2 Corinthians 4:5-11

“For we preach not ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord; and ourselves your servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us. We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed; Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body. For we which live are always delivered unto death for Jesus’ sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal flesh.”

Each one of us faces grief more often than we would care to admit. From the disappointments of daily life to the great injustices that come with living in a broken world, suffering and loss are inescapable. But grief is the doorway to hope in Jesus Christ. He faced death so that we might have life. He entered into grief so that we might experience eternal joy.

This Easter, make room for both grief and joy in your heart. Grieve lost loved ones and the good things that are gone. This world is broken, and so is everyone in it. Grieve the death of your Savior. His body was broken for you. As you fellowship with Christ in suffering, you will feel your heart being drawn to His. Your joy will be full and the hope of the resurrection will become your identity. You can stare straight into the face of death and sorrow without fear or shame, for hope is here to stay.

Christ died. Christ rose. Christ will come again.

Grief

By Aly Gideons

Grief is like a heavy burden.

Suddenly, your hands are empty.

Something good has been taken away.

Will the world be the same?

Will life be good again?

Your eyes are wide open,

yet all you see is darkness.

Grief is like a crashing wave.

One minute you feel at ease.

The next you are under water,

gasping for a breath of air.

            I am fine.

            I am not fine.

One minute you are walking on water.

The next you are sinking,

begging Jesus for help.

Grief is like a magnifying glass.

Every inch of you has been exposed by the pain.

Nowhere to run.

Nowhere to hide.

All pretense has been stripped away

to reveal a weak and weary sinner.

You cannot save yourself,

and now everyone knows it.

Grief is like an uninvited gift.

The kind you would have never chosen for yourself,

but a gift nonetheless.

Grief never goes away.

Grief only changes form.

Time gently separates the threads of joy and sorrow,

weaving them into the fabric of your life.

Grief is like a secret garden.

A painful, yet perfect paradise

where you can be alone with your Father.

With tear filled eyes,

you have whispered, “Thy will be done.”

Full surrender.

Full obedience.

Seeds of pain have sprouted into a harvest of joy

and righteous fruits for you to share with others.

Grief is like a wooden cross.

A constant reminder that you are but a human

with two splintered hands and a sore back.

Jesus invites you to join Him in suffering, calling,

“Deny yourself.

Take up your cross.

Follow me.”

You can take up your cross for Him

because He took up His cross for you.

Grief is like an empty tomb.

How can something hollow be beautiful?

How can something wrong be right?

Yet it stands there, a beacon of hope,

for all who have eyes to see it.

Christ died.

Christ rose.

Christ will come again.

Grief is like an eternal sunset.

The suffering is coming to a glorious end.

An eternity of bliss awaits!

            No more sorrow.

            No more pain.

Our scars will become art,

and we will walk the halls of the gallery

together forever

telling stories of God’s faithfulness and goodness

to all generations.