Sorrow

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.

On the slope of a hill in Camp John Hay, you will find a rather unconventional attraction. Rather than tombs enclosing remains of dead humans, this cemetery is filled with cute tablets with inspiring inscriptions.

The Cemetery of Negativism was established by John Hightower in 1981. At that time he was the commanding general of Camp John Hay, about a 30-minute drive from Baguio City in the Philippines. The cemetery is a symbolic site for burying negativism—emotions, frustrations, attitudes, and thoughts that today we would call “bad vibes.”

At the entrance of the cemetery, a reminder reads, “Negativism is man’s greatest self-imposed infliction, his most limiting factor, his heaviest burden. No more, for here is buried the world’s negativism for all time. Those who rest here have died not in vain—but for you a stern reminder. As you leave this hill remember that the rest of your life. Be More Positive.”

Inscribed on one of the tombs is “Itz not possible. Conceived 11 Nov 1905. Still not Born.” Another tomb says “Why Dident I? Born???? Lived wondering why. Died for no reason.” There are dozens of different shapes and styles adorned with tiny sculptures of animals, flowers, and humans among others. The inscriptions are open to interpretations but the overall theme encourages visitors to open their minds, reflect, and leave the place in a better state than when they came in.

Camp John Hay is a popular tourist destination in Baguio City known for its tranquility, beautiful well-maintained park and gardens, luxurious mountain retreat, and shopping. The camp served as the summer refuge of the Americans from 1900 until 1991 when American bases were turned over to the Philippine government.

Possible Preaching Angle:

The weight of past mistakes can be a heavy burden to bear. Regret and negativity can consume us, leaving us feeling trapped in a cycle of self-blame and shame. However, the Bible offers a message of hope and redemption. Through faith in Jesus, we can experience a transformation of heart and mind. We are given the power to let go of the past and embrace a new life filled with hope and purpose. (Rom. 8:1; Psalm 103:12).

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.

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.

In May of 2023, over 5,000 Americans were asked “Do you currently have or are you currently being treated for depression?" The study showed that around 24% of women in the U.S. reported currently having or being treated for depression, compared to 11% of men.

These numbers have increased from a similar study in 2017, when 17.6% of women reported currently having or being treated for depression, compared to 9% of men. In six years, the total number of men and women having or being treated for depression increased from 13.5% (2017) to 17.8% (2023).

• According to the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), 1 in 5 Americans suffer from a mental illness.
• Anxiety disorders are the highest reported mental health issue in the U.S. with 42.5 million Americans claiming to suffer from this illness. (Mental Health America).
• Mental health crises account for 60 million visits to primary care and 6 million ER visits annually. (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention).
• More than 40,000 Americans die annually from suicide, which is the 10th leading cause of death in the U.S.

Editor’s Note: You can view many more mental health statistics here and here.

A California startup claims it has a solution to loneliness. Groundfloor, which began in the Bay Area and will soon open a location in Los Angeles, is a social club with a focus on friendship.

Groundfloor co-founder Jermaine Ijieh says the club provides space for work (meeting rooms and phone booths), wellness (classes, gym space, and meditation circles), and socializing. There are karaoke nights, member-led special interest groups and craft workshops. It’s not aiming to compete with WeWork or elite social clubs, Ijieh says. Instead, he likens it to “an after-school club for kids,” but designed primarily for adults over 30.

“There’s always been an issue once you start to hit this age range,” he says. “We start to lose institutions where we used to build communities, such as places of worship, colleges, offices, schools … Once you leave your 20s, it sort of feels like a social purgatory.”

The pitch is working: Groundfloor’s new location in Los Angeles already has 2,000 would-be members on its waitlist. Perhaps that speaks to the isolation of a city of endless traffic, few pedestrians, and its own scientific scale for loneliness. But the club also has three locations in the San Francisco Bay Area that almost 1,000 people have joined. Those numbers underline the reality of the loneliness crisis, especially when you factor in the club’s price tag: $200 a month.

