Grief

In May 2020, two months after the world shut down due to the COVID-19 pandemic, Tim Keller was diagnosed with a particularly invasive and lethal form of cancer. The following year, in an essay for The Atlantic titled “Growing My Faith in the Face of Death,” he gave powerful voice to his sadness—and his unshakable hope.

Keller wrote, “[My wife] Kathy and I cried a lot together last night. Sometimes the reality of the shortness of what we have left just overwhelms us.” But then nstead of trying to “make a heaven out of this earth”—whether through things like vacations (in Kathy’s case) or ministry productivity (in Tim’s)—they were coming to apprehend a surprising truth: When you stop trying to manufacture heaven, it actually enhances earthly joys:

The joys of the earth are more poignant than they used to be… There’s a whole lot of things [Kathy and I] never really enjoyed that much. But the more we make heaven into the real heaven, the more this world becomes something we are actually enjoying for its own sake—instead of trying to make it give us more than it really can. So oddly enough . . . we’ve never been happier. We’ve never enjoyed our days more. We’ve never enjoyed hugs more. We’ve never enjoyed food more. We’ve never enjoyed walks more. We’ve never enjoyed the actual things we see, touch, taste, hear, and smell more. Why? What’s the matter with us? And the answer is, we got our hearts off those things and so, weirdly enough, we enjoy them more.

Grief is a subject that comes up often in Scripture because relationships are a topic in one way or another on almost every page of Scripture. We read of friendships, marriage, childrearing, loss, grief and connection.

Elizabeth Bernstein wrote in the Wall Street Journal about how to cope with losing a lifelong friend.

I recently lost my closest childhood friend. She was an important part of my life for 50 years, and here death left me reeling. I feel as if I’ve lost much more than a good friend. I’ve lost a large chunk of my past, and my future, as well.

I asked grief experts for guidance. They explained that losing someone we shared our formative years with results in a multilayered grief. “It’s like a witness to our lives and history has died,” says David Kessler, an author and founder of Grief.com.

“There’s no bereavement leave, no typical rituals,” says Rebecca Feinglos, founder of Grieve Leave, an online community. “The world expects us to be ‘fine’ in a way that feels impossible.”
Bernstein asked readers of her column how they coped with the loss of an old friend. Here are some standout strategies:

Name your grief. Attempting to stifle your sorrow will just make you feel worse.

• Create your own rituals. Grief needs an outlet. One reader, Peter Hill, held two memorials, a Zoom service after his friend’s death, a celebratory dinner a year later, and Hill planted a Japanese maple tree in his backyard.
• Stay connected. Many readers said that reaching out to their late friend’s loved ones helped with their grief.
• Make meaning. The sixth stage of grief is to make meaning, says Kessler, the grief expert. We choose to live in a way that honors our loved one.

In an interview with The New York Times the actor Bill Murray revealed how every human being has suffering and losses. The interviewer asked: “You lost your dad at 17. Do you think your dad’s passing put you on a particular path?”

Murray replied, “I do. I think I had two events in my life. That was one, and the other one, was when I was about 4, my younger sister contracted polio. I wasn’t aware of what was happening, but all of a sudden you become not exactly an afterthought, but you’re not the primary worry anymore. I had a great birthday when I was 5. I got a Davy Crockett bicycle with a rifle sheath and a rifle that came with it loaded on the frame of the bike. It had saddle bags. I got a coonskin cap, I got a Cubs jacket and a Cubs hat, a baseball and a bat. And I never had another birthday until I was 13. That was it. Then when I was 17, my father died. There went the family income. Whatever life we were with nine kids by that point, was going to be even more crimped. So I had to figure out how to get by in life.”

AI-powered “griefbots”-chatbots that mimic deceased loved ones-are rapidly gaining popularity as artificial intelligence advances. These chatbots are created by training AI on a person’s digital data, such as emails, texts, and social media posts, allowing them to generate responses that closely resemble the speech and personality of the departed. Services like Rememory, HereAfter AI, and Digital Souls now offer families the chance to interact with digital versions of lost relatives, sometimes even using their actual voices and memories.

