Joy in Grieving?

Is it possible to find joy even in grieving? Not just in small troubles and aggravations, but deep suffering and loss?

As you may have noticed, I took a two-week break from this blog. And the reason was to say goodbye to my dear wife of 56 years (see my last blog). She passed from this earth on March 15 into the arms of Jesus, her Savior and Lord. We had a sweet parting and wonderful memorial service for her last Sunday at our church. The outpouring of love and support from family and friends is so humbling and overwhelming.

Now I am grieving and moved to tears with each reminder of our life together. The loss is beyond words. Honestly, my belief that she is with her Lord, that her suffering is over, does not help me much to deal with my own loss and grief.

But I have maintained in my teaching that the opposite of joy is not sorrow and sadness. The opposite of joy is hopelessness and despair. I am finding that to be true. For me and my family, our times are marked by both tears and laughter, sorrow and joy, as we pore over old photos and tell stories. My final words to her were “until we meet again.” As St. Paul said, we grieve, but not as those who have no hope. And this hope allows me to remember with joy and thanksgiving the decades we had together, which, in truth were a mix of the mundane and adventure.

I know that I am only in the early stage of grieving, and I have a long way to go. But I think I am experiencing what Alexander Schmemann described as a “bright sorrow” or joyful mourning. Sorrow does not kill my joy, it strengthens it. Through my tears I see visions of love and goodness.

One of the surprises for me is that my relationship with the Lord has become even sweeter. I find myself talking out loud to God, “Lord, I really need you now, I am alone, please help me get through this, I can’t see the way forward.” And I sense his presence, I feel my spirit lifted, and less alone. I have a loving heavenly Father who watches over me, who knows my sorrow, who cares for me, and is moved by my pain. As Henri Nouwen observed, our aloneness does not necessarily lead to loneliness. God is helping me to be okay with being alone. And the bonus is that my Lord is more real, more needed, and more present.

The Christian life is always a faith-walk, but sometimes it is more poignant. At times of sorrow like this, the fact that we take each step by faith is more evident. And in this precarious state, I discover in a new way what it means to walk by faith and not by sight. Because I frankly cannot see ahead very far—I cannot conceive of life without Sharon, my life mate. This is new territory for me. And there is a kind of joy in letting myself trust God in this new state of affairs.

We have been observing the season of Lent in our church, a time when we long for the glory and peace of our true “home” where the Father embraces us with his forgiving love. Isn’t that what we long for—our real home that God has prepared for us?

Holy Week is upon us. Easter is again coming soon. I suspect that this Easter will take on a special meaning for me. The promise of new things, the hope of the resurrection, as the new life springs up all around us in such a bountiful way with crocuses and daffodils. Who would have thought that out of this gray and dreary winter, God could again fill the earth with so much life and beauty, everywhere we look? Each spring, we are pointed to the greater truth that God has a habit of turning death into life, loss into gain, the old into new.

I take great comfort in the words of the Psalmist, “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints” (Psalm 116:15). And he will raise them up on the last day.

Do you find yourself in a time of great sorrow? I do know that sentiment. I am there. And yet, even here, we can know joy, we can go deeper into the loving arms of our God.