When we don’t rush to hope

People have commented that I seem to be quite good at compartmentalising my emotions. I sometimes wonder whether this is something I learnt in childhood, perhaps as a way of dealing with emotional pain through distraction, or whether it is something I developed through years of public ministry. Either way, it can certainly be a useful skill in life.

However, as I’ve grown into adulthood and reflected on life and ministry, I’ve learnt healthy ways of processing and dealing with my emotions. Some of this learning has come through wise people who have helped me understand the value of talking, therapy and psychology. But so much of it has also come from Jesus.

A wonderful example of this is found in John 11, the chapter that tells the story of Lazarus’s death and resurrection. In the middle of this account, we see Jesus grieving. We read that he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled, and then, in verse 35, we find those famous words: ‘Jesus wept.’

When Jesus saw her [Mary] weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid him?” he asked.

“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.

Jesus wept.

Then the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”

But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”

Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb.

This passage is wonderful because it gives us permission to grieve when we need to.

In ministry, I have had the privilege of journeying with many people through grief. I’ve seen how easily we can avoid it: turning to distraction, putting our emotions aside, or trying to move on as quickly as possible. Sometimes, the ability to compartmentalise our emotions helps us get through difficult situations. But being able to put our feelings aside is not the same as knowing how to process them.

In the story of Jesus and Lazarus, we are given permission not to rush ahead.

Jesus knew that Lazarus would be raised, and yet he still made space to grieve. He entered the sadness of those around him and expressed his own grief at the death of his friend. His knowledge of the hope that lay ahead did not prevent him from being present to the pain of the moment.

Of course, grief is closely associated with death, as it is in this story. But grief can also relate to other losses we experience in life: the loss of a job, a home, a friendship, a relationship, a community, or even a sense of purpose. These losses matter, and we need to give ourselves permission to acknowledge them.

As Christians, there have been many times when I’ve found myself, or heard others, saying things intended to encourage people to move beyond their sadness. We want to remind them that Jesus is risen, that he has good plans for our lives, that there is hope beyond death, and that he offers eternal life. These are wonderful and essential truths.

Yet what strikes me about this story is that Jesus doesn’t rush past the grief to get to the hope.

Instead, he grieves with those who are grieving. The response of those watching is telling. The Jews who witnessed his tears said, “See how he loved him!” (John 11:36).

They saw Jesus’ love for Lazarus in his grief.

As Christians, we want to be people of hope. As Paul reminds us in 1 Thessalonians 4:13, we do not grieve like those who have no hope. But that doesn’t mean we don’t grieve. Perhaps, in our grief, we can also show the depth of our love.

So, I want to encourage us to ask a simple question:

Where do we need to make space for grief as an expression of love?

Being a Christian isn’t about being strong in the face of loss or always having an immediate word of hope to offer. Sometimes, the most loving thing we can do is simply to sit with someone in their pain, listening without trying to fix it or rushing them towards a brighter future.

There is a balance between holding on to the hope we have in Jesus and being willing to enter the sadness of others. We can grieve the death of someone we love, or the loss of something that matters deeply to us, while trusting that God can bring new life even in places of deep pain.

In John 11, Jesus reminds us that we don’t have to choose between grief and hope. Even knowing that Lazarus would be raised, he made space to grieve. In doing so, he showed those around him the depth of his love.

May we, too, be people who are willing to sit with others in their sadness, to acknowledge our own losses honestly, and to allow our love, and God’s love, to be seen in the way we grieve. And may we discover, together, the hope that Jesus offers - not by rushing past our pain, but by trusting him to meet us, and others, in the midst of it.

Sam Abramian

Director, East of England