I don’t grieve like the pagans do, who have no hope. But I do grieve. In this broken world, I  suffer the loss of those I have loved. Some have died. Some have closed their hearts to me. Do you feel the ache of loss, whether through the death or distance of those you’ve loved? Me too, friend. You are not alone.

We are not made to be parted. So it feels like I’m being torn to pieces when a relationship is maimed beyond recognition. In my heart, I rage against this wrong. I rage against the pain that is so unfair. I will not silence the grief that longs for reconciliation but knows that, by all human calculation, it is impossible.

So I grieve some who are still alive. You can too. 

Here is the best picture of bold grief anywhere in scripture:

John 12:1–3 (ESV)

Six days before the Passover, Jesus therefore came to Bethany, where Lazarus was, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. So they gave a dinner for him there. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those reclining with him at table.  Mary therefore took a pound of expensive ointment made from pure nard, and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

Mary knew she was about to lose him. So rather than resisting or trying to be positive, she grieved the loss of him while he was still alive. She anointed him for his burial.

But Mary did not grieve as the pagans do, who have no hope. Mary had seen her brother Lazarus walk out of his tomb and live again. Jesus had come near. He had wept with his friends. And then he had undone death. She didn’t know what would happen after Jesus died, but she knew him. So she grieved. Hard. And trusted.

Jesus is the Resurrection. He will make all things new, after all our losses. I cannot know whether my broken relationships will be healed the way I want, when I want. But Jesus is near. He weeps with me. And he already knows what he’s going to do, which will be the most perfect, compassionate, and wise thing. 

But loss comes first. Mourn it. Like Mary, honor it. The house was perfumed with her outpouring of sorrow. Loss only lasts for a while. Resurrection, in his perfect timing, comes next. I have sure and certain hope that Christ who weeps with me will set me free and heal all things.

I rage and weep that the world is so broken. I cry out, “HOW LONG!?” and shake my fists. But I’m not batting empty air; I’m beating at his chest, begging him to do what I know he can do. How much closer can I be to God than to wrestle with him? The pagans grieve from afar, and have no hope. I grieve, struggling in the arms of my God — Jesus who weeps with me.