The rise of griefbots is partly attributed to the decline of traditional community and spiritual support in the industrialized West, leaving many people with fewer resources for processing grief. Instead of new spiritual solutions, modern technology offers tools that can help people avoid confronting death directly, from medical advances to digital memorials. Griefbots, in this context, promise a way to maintain connections with the dead, but can also blur the line between reality and illusion.

While some find comfort and a sense of ongoing relationship through these digital avatars, others warn of psychological risks. Experts caution that griefbots may hinder healthy grieving, complicate emotional closure, or even cause confusion, especially if the AI generates unexpected or unsettling responses. Ethical concerns also arise regarding privacy, consent, and the potential misuse of a deceased person’s data.

Ultimately, while griefbots offer innovative ways to remember and interact with loved ones, critics argue that technology cannot fully address spiritual or existential needs. These digital tools may provide temporary solace, but they risk masking the reality of loss rather than helping people truly process it.

Paul Auster, a prolific novelist, memoirist, and screenwriter was described as a “literary superstar” and “one of America’s most spectacularly inventive writers.” But his life was haunted by tragedy and death. In 1961, a 14-year-old Paul Auster watched a friend die after being struck by lightning. Later, he lost one grandmother to a heart attack and another to A.L.S., a disease which Auster said left victims with “no hope, no remedy, nothing in front of you but a prolonged march towards disintegration.” Later there were the deaths of his mother and father; the passing of his 10-month-old granddaughter Ruby, and his son, Daniel, who overdosed in 2022.

Auster wrote that “the world was capricious and unstable, that the future can be stolen from us at any moment, that the sky is full of lightning bolts that can crash down and kill the young as well as the old, and always, always, the lightning strikes when we are least expecting it.”

Sadness permeated Auster’s work. After his death at the age of 77, his wife wrote, “Paul was extremely interested in the idea of the hero who is cast into a new world by grief. He used that device a lot: the stripped person. The person who has lost their most profound connections to the world.”

Ewan Valentine discovered that his cherished 2016 Honda Civic Type-R—a sleek black car with a distinctive custom exhaust system—had been stolen overnight. Distraught by the loss, he set out to replace it and soon found what seemed to be a perfect replacement.

"Sure enough, I found one for sale. Same color, same year, same custom exhaust system," Valentine shared on social media, explaining how the similarities initially seemed like a lucky coincidence. The car he purchased had a different license plate and VIN, so he didn’t suspect anything amiss and paid over $26,000 for the vehicle.

However, after bringing the car home, Valentine began to notice some peculiar details. "I started to notice some odd things when I got it home. I noticed a tent peg and some Christmas tree pines in the boot. I noticed the locking wheel nut was in a Tesco sandwich bag. I noticed some wrappers in the central storage section. All oddly similar to my stolen car," he recounted. These familiar artifacts raised his suspicions, prompting him to check the car’s onboard GPS. To his astonishment, the GPS history revealed visits to his home, his parents’ house, and his partner’s parents’ house-places only his original car would have been.

Seeking answers, Valentine took the car to a Honda dealership, where a technician conducted a quick test by extracting the physical key.

“The first Honda technician, he pulled the physical key out, puts it straight in the door and unlocks it and he's like, 'Yes, it's your car,'” Valentine recalled. Although a fleeting sense of triumph briefly surfaced, he soon admitted to the BBC, “A part of me felt sort of triumphant for a moment until I realized, actually, no, this isn’t some heroic moment; you didn’t go and get your car back; you’ve actually done something a bit stupid.”

Authorities are investigating the case before handing the vehicle to his insurance company.

Possible Preaching Angles:

1) Deception; Discernment; Truth - The twist in Valentine’s story in discovering that the “replacement” car was actually his stolen vehicle highlights the biblical theme of deception and the importance of seeking truth. Scripture repeatedly warns against deceit and emphasizes that lies will ultimately be exposed; 2) Redemption; Hiddenness - The story also parallels biblical narratives where apparent defeat or loss leads to unexpected redemption. For example, the resurrection of Jesus, which turned apparent loss into ultimate victory, or the story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus, where what seemed hidden was revealed for a greater purpose.

In a deeply disturbing scene in the television series “The Crown,” Prince Philip recounted to Queen Elizabeth his moving experience at a funeral for 81 children who had died in the tragic mudslide in Aberfan. (During a heavy rainstorm in October of 1966, a massive pile of accumulated coal waste positioned above the town of Aberfan turned to slurry. The massive flood tragically overwhelmed a school and a row of houses).

