Encountering God - Learning the Gift of Grief

Grief has been my companion these days. I lost several people in my life: my aunt, several spiritual directors (holy women in our area who shaped my faith and walked with me toward God), and a college friend. Each loss feels different, yet together they have formed a single landscape of absence, love, and longing.

What I am learning, slowly and imperfectly, is that grief itself is a gift—though not one I would have chosen. I am learning to feel grief and let it move through me like water, rather than damming it up until it bursts. When I try to stop grief, it hardens. When I allow it space, it softens me. Even Jesus stopped to cry and mourn. He gave himself room and time to be quiet. He did not rush past sorrow. He entered it.

Scripture tells us that Jesus was a “man of sorrows, acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). This is not sentimental language; it is deeply incarnational. God does not observe suffering from a safe distance. God takes it into God’s own body and heart. The shortest verse in Scripture—“Jesus wept” (John 11:35)—may also be one of the most revealing. Standing at the tomb of his friend Lazarus, Jesus knows resurrection is coming, yet he still weeps. Love pauses. Love mourns.

Jesus weeps again as he looks over Jerusalem (Luke 19:41), grieving a people who cannot yet see what truly makes for peace. And the letter to the Hebrews tells us that “in the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears” (Hebrews 5:7). Our God is not untouched by human pain. As Hebrews reminds us, Jesus is “able to sympathize with our weaknesses” (Hebrews 4:15). God knows grief from the inside.

Ignatian spirituality invites us to pay attention to what is stirring within us. We are not called to fix it immediately, but to notice it prayerfully. Ignatius teaches that God communicates through our deepest desires, consolations, and desolations. Grief, then, is not a spiritual failure. It can be a sacred place of encounter. Joyce Rupp writes in Praying Our Goodbyes: “If we are attentive to the inner ache, and if we grow in accepting its truthful message, then we will more readily move through our own particular goodbyes.” The ache itself tells the truth of love.

In these losses, I am discovering God not as the one who rushes me toward answers, but as the one who sits beside me in silence. God is the Companion on the road, the God-who-lingers. God is the gentle presence who allows tears without explanation. God is the Sufferer-with-us, the One who mourns what we mourn and treasures those we have loved.

I am also noticing how God shows up through others. Through shared stories. Through meals left at the door. Through quiet texts that say, “I’m thinking of you.” In Ignatian language, God is laboring and working for me in all things, even in grief. Maybe, especially in grief.

To accompany others in their sorrow feels less about having the right words and more about offering presence. Jesus did not explain death to Mary and Martha before he wept with them. He stood with them. Perhaps this is who God is inviting us to be for one another: witnesses to love strong enough to grieve.

As we learn to let grief flow rather than freeze, may we discover that we are never alone in it. The God who weeps with us is also the God who holds us—patiently, tenderly—until new life, in God’s time, begins to emerge.

Going Deeper

Consider this and set time aside to pray and journal your thoughts: 

* Who is God for you in this present moment?
  * Is God the Comforter, the One who gathers tears?
  * Is God the Silent Companion, the One who sits beside you? 
  * Is God the Crucified Christ, who knows loss in his own body?

* And who are you to God right now?
  * Beloved? Weary? Honest? Broken open?

* What name, image, or scripture captures how God is showing up for you these days?)

For the times when we have no words and can only receive and offer presence, spend time with prayer with this song, No Words by The Vigil Project with Cathedral.

If you are in the midst of grief or walking with others through grief, here are some additional resources to accompany you.

Photo by Kateryna Hliznitsova on Unsplash.

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Stephanie Clouatre Davis

Stephanie Clouatre Davis graduated from Loyola University New Orleans. Stephanie speaks to adults and teens around the nation at parishes, high schools, and dioceses in various venues including retreats and conferences. With humor, joy, and stories, Stephanie not only fully engages her audiences but also inspires them to challenge themselves and build a stronger relationship with God. She lives in Covington, Louisiana with her husband Michael and two girls Emma and Abby.