With Christmas and New Year celebrations behind us, the cold, dark days of January can really get us down. January 16th has been dubbed by experts as the “most depressing day of the year.” But where does the term come from, and what can you do to combat the blues?

The term Blue Monday was coined by psychologist Dr. Cliff Arnall, who worked out a formula to show how the third Monday in January is especially bad. It takes into account factors including the average time for New Year's resolutions to fail, the bad weather, debt, the time since Christmas, and motivational levels.

On average, 1 in 15 people become depressed in winter and suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). It is believed that the problem is related to the way that the body responds to light. The main theory suggests that a lack of sunlight may stop a part of the brain called the hypothalamus from working properly. This could impact the production of the hormone melatonin, which makes you feel sleepy. People with SAD produce it in higher levels than normal. The production of serotonin could also be affected, further impacting mood, appetite, sleep, and feelings of depression.

What can you do to feel better? Dr. Arnall said that people should embrace the opportunity to turn over a new leaf. “Whether it's embarking on a new career, meeting new friends, taking up a new hobby or booking a new adventure, January is a great time to make those big decisions.”

The General Social Survey asks people to rate their happiness levels. Between 1990 and 2018 the share of Americans who put themselves in the lowest happiness category increased by more than 50 percent. And that was before the pandemic.

The really bad news is abroad. Each year Gallup surveys roughly 150,000 people in over 140 countries about their emotional lives. Experiences of negative emotions—related to stress, sadness, anger, worry, and physical pain—hit a record high in (2021).

Gallup asks people in this survey to rate their lives on a scale from zero to 10, with zero meaning you’re living your worst possible life and 10 meaning you’re living your best. Sixteen years ago, only 1.6 percent of people worldwide rated their life as a zero. As of (2021), the share of people reporting the worst possible lives has more than quadrupled.

Thomas A. Dorsey’s song “Take My Hand, Precious Lord” is one of the most beloved gospel songs of all time. The song’s power comes from profound personal tragedy. In August 1932, Dorsey, a Black band leader and accompanist, was on top of the world. He had recently been hired as director of the gospel chorus at Pilgrim Baptist Church in Chicago, and he was about to become a father for the first time.

Dorsey was nervous about traveling to a gospel music convention so close to his wife’s due date, but she gave her blessing. While he was in St. Louis, Dorsey received word that there had been complications with Nettie’s childbirth. He raced back to Chicago, but both mother and child died.

The double funeral took place at Pilgrim Baptist Church. Dorsey later said, “I looked down that long aisle which led to the altar where my wife and baby lay in the same casket. My legs got weak, my knees would not work right, my eyes became blind with a flood of tears.” Dorsey fell into a deep depression. He questioned his faith and thought of giving up gospel music.

Dorsey’s friend and fellow chorus director Theodore Frye persuaded him to accept a dinner invitation. After dinner, Dorsey meandered over to the grand piano and began to play the hymn “Must Jesus Bear the Cross Alone,” with its lyric “There’s a cross for everyone, and there’s a cross for me.” Dorsey began to play variations on the hymn’s melody, adding new lyrics. He called Frye over and began to sing, “Blessed Lord, take my hand.” Frye stopped him: “No man, no. Call him ‘precious Lord.’” Dorsey tried it again, replacing blessed with precious. “That does sound better!” he told Frye. “That’s it!”

Dorsey returned home and finished the song “in the next day or two.” Dorsey debuted “Take My Hand, Precious Lord” for the Pilgrim congregation at a Sunday worship service. The lyrics filled the sanctuary that morning: “Precious Lord, take my hand / Lead me on, let me stand / I am tired, I am weak / I am worn.” Dorsey was shocked to find congregants out of their seats and in the aisles, crying out in prayer. His song of deliverance from unbearable pain touched the heart of a congregation of Black Americans with testimonies of their own—of illness, death, poverty, or the daily indignities of discrimination.

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.

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.