The dialogue went like this:

The Queen: How was it?

The Prince: Extraordinary. The Grief. The Anger – at the government, at the coal warden…at God, too. 81 children were buried today. The rage behind all the faces, behind all the eyes. They didn’t smash things up. They didn’t fight in the streets.

Q: What did they do?

P: They sang! The whole community. It’s the most astonishing thing I’ve ever heard.

Q: Did you weep?

P: I might have wept. Yes. Are you going to tell me it was inappropriate? The fact is that anyone who heard that hymn today would not just have wept. They would have been broken into a thousand tiny pieces.

The mourners who gathered at the funeral at Aberfan sang the hymn “Jesus, Lover of My Soul.”

Jesus, Lover of my soul,

Let me to thy bosom fly,

While the nearer waters roll,

While the tempest still is high.

Hide me, O my Savior, hide,

Till the storm of life is past.

Safe into the haven guide;

Oh, receive my soul at last.

Other refuge have I none;

Hangs my helpless soul on thee.

Leave, oh, leave me not alone;

Still support and comfort me.

All my trust on thee is stayed;

All my help from thee I bring.

Cover my defenseless head

with the shadow of thy wing.

Kamal Bherwani is on a mission to use his tragedy to prevent other parents from suffering. But rather than just making a public service announcement, he’s using an innovative strategy. He’s turning his message into a video game. Bherwani’s game is called “Johanna’s Vision.”

He said in a recent news interview “It’s loosely based on my family’s story. It’s about a girl who finds out her brother died of fentanyl poisoning.”

Bherwani’s 26-year-old son Ethan died from a fentanyl overdose in May of 2021 during a trip to a casino to celebrate his college graduation. Now his father says:

He wanted to be a lawyer. He was going to go on to law school. He had so many other talents – whether it was musical talents or his gift for even being a journalist. He had written articles about sports and sports journalism that were published.

Security footage from the casino showed Ethan at a blackjack table, suddenly slumping over, and falling out of his seat. His father said, “He was on the ground for 11 minutes before help arrives. Took them several more minutes to revive him. They never gave him Narcan.” Officials from the casino say that Narcan, also known as naloxone, was available at the time but that it wasn’t administered because none of the staff knew at the time that he’d ingested fentanyl.

As a result, the video game “Johanna’s Vision” is intended to help its players understand the dangers of fentanyl and to train them how to administer revival aids like naloxone to help save lives.

The Office of Addiction Services and Supports (OASAS) took notice of Bherwani’s innovative videogame and contacted him. The chairman of OASAS said:

This is an emerging area where people are looking at recreational gaming and how that can be harnessed to inform the public. It is through efforts like expanding Naloxone, which can reverse overdose deaths. We are definitely grateful to Kamal and others like him who have taken their personal tragedy and really channeled that into advocacy.

Potential preaching angle:

A powerful message is sent when we harness our tragedies to warn others.

Rabbi Sharon Brous writes about an ancient Jewish practice from Second Temple Judaism:

Several times each year, hundreds of thousands of Jews would ascend to Jerusalem, the center of Jewish religious and political life. They would climb the steps of the Temple Mount and enter its enormous plaza, turning to the right en masse, circling counterclockwise.

Meanwhile, the brokenhearted, the mourners (and here I would also include the lonely and the sick), would make this same ritual walk but they would turn to the left and circle in the opposite direction: every step against the current.

And each person who encountered someone in pain would look into that person’s eyes and inquire: “What happened to you? Why does your heart ache?”

“Because I am a mourner,” a person might say. “My father died,” another person might say. “There are so many things I never got to say to him.” Or perhaps: “My partner left. I was completely blindsided.”

Those who walked from the right would offer a blessing: “May the Holy One comfort you,” they would say. “You are not alone.” And then they would continue to walk until the next person approached.

This timeless wisdom speaks to what it means to be human in a world of pain. This year, you walk the path of the anguished. Perhaps next year, it will be me. I hold your broken heart knowing that one day you will hold mine.

Editor’s Note: You can read the original from Mishnah Middot 2.2 here.

