Before I get to the meat of this post, I just want to be clear: what follows isn’t polished theology or some perfectly structured message. These are simply thoughts written in the middle of wrestling with loss, sadness, and the weight of a terrible event. It may feel a little scattered, but I believe it comes together in the end.
John 11:35
“Jesus wept.”
It’s the shortest verse in the Bible—just two words. But those two words carry an ocean of meaning.
Think about it: Jesus knew all. He knew Lazarus would rise again. He knew His prayer would be answered. He knew death wasn’t going to have the last word. And yet… He wept.
Why? Because grief is not weakness. Grief is not faithlessness. Grief is not failure. Grief is human, and it is divine. When you grieve, you are walking in the very footsteps of Christ.
Grief as Both Human and Holy
We live in a world that loves compartmentalization—especially those of us in emergency services. We learn to box up emotions, seal the lid, and move on to the next call. That’s survival.
But here’s the catch: if all you ever do is compartmentalize, those boxes start to overflow. Eventually, you’ve got to find a way to de-compartmentalize. To let it out. To weep.
Jesus did. He wept alongside Mary and Martha. Not because He doubted God, but because He loved them. Because He entered into their pain, even knowing resurrection was minutes away. That tells me something: grief isn’t a detour from faith—it’s the road Christ Himself walked.
Comfort Meant to Be Shared
2 Corinthians 1:3–5
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.”
That passage hits different when you’re raw with sorrow. I find my comfort in my faith. When anger, sadness, and guilt creep in, I have to look up to find the path out.
But Paul knew something important: not everyone we meet is a believer. Some don’t know Jesus. Some don’t care. Some are openly hostile to Him.
And yet, Paul’s charge wasn’t limited to the church pews. He didn’t say, “Comfort those who share your faith.” He didn’t say, “Quote scripture only to those who’ll receive it.” No—he said to comfort those who are in any affliction.
That means the grieving, the angry, the doubting, the apathetic, the rebellious. If they are afflicted, then they qualify for the comfort God has poured into us.
“How Can I Help?”
I’m reminded of the show New Amsterdam. Dr. Max Goodwin, the Medical Directory of a very busy hospital, is famous for asking one question in the middle of the chaos:
“How can I help?”
Four simple words.
That’s our charge too. We don’t have to come armed with polished sermons or neat answers. Sometimes, we don’t even need words at all. We just need to show up and ask: “How can I help?” Then listen. Let them tell you what they need.
And then—do it. Show Jesus not by preaching at their pain, but by stepping into it with kindness, compassion, and action.
The Model of Christ
Jesus could have said to Mary and Martha, “Don’t cry. Watch what I’m about to do. This will all be over in five minutes.” But that wasn’t what they needed.
Even though Jesus had all the answers, that isn’t what Mary and Martha needed. So instead of a book, a chapter, a paragraph, or even a phrase, He gave them just one word: He wept.
They didn’t need it explained. They didn’t need the theology lesson. They just needed His presence.
And that’s the example for us. Sometimes the most Christlike thing you can do is be there—no fixing, no preaching, no polishing. Just presence.
Romans 12:15 puts it simply:
“Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.”
Why It Hurts So Much
Here’s the thing: grief doesn’t always make sense. For me, I’ve been asking myself, “Why does this loss hurt so much when I only knew her for a short time?”
Maybe it’s the accelerated intimacy of emergency services. When you share a 24-hour shift, you skip the small talk and jump right into life. Maybe it’s the suddenness—the shock of leftovers in the fridge when the person who made them is gone. Maybe it’s the kids left behind. Maybe it’s the shared grief echoing through the whole team.
I can’t speak for everyone, only for my own heart. But the truth I keep coming back to is this: it’s probably all of it. And it’s okay that it doesn’t add up neatly. Grief isn’t math. It’s love with nowhere to go.
And Jesus shows us that even when you know the ending, you still cry in the middle.
Conclusion
Grief is not a sign that your faith is weak. It’s proof that your love is strong. And the comfort you find in God is meant to spill over into the lives of everyone around you—believers or not.
So when you face someone in affliction, remember the simplest, most Christlike question you can ask: “How can I help?”
And when words fail, remember what Jesus did: He wept.
Closing Prayer
Father of mercies,
Thank You for being near to the brokenhearted and saving those who are crushed in spirit. Teach us to weep as Jesus wept, to comfort those in any affliction, and to show Your love not only in our words but in our actions. When our hearts are overwhelmed, lead us to the Rock that is higher than we are. Give us courage to step into grief, patience to sit in silence, and faith to trust You with what we cannot carry. Amen.
Call to Action
This week, don’t overcomplicate it. When you see someone hurting, don’t feel the pressure to fix it—just ask: “How can I help?” Then be present, be kind, and let the comfort of Christ flow through you in action.
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