. It’s just as important as the outcome of a crisis because it allows those around us to get to know God is a deeper way. We cannot know Him as a true Comforter if we aren’t willing to let ourselves walk through pain. We lessen our experience of Him, our communion with Him, our intimacy with Him if we aren’t willing to mourn and walk with those who mourn.

So aside from the physical act of weeping with those who weep as the Bible mentions, how can we grieve well with others? We can again look to the Bible to discern what not to do. In the book of Job, we are introduced to a man (Job) who is experiencing excruciating suffering in every way imaginable—loss of family, loss of wealth, loss of shelter, loss of health, loss of purpose, and loss of understanding of what God is doing. During his time of need, Job’s friends visit. They start off perhaps having an appropriate response—they weep over his suffering, and they just sit with Job for seven days and seven nights without saying a word. Then, once Job expresses his angst by cursing the day he was born, they can’t restrain themselves any more. Eliphaz starts by berating him for being impatient and not having more faith, and he insinuates that there is an element to punishment in everything that Job is going through. Next, Bildad pipes in and echoes the punishment paradigm and tells Job that he just isn’t seeking God enough. After Job has vented his anguish and frustration, Zophar tries to take the “friend of the year” trophy by shaming Job for expressing himself. He accuses Job of having no wisdom and comes back to the topic of Job’s sin. And this kind of back and forth goes on and on. Can you imagine sitting in a dust heap covered in boils and listening to these guys? Chapter after chapter these men implore Job to get rid of his sin, to have more faith, to be more spiritual, to have more wisdom, to cleanse himself, and stop talking about his feelings and his issues and his doubts. Lastly, young whippersnapper Elihu takes the cake for what not to do when comforting someone. He goes on a diatribe of how he simply must speak because the Spirit of God is compelling him. Then he accuses Job of being wicked and lacking wisdom in a long, wordy monologue. I have to bet that Job was just in too much pain to get up in leave. Is it any wonder that God comes in a whirlwind to interrupt Elihu and lay a smackdown? Here is what He says in Job 42:7:

“After the Lord had said these things to Job, he said to Eliphaz the Temanite, “I am angry with you and your two friends, because you have not spoken the truth about me, as my servant Job has.”

We can look at this story and feel like all of this sounds so ridiculous, and we would never behave this way. Yet, I think we may be blinded by the poetic language of the Bible because we certainly have our own versions. When we say to someone, “You just hold on! God’s in control,” are we insinuating that the person doesn’t know that God is in control? When we say, “You should read these verses! And have faith,” are we implying that the person isn’t reading the Bible or doesn’t already have faith? Isn’t it possible that someone can have feelings of pain and loss AND ALSO have faith? Expressing one’s emotions as Job does is not a sign of wickedness. Expressing our doubts to the Lord and to others does not mean that we have turned our backs on God. We may truly have good intentions, but we need to be mindful of how we represent the Lord and whether or not we have the perseverance to just be with someone throughout their crisis.

Being present is the first step to being a loving friend. John Townsend offers these important relational “nutrients” in his book, People Fuel, that need to be offered as a base line of respect and trust and love before we even consider offering advice, feedback, or perspective:

“Acceptance: Connect without judgment
Attunement: Be aware of what another is experiencing and respond to it
Validation: Convey that a person’s experience is significant and not to be dismissed
Identification: Share your similar story
Containment: Allow the other to vent while staying warm without reacting
Comfort: Provide support for someone’s loss”

One of the people I am learning from the most in this area is my friend, Stephen. Over the last few years, he has experienced the death of a dear friend who was like a brother, a health crisis he didn’t see coming and the uncertainty of recovery, and the loss of his home and community as he had to relocate suddenly for treatment. Experiencing all of these trials has obviously led to many responses from people who care. So, I asked Stephen what responses have been the most loving and life-giving to him. The image he offered was striking. He said that what he most longed for was someone to sit with him in the dark, holding his hand rather than rushing to flip the light switch on. It’s okay to not know what to say; sometimes, it’s not necessary to say anything. Oftentimes, it’s best to ask questions about how someone is really feeling and to truly listen. Our rush to learn a lesson or come to easy conclusions as to why someone is suffering only exposes our discomfort with the suffering Jesus found in others. People need to know that it’s okay to be experiencing pain or doubt or sadness. How much more would Peter have understood the time at hand if he had stayed awake in vigilance with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane? Rather than cutting a soldier’s ear off in defense, trying to fix “the problem,” maybe he would have held Jesus’ hand, offering the strength that comes from solidarity.

During this time, many of us wouldn’t necessarily categorize what we’re going through as suffering but more so an inconvenience. So, what can it look like to eat the whole lamb if we don’t feel like we’re the ones most affected? I believe it starts by examining our relationship to suffering. Let’s ask ourselves how we have responded to our own suffering in the past. Have we let ourselves grieve in healthy ways for the losses we have had or did we deny the feelings and just try to learn the lesson and move on? If we haven’t given ourselves permission to grieve, maybe now is the time to start the process of mourning and to begin knowing Jesus as our Divine Comfort. Next, let’s think about how we respond to the suffering of others. Are we too quick to want to explain away pain? Are we willing to respond not just to the crisis someone is walking through but also the emotions the person is experiencing? Is our faith sturdy enough that we can recognize that God made our emotions, so we can validate them without fear? Can we connect with others by sharing our own personal stories honestly WITHOUT monopolizing the conversation or tying up the story with a neat moral? Are we good listeners? Can we be comforting without being patronizing or unwittingly condescending? The honest answers to those questions help us know where to start, what we need to learn, and who we may need to talk to. It’s possible that we need to make amends to someone that we may not have given true permission to grieve. It’s possible that there is someone on our peripheral who we may feel convicted to reach out to if only to ask, “How are you feeling?”

Grief and suffering, when we don’t shy away from them, give us the opportunity to know God in a deeper way—not know about Him or just His lessons and knowledge but to really know Him. How did Jesus feel in the midst of betrayal and physical pain and emotional isolation? We know the stories, but do we know the deep emotions happening in the stories? We would love others with so much more substance if we were willing to be close to the Jesus who suffered, the Jesus we are invited to see in the souls around us.