“Good grief!” Remember that expression in the Peanuts comic strip? “Good grief, Charlie Brown.” Can grief ever be good? I once heard Bob Newell say, “If we do not deal with our grief, grief will come back and deal with us.” Wise words. But how do we deal with it? Does anything good ever come from grief?
When Herod killed John the Baptist, his disciples buried him and then went to tell Jesus. Notice that Jesus was not in denial about the harsh reality of death. He did not diminish it or try to sweep it aside as unimportant because of his coming resurrection. When Lazarus died, Jesus wept. Why? As a human being Jesus mourned the death of his cousin John and his friend Lazarus.
Let’s learn from Jesus about grief. What did he say when he learned of John’s death? Nothing. Nothing is so often a good thing to say. Often our quick answers to people who are hurting are really our own attempt to make ourselves feel better. Job’s friends were at their very best in the time they spent with Job before they talked.
Jesus got in a boat. Getting in a boat recently literally calmed my soul. Notice Jesus’ destination: a solitary place. He needed to get away by himself with his Father. His grief was interrupted by the crowds which chased him in this season of his ministry. Jesus was kind to them, acting as a wounded healer. We can bless others out of our pain. Later Jesus went off by himself to pray.
Once when I was a young and single pastor in college, I experienced an unexpected grief. To be more specific, a girl dumped me. I was down. My best friend Wayne Gray tried to encourage me. I woke up on Friday morning realizing that my chairman of deacons Roy Hudson was about to have heart surgery. So I drove my marvelous AMC Matador forty miles down to Scott and White hospital in Temple and prayed with them. I wanted to help them, but they really helped me. Being with them reminded me of my calling. To this day, I receive more than I give when I visit the sick. We can be wounded healers, too.
When I returned to my car, I didn’t know it but looking down from the parking lot I could have seen the neighborhood in the distance where Melanie Freeman, a high school Senior lived with her family. The next year she would enter Baylor and go to a movie on campus and follow me to Wendy's (or so I thought, maybe she was just hungry). Before long she was playing the piano at my little church in Rosebud, as I sang with Roy and Flourine and the rest of those marvelous people. The rest would be history. As a recent song says, “Even when I don’t see it, you're working. God, you never stop, you never stop working.”