A mere generation ago, “heartbreak” was an overused literary metaphor but not an actual medical event. The first person to recognize it as a genuine condition was a Japanese cardiologist named Hikaru Sato.

In 1990, Dr. Sato identified the curious case of a female patient who displayed the symptoms of a heart attack while testing negative for it. He named it “Takotsubo Syndrome” after noticing that the left ventricle of her heart changed shape during the episode to resemble a takotsubo, a traditional octopus-trap.

A Japanese study in 2001 not only confirmed Sato’s identification of a sudden cardio event that mimics a heart attack but also highlighted the common factor of emotional distress in such patients. It had taken the medical profession 4,000 years to acknowledge what poets had been saying all along: Broken Heart Syndrome is real.

Nowadays, there are protocols for treating the coronary problem diagnosed by Dr. Sato. But although we can cure Broken Heart Syndrome, we still can’t cure a broken heart.

In the summer of 2023, Heather Beville felt something she hadn’t in a long time: a hug from her sister Jessica, who died at age 30 from cancer. In a dream, “I hugged her and I could feel her, even though I knew in my logic that she was dead.”

Like fellow Christians, Beville is sure that death is not the end. But she’s also among a significant number who say they have continued to experience visits from deceased loved ones here on earth.

In a recent Pew Research Center survey, 42 percent of self-identified evangelicals said they had been visited by a loved one who had passed away. Rates were even higher among Catholics and Black Protestants, two-thirds of whom reported such experiences.

Interactions with the dead fall into a precarious supernatural space. Staunch secularists will say they’re impossible and must be made up. Bible-believing Christians may be wary of the spiritual implications of calling on ghosts from beyond. Yet more than half of Americans believe a dead family member has come to them in a dream or some other form.

Researchers say most people who report “after-death communications” find the interactions to be comforting, not haunting or scary. Professor Julie Exline says, “They’re often very valuable for people. They give them hope that their loved one is still there and still connected to them. These experiences help people, even if they don’t know what to make of them.”

There are several factors that come into play for a person to turn to supernatural explanations for what they’ve experienced. Prior belief in God, angels, spirits, or ghosts, combined with a belief that these beings actually do communicate with people in the world is one condition. Another factor is the relationship between a person and their loved one—“the need for relational closure” amid prolonged grief. And women are more likely to report the phenomena.

Possible Preaching Angle:

The spiritual realm described in Scripture comes with strong warnings. The text repeatedly advises against calling on spirits outside of God himself, with several Old Testament verses specifically addressing interactions with the dead (“necromancy” in some translations). Deuteronomy 18, for example, decries anyone who “is a medium or spiritist or who consults with the dead” as “detestable to the Lord” (vv. 11, 12).

Pastors can attest that grieving Christian spouses occasionally believe they have seen shadows or objects in the home moving after the death of a loved one. We can rest on the absolute truth of God’s Word that “absent from the body and at home with the Lord” (2 Cor. 5:8). At death, believers are immediately in the presence of the Lord and not wandering the earth (Phil. 1:23).

"My husband Jerry was a ginormous presence. Such a happy guy," said his wife, Lori Belum. "He did everything for us. And he just loved Christmas."

The Belums were married in 2010 and had two sons, Benjamin and Sammy. Both boys love playing flag football and their dad loved supporting them even more. But the day after Thanksgiving, right after Benjamin scored the game-winning touchdown, an unbelievable tragedy occurred on the sidelines. Lori said, “Jerry just collapsed ... and that was it. A ruptured aortic dissection is what they called it and it's pretty much instant death."

In many ways, the Belums don't know how to move on. But they did know one way of honoring their beloved husband and father. The Belums took a trip to New York City to see Rockefeller Plaza, something they had planned to do with Jerry just a week prior to his death. And while they were away, neighbors got to work planning something special.

Neighbor Tracy Clancy said, “I think I labeled it 'Project Illumination' in the group chat.” The Belum's exterior Christmas decorations had already been unpacked. Jerry was planning to decorate the day he died. Then the neighbors huddled up to make sure his intentions came to light.

One neighbor said, “We wanted to do what Jerry had previously done to the house. But a little different because you know it can't be the exact same.” So, using a photograph of Jerry's decorations last year, the neighbors completed the house to near-perfection.

