Grief, Aging, and the God Who Weeps - By Mark Harlow

Grief is not just a moment of loss—it’s a journey. It doesn’t follow a timetable or stay neatly in the past. Often, it re-emerges in unexpected moments: a memory, a birthday, an empty chair. And as we age, grief becomes more layered. It’s not only about bereavement—it’s about change, transition, letting go.

Jesus understands this. In John 11, when faced with the death of his friend Lazarus, Jesus doesn’t offer explanations. He doesn’t rush to fix things. He weeps. The shortest verse in Scripture—“Jesus wept”—shows us a God who enters our pain. He doesn’t stand at a distance. He is present.

In a culture that often avoids grief or rushes past it, the church is called to be different. Peter Scazzero wrote, “The church should be the safest place in the world for people to face grief, loss, and the full range of human emotions.” But too often, we hide our pain, unsure how to speak it aloud.

So how do we become that kind of community?

First, we remember that grief isn’t linear. It doesn’t unfold in tidy stages. It’s a roller coaster—unique to each of us. What matters most is presence. To walk with someone in grief is not to fix, but to stay, to hold space, to weep when they weep.

Second, we rediscover lament. The Bible is full of it—raw, honest cries of pain and protest. “How long, O Lord?” “Why do you hide your face?” Lament is grief turned toward God. It gives sorrow a voice, and opens a path toward hope.

Third, we learn to talk about grief—not just in funerals, but in everyday life. Because grief comes in many forms: job loss, illness, aging, transitions. These too deserve recognition and community.

And finally, we remember the Gospel story is one that moves through grief to hope. From the Garden of Eden’s “Where are you?” to the cross’s “My God, why have you forsaken me?”—and finally, to the empty tomb. Jesus walks the long road of sorrow—and invites us to do the same, together.

So today, whatever grief you carry—know this: You are not alone. You are seen. You are loved by the One who weeps with you and walks beside you. And in this church family, we are learning to mourn—and to hope—together.