I’ve been thinking a lot about grief lately. (I know, kind of a downer way to start, but stick with me.)
Specifically, I’ve been thinking about how Jesus was called “a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief” (Isa. 53:3).
Acquainted with grief. Like a friend. Jesus knew grief well.
It’s not something we dwell on much in church, is it? “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Prince of Peace” sells better. “Grief-Stricken Savior” feels a bit heavy.
I’m just not sure we know what to do with grief. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, but I’m not sure we know how to grieve. It’s awkward. It’s messy. It feels like stepping into quicksand: You don’t know how far down you’ll sink or if you’ll ever climb out.
So you know what we do? Like a rock skipping across the surface of a pond, we skim. We say the quick line, pray the quick prayer, move on.
But Jesus didn’t skip across the surface of grief. He plunged into its depths. He was well-acquainted with it.
Jesus Didn’t Fast-Forward.
In John 11, Jesus stands outside His friend’s tomb. He knows resurrection is seconds away. If it were me, I’d be humming the victory song under my breath, ready for the mic-drop miracle. Instead, Jesus breaks down. He cries.
Not because Lazarus is gone—he’s about to fix that—but because he sees the sorrow of Mary, Martha and the crowd. The one person who could legitimately say, “Don’t worry, this will all be fine in five minutes,” doesn’t. He lingers in their pain.
He grieves with them. That should tell us something about how leaders handle grief.
The Mistake We Make
Paul tells us in 1 Thessalonians 4:13 that we don’t grieve like those without hope. But somewhere along the way that changed to, “Christians don’t grieve at all.”
So if we’re not careful, in funerals, sermons, counseling sessions, we may rush people past sorrow. We throw out clichés:
God’s in control.
Heaven’s coming.
Count your many blessings.
Are those statements true? Absolutely. Are they helpful in the moment? Not usually.
The unintended consequence is brutal: When leaders won’t model grief, people don’t know what to do with theirs. So they bury it. They mask it. Or they medicate it.
What Grief Actually Looks Like
And let’s be clear: Grief isn’t just about death …
It’s about the silence that fills the house when your kids move out.
It’s about the pain of a friendship that fades away.
It’s about the gut-punch sorrow that comes when a ministry dream collapses.
It could even be a good, necessary change (like retirement or a shift in methodology) that still hurts.
If we don’t help people name those moments, they’ll assume sorrow only counts if someone died. If all we ever model is toughness, we’re discipling our people into denial, not faith. We’re teaching a way of life that seems foreign to the Scriptures. And foreign to the way God designed us to live.
Jesus shows us the way.
Three Things Leaders Can Do Differently
1. Stop Skimming Grief.
Grief isn’t an obstacle to get over. It’s a road to travel. Stop thinking your job is to get people “through it” as fast as possible. Nobody’s updating the church dashboard with your grief-assist stats. Sometimes the most Christlike thing you can do is sit in the ashes with them.
2. Resist the Quick Fix.
Small group leaders, elders, deacons, pastors—they often think their role is to deliver the Bible verse or the solution. Teach them it’s okay to say nothing. Honestly, “I’m here” might be the most pastoral sentence ever spoken … especially if it comes with a donut.
3. Show Your Scars.
When you admit you’re grieving—a loss, a dream, even a disappointment—you give people permission to do the same. Don’t turn the pulpit into a therapy session or anything, but don’t act like you’ve got superhero skin either. I don’t think vulnerability weakens leadership. I think it humanizes it.
Will We Linger?
Imagine a church where grief isn’t ignored, but it also isn’t hopeless. Where lament isn’t a sign of weak faith, but an act of worship. Where pastors and leaders don’t skip across the pain like a smooth rock across the surface of a pond, but sink into it long enough to feel its weight. Just like Jesus did.
Maybe it’s time we follow in the footsteps of Jesus and become acquainted with grief.
So the question isn’t just whether I’ll preach about hope. The question is whether I’ll linger with my people in their grief long enough for hope to mean something.
Will you?