And upon returning home from New York, the Belums were shocked. "Who did it?" "Did Santa's helpers come by?" "They might have!" Those voices echoed from the backseat of the car in a video taken upon arrival. And the Belums now have a little more light to guide their way through life without Jerry.

Lori said, “We'll be together on Christmas and talk about him and get through it. It'll be hard, but we'll do it and we'll laugh and we'll cry and you know, we'll be okay. Right?”

Why do people believe they have seen ghosts? Research suggests that the brain may summon spirits as a means of coping with trauma, especially the pain of losing a loved one. Just as most amputees report what’s known as “phantom limb,” the feeling that their detached appendage is still there, surviving spouses frequently report seeing or sensing their departed partner.

One 1971 survey in the British Medical Journal found that close to half the widows in Wales and England had seen their partners postmortem. These vivid encounters, which psychologists call “after-death communication,” have long been among the most common kinds of paranormal experience, affecting skeptics and believers alike.

Experts think that such specters help us deal with painful or confusing events. A 2011 analysis published in the journal Death Studies looked at hundreds of incidents of supposed interaction with the deceased. The paper concluded that some occurrences provided “instantaneous relief from painful grief symptoms,” while others strengthened preexisting religious views.

There’s also evidence that sightings have other mental benefits. In a 1995 survey, 91 percent of participants said their encounter had at least one upside, such as a sense of connection to others.

Possible Preaching Angle:

Afterlife; Heaven – Pastors can attest that grieving Christian spouses occasionally believe they have seen shadows or objects in the home moving after the death of a loved one. We can rest on the absolute truth of God’s Word that “absent from the body and at home with the Lord” (2 Cor. 5:8). At death, believers are immediately in the presence of the Lord and not wandering the earth (Phil. 1:23).

Many funerals today are not about mourning death but a “celebration of life.” As our culture discards all-black attire and other formalities of a traditional funeral, families create more personalized—and often more up-beat—experiences to honor the deceased.

The BBC has reported on the trend of “happy funerals,” noting that Monty Python’s “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” had become the UK’s most popular song played at memorial services—replacing Verdi’s Requiem.

After celebratory memorial services, we are encouraged to “move on,” comforted by memories and knowing that the person we’ve lost is no longer in pain. But this positive focus can afflict and baffle people deep in grief.

As Daily Mail columnist Bel Mooney wrote, “Even though modern, cheerful funerals can be hugely touching and beautiful, a part of me wonders whether they show how petrified people are of death, and of the long agony of bereavement.”

Jesus, the One who sustains every life, was not immune to the ravages of death. In John 11, Jesus learns that his friend Lazarus has died. He goes to his grieving friends and does what anyone would do: he cries.

Jesus knew that while death is not the final word for the deceased believer, it brings a full range of heartache to those left behind. Jesus’ response shows us that the gospel promise does not exempt us from sadness over death. Death is real, it is sad, and Jesus himself felt it.

We can grieve over this, while also recognizing the hope of a resurrected body for all of us who cling to the Jesus who perfectly did both. This same Jesus who wept over the reality of death sent blood rushing back through the cold veins of his dead friend—and promises to give us new life too. Death is imminent, but Sunday is coming.

Tara Edelschick was raised in a home that was loving, loud, and fun, but an undercurrent of anxiety coursed through it all. The world was seen as a scary place. Tara said, “The message of my childhood was clear and insistent: Work, play, and love hard. Stay in control at all times, because something scary is waiting to take you down. I heeded that message into adulthood.”

She went to a great college, found the perfect job, and chose a wonderful husband. She thought to herself, “Weaker souls might need a god, but I needed no such crutch. I can orchestrate the perfect life. But that belief was obliterated when my husband, Scott, died from complications during a routine surgery. Ten days later, I delivered our first child, Sarah, stillborn.”

During the next year, she began a search for God. She visited psychics, read New Age thinkers, and attended meditation classes. Her forays into faith were attempts to make sense of what had happened to her and to control a world in which she had far less control than she thought she had.

Then she started reading the Book of John with a friend. Tony was the only Christian she knew who didn’t try to explain away the loss of her husband and baby. He said that if she would just read the Bible, God would do the convincing. So, they read the Bible together over the phone on Saturday mornings.