For over half a century, the voice of Oswald Laurence was heard on the Underground Transit System in London. He made a simple but needed public safety announcement, warning passengers to "Mind the gap."

When Oswald passed away in 2007, his widow Margret felt heartbroken and alone. She missed Oswald's love and zest for life. To ease her pain, Margret would visit the Embankment Station, sit on the platform, and listen to her beloved husband's voice saying, “Mind the gap.” Then, one day in September 2012, she sat down, and his voice was gone.

In modernizing their systems, the London Underground officials had replaced Oswald's voice with an electronic recording. Margret was distressed by the change and requested a copy of Oswald's recording, so she could listen to it at home.

When the London Underground staff learned of Margret's story, they were moved by an extraordinary act of compassion and kindness. The staff got past all the red tape, searched through the archives until they found Oswald’s recording, and then had it digitized. It was also decided to continue with Oswald’s recording at the stop nearest to Margret's home. Today, if you find yourself at the Embankment Station on the Northern Line of the London Underground, you will still hear the 1950 recording of Oswald Laurence's voice.

Has that message saved lives? Who knows? But has that message touched at least one life? Absolutely. In fact, that’s why it’s still there. One act of kindness can change a life!

You can watch the short video and hear Oswald’s voice here.

When the prospect of war threatened the viability of the annual international classical Kharkiv Music Fest, organizers were left scrambling. But their answer was found in the same place as many other Ukrainians looking for shelter amidst the conflict: underground.

Instead of the Kharkiv Philharmonic concert hall, musicians assembled their instruments inside of an underground subway station. They played their instruments for a grateful public in an ad hoc event known as the “concert between explosions.”

Among the first pieces was the Ukrainian national anthem, played while members of the audience stood with their hands over the hearts. Art director Vitali Alekseenok said, “Music can unite. It’s important now for those who stay in Kharkiv to be united.”

The program was intended to highlight the connections between Ukraine and other Western Europeans. It included arrangements of Ukrainian folk songs, interspersed with works by Bach, Dvorak, and other well-known composers.

One violinist said that the concert was unique among his performance experiences. “There was no stage excitement that usually happens when performing for people. But I knew that I was where I should be.”

Possible Preaching Angle:

Even in a time of deadly conflict, music and art are gifts that can point us back to God.

In March, 1941, a nurse on Bataan received a package mailed before the world-changing surprise attack on Hawaii on December 7, 1941. Opening it, with other nurses looking on, she removed a sheet of tissue paper and lifted a "little, frivolous black hat, with a dainty veil."

All broke into a laughter perilously close to tears. The nurse, in her army coveralls and bigger-than-her-feet shoes, held it in her hands, noting its cuteness. They watched silently as she set it on her head and carefully adjusted it—then broke again in laughter mixed with tears.

The hat symbolized what they all had lost, and many of them wouldn't again find, war being the all-devouring monster of humanity: cars on paved streets; dinners in restaurants with choices on the menu, theaters showing films, and ball games.

The little hat became a popular tourist attraction to other nurses from other bases. Everyone looked, most wistfully, many with tears brimming or falling, as memories surged and emotions spilled.

Possible Preaching Angle:

Sometimes little things remind us of people in other times, in other places, now lost and gone. Of relationships treasured and possessions valued now gone. But when we sacrifice all things for God, he will reward us with greater things that can never be taken away (Matt. 19:27-29).

The book Hinds Feet on High Places is a parable, a modern allegory similar to Pilgrim’s Progress. But instead of dealing with the overall Christian journey, it focuses on a life of fear, anxiety, and self-loathing.

The main character is named Much-Afraid. Much-Afraid is constantly harassed by her family, the Fearings. They oppress and criticize her all the time. But Much-Afraid loves the Shepherd, who wishes to take her to the High Places, a good land in the far mountains. For her journey, the Shepherd gives her two companions; two sisters named Sorrow and Suffering.

