Grief

He was despised and rejected by men,
a man of suffering who knew what sickness was.
He was like someone people turned away from;
he was despised, and we didn’t value him.
Yet he himself bore our sicknesses,
and he carried our pains;
but we in turn regarded him stricken,
struck down by God, and afflicted.

Isaiah 53:3-7 CSB

Grief is an English noun which is used to refer to a “mental pain or sorrow.” It originated from an Old French verb grever which means “to afflict, burden, or oppress.” The Old French verb can be traced even further back to the Latin term gravare meaning “to make heavy”.

Heaviness is certainly one way that I would describe the overwhelming since of grief I have been carrying for quite a while. It really does feel as if there is a weight placed upon my back. I feel tired on an emotional level, which often results in mental and physical fatigue as well. Grief is an exhausting process that seems to never end. Some days are better than others, but then there are days when something seemingly innocuous will bring grief crashing back down upon me. Many times grief seems to reemerge at random like some monster from the deep.

Right now I don’t even know if I can unpack the many sources of grief that have struck me in the last twelve months. It has been a year of great illness, injury, and death for myself and those whom I love dearly. Much of the last year felt as if I was just surviving. I began to expect that tragedy and crisis was always around the corner, and often times I was right. If the devil does prowl around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour, it felt like he had set his sights on me.

I think what is prompting me to write this now is that Good Friday and Easter Sunday are on the horizon. Last year my church was not able to meet in person due to the pandemic. Celebrating Easter virtually, with an empty church building, was difficult. I think being able to finally celebrate the risen Lord in person will do my heart good. It is also a bitter time for me, in that Easter Sunday was the due date for my first child who is now with the Lord. Among the family and friends that I had to say goodbye to in the last twelve months, I had to mourn the loss of two children that I never got the chance to hold.

My wife and I have long struggled with childlessness, and in the midst of a horrible year of death and division, we were delighted to learn that God had chosen to bless us with a child. We prayed for our child every night and were glowing with anticipation. We planned the big announcement as soon as the doctor told us we were out of the “danger zone.” But a little over a week after we told our families the good news, I had to call and inform them that something had gone wrong and that we had lost the baby.

Prior to this loss, my wife had joked with me that our baby might just be the one good thing to come out of this year. Losing her was devastating. In the midst of our grief we were amazed to learn that God had blessed us with a “rainbow baby”, a term I learned that described a second pregnancy that sometimes follows a miscarriage or stillbirth. I cannot describe the emotional turmoil I felt over this news. I was grieving one child, hopeful for another child, and terrified of what might happen this time.

We did not wait to announce this new pregnancy because we wanted to surround ourselves with prayer. We had so much hope and so much support. Our church family, our friends, and our immediate and extended families were all surrounding us with so much love and support that I had convinced myself that lighting could not strike twice. Then a week before Christmas, as we were celebrating the birth of our Savior, we lost our second child.

What can be said about grief upon grief? In a year when death was all over the news and when death was claiming more than its fair share of loved ones, to receive the gift of new life and to have it snatched away, not once but twice. I don’t think I have the words even now.

Fortunately, God’s Word has much to say on the subject of grief and loss. It does not offer us quick fixes, nor does it provide a fast path to healing. There are wounds that we will carry until they find healing in glory. But to answer the weeping prophet, there is balm in Gilead. We have a patient and long-suffering physician. The 23rd Psalm paints the picture of our Lord as a Shepherd who walks with us through the “valley of the shadow of death.” The prophet Isaiah foretold of our Lord as a man of suffering who would not only carry our pains, but also bring healing through the pain and death he bore on our behalf. Though Job was subject to much grief and poor counsel, he was able to find solace in the realization that his redeemer lives.

The answer to the problem of pain is not one that can easily be summed up in a few words. We can, however, find comfort in the knowledge that our Savior is not unsympathetic to our plight or unfamiliar with our grief and sorrow. He does not abandon us to walk the long road alone, but comes alongside us and guides us on the journey. As we look ahead to Good Friday and Easter Sunday, let us remember that one day, “Your grief will turn to joy,” and “No one will take your joy away” (John 16:20, 22). The cross leads to resurrection life. And while for the time being, we should expect to suffer grief and all kinds of trial (1 Peter 1:6), we know that grief will one day cease. In that day, only joy will remain (Revelation 21:4).