Tara writes,

I especially loved the story of (Jesus and) Lazarus. Unlike the Eastern philosophies that maintain that suffering is the result of our attachments, this story was about a man who was unashamedly attached. A man who behaved as though death was not natural. As though everything was broken, and that the sane response was to snort and weep. I loved that man.

After months of reading the Bible, Tara had to admit what she had fought so long to resist: She was hungry for Jesus. For the Jesus who hung out with whores, who wept when his friend died, and who claimed to be the Way, the Truth, and the Life. She said, “All of my searching for something in which to place my faith … led me to God who offered me himself in the form of Jesus. I didn’t have to find him or explain him; I just had to say yes.”

After that, Tara returned to school to study childhood bereavement. She married a wonderful man, and they had two beautiful sons. After getting married, she facilitated a support group for surviving parents whose spouse had died, and taught a class at Harvard on bereavement. She often found herself the repository for stories of loss, told in lowered voices at parties and grocery stores.

She says,

I try to listen deeply as people share those stories, nodding in agreement with how awful it is. I bear their story and, in so doing, remind them that they are not alone. These days when I sit with the broken and mourning, I pray for God’s love to do what I cannot: to bind up the wounded places, leaving their scars to bear witness of the power of both loss and love.

By 2018, country artist Walker Hayes had gotten sober but then tragedy struck. He and his wife, Laney, lost their seventh child, Oakleigh, at birth. It's a moment he now recognizes as a "real test down here on earth." He described it by saying, "Just holding a lifeless child. It's indescribable. I can't imagine a worse pain." He admits that for a moment, his sobriety was in jeopardy. "I'd been sober for three years when we lost Oakleigh. I was ready to not be. As soon as that happened, I was like, this is why you drink."

The loss of Oakleigh is what Hayes credits with helping him find his faith. He said, “When we lost Oakleigh, I would have called myself an atheist.” Hayes said that he grew up in a Southern Baptist church but that as a rebellious child he did not connect with religion. He grew to resent it. But when faced with a kind of grief he'd never experienced before, things began to change. "I think I found out in a roundabout way that I was screaming at somebody. I would have called myself an atheist, but I was looking for someone to blame."

But it wasn't just one thing that suddenly brought him to church. Laney had befriended a fellow mom and that mom invited the family to her and her husband's new church. Hayes said that although he went in kicking and screaming, he suddenly felt the opposite of how he'd felt in church before.

But the final push came while reading a book late one night on his tour bus. "By the grace of God somebody recommended a book to Laney called Secrets of an Unlikely Convert by Rosaria Butterfield. This woman's testimony, it's exactly like mine except I hadn't surrendered yet … I wolfed this book down. I finished it by the time the sun came up.”

Hayes explained that he didn't "come to Christ" that morning but rather he bought a Bible and began to read on his own and learn. Slowly, his faith was restored. But he is confident that the catalyst for this huge awakening in his life was a direct result of immeasurable loss. He said, “I know for some reason losing Oakleigh led me to Christ. I would not know Jesus if I had not known the loss of my daughter. That's what it took for me.”

In Wendell Berry’s novel Hannah Coulter, the main character, Hannah, is grieving the death of her first husband, who died in World War II. She offers the following reflection on grief and how we often deal with it:

I don’t think grief is something we get over or get away from. ... It is around us and in us all the time, and we know it. We know that every night … There are people lying awake grieving, and every morning there are people waking up to absences that never will be filled. But we shut our mouth and go ahead. How we are is fine. There are always a few who will recite their complaints, but the proper answer to “how are you” is fine.

The thing that you have most dreaded has happened at last. The worst thing that you might’ve expected has happened, and you didn’t expect it. You have grown old and ill, and most of those you have loved or dead or gone away. Even so: how are you? Fine. How are you? Fine.

Possible Preaching Angles:

Grief; Sorrow; Church —The presence of Jesus and the presence of his church are the two places where it’s okay to not be “fine.” We can bring our griefs to our Savior and to his people. Future; Heaven – We can patiently endure our current troubles because we are secure in the fact that a better world is coming, where we will have eternal peace, joy, and fellowship.