There comes a moment in Much Afraid’s journey when she is tempted to give into Pride, to listen to his temptation, and abandon her journey. But she calls to the Chief Shepherd, who comes and rescues her. He gently rebukes her that she should not have let go of the hands of Sorrow and Suffering on her journey.

Possible Preaching Angles:

Those struggling with fear and anxiety can be encouraged that God is using their sorrow and suffering as part of their journey with Christ.

When Ian and Michelle Horne got married, he wore a purple tie on their wedding day because it was her favorite color. Then came the pandemic.

In fall of 2020, after a long battle, Michelle died from complications caused by COVID-19. But not long after his wife's death, Ian wondered if Michelle was still speaking to him.

He was driving to his job as a local radio DJ in the predawn darkness when he spotted something odd. About two dozen streetlights flanking the highway had turned purple. They looked like a lavender string of pearls glowing in the night sky.

Ian took it as a sign. He said, "Michelle knew that was my route to work that I take every morning and was the route she took on her final drive to the hospital. I remember simply smiling and feeling overwhelmed with the idea that Michelle was close."

The coronavirus pandemic has now killed more than 600,000 Americans. Many never had a chance to hug or say farewell to loved ones who died alone and isolated in hospital wards. But there is another group of pandemic survivors who say they have been granted a second chance to say goodbye. They are people like Horne who believe they've been contacted by a loved one who died from coronavirus.

These experiences can be subtle: relatives appearing in hyper-real dreams, or a sudden whiff of fragrance worn by a departed loved one. Other encounters are more dramatic: feeling a touch on your shoulder at night, or seeing the full-bodied form of a recently departed relative appear at the foot of your bed.

These stories may sound implausible, but they are in fact part of a historical pattern. Whenever there is a massive tragedy such as a pandemic, a war, or a natural disaster, there is a corresponding surge in reports of people seeing the dead or trying to contact them.

The 1918 influenza epidemic sparked a "spiritualism craze" as Americans turned to seances and Ouija boards to contact departed loved ones. After the 9/11 terrorist attacks came a wave of people reporting sightings of and even conversations with those who had been snatched from their lives.

These experiences are so common in the psychological field that there is a name for them: ADCs, or "after death communications." Research suggests at least 60 million Americans have these experiences, and that they occur across cultures, religious beliefs, ethnicities, and income levels.

Possible Preaching Angle:

It is natural to mourn the tragic loss of a loved one and to need time to adjust to their absence. Our emotions can powerfully affect us in such cases. However, we need to put our faith and trust in Christ who holds the keys to life and death. Only he can comfort us and we should depend only on his promises of life after death and reunification with loved ones (John 11:25-26; 1 Thess. 4:13-18).

Michael Gerson, a former presidential speechwriter, delivered a sermon at Washington National Cathedral in which he talked about being hospitalized for depression:

Like nearly one in 10 Americans — and like many of you — I live with this insidious, chronic disease. Depression is a malfunction in the instrument we use to determine reality. The brain experiences a chemical imbalance and wraps a narrative around it. So, the lack of serotonin, in the mind’s alchemy, becomes something like, “Everybody hates me.” Over time, despair can grow inside you like a tumor.

But then you reach your breaking point — and do not break. With patience and the right medicine, the fog in your brain begins to thin. … Over time, you begin to see hints and glimmers of a larger world outside the prison of your sadness.

I think this medical condition works as a metaphor for the human condition. All of us — whatever our natural serotonin level — look around us and see plenty of reason for doubt, anger and sadness. A child dies, a woman is abused, a schoolyard becomes a killing field, a typhoon sweeps away the innocent. If we knew or felt the whole of human suffering, we would drown in despair.

The answer to the temptation of nihilism is not an argument — though philosophy can clear away a lot of intellectual foolishness. It is the experience of transcendence we cannot explain, or explain away … there is this difference for a Christian believer: At the end of all our striving and longing we find, not a force, but a face. ... God’s promise is somewhat different: That even when strength fails, there is perseverance. And even when perseverance fails, there is hope. And even when hope fails, there is love. And love never fails.