Here I am again, grieving another loss of a loved one—my father. I feel pain, numbness, and detachment from the rest of the world around me. Why is this so familiar for me? When others talk about their passions, dreams, even a bucket list about what they plan on doing, I think to myself, “I know a lot about grief and pain.” This is not exactly a great conversation starter!
One of my greatest losses happened at 23 when I unexpectedly lost my mom. This difficult loss shaped my life in so many ways. However, nothing prepared me for the level of pain and grief my whole being experienced with her abrupt absence. I loved her very much and didn’t anticipate the extreme void left from not having a mother to share my life with. She wasn’t able to meet her grandchildren and great grandchildren and spoil them mercilessly. I wasn’t able to tell her in detail how much I appreciated all she did for me and what a great mom she was; I was just beginning to think more about others than myself when she died.
After her death, I couldn’t understand why my faith didn’t comfort me as much as I thought it would. Why was this pain and grief so severe? I kept praying, was involved in Bible studies, attended church, and went about getting oriented to my career. Later, I poured my life into being a wife, mom, and nurse, like my mother was, by trying to honor her with the life I lived.
As time went on, more losses came into the picture. My beloved uncle passed away at the end of my grandmother’s funeral, I had an unexpected miscarriage, and my treasured engagement ring was stolen. These losses rocked my world again. I prayed and called out to God, but the comfort I was seeking seemed absent, leaving only profound pain behind.
Over the years, I came to realize grieving takes time and processing emotions for some of us can be a very long and difficult road. Grief counseling has helped me through many of my feelings related to loss. However, I still craved to be fully comforted. I couldn’t understand why I never found lasting relief from my emotional pain and grief. This has taken me on a journey to get a better handle on what comfort means from God’s perspective.
Merriam-Webster defines giving comfort as, “to give strength and hope or to ease the grief or trouble.” This definition doesn’t describe a total removal of pain, grief, or difficulty. The human condition will include pain, suffering, and trouble because this is a result of our fallen and imperfect world. John 16:33 says, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world!"
Our Sole Comfort in Death
In my current faith tradition, we use the Heidelberg Catechism for spiritual growth and worship. The first question addressed in the Catechism is, “What is your only comfort in life and in death?” The answer: “That I am not my own, but belong body and soul, in life and in death to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ” (1 Cor. 6:19-20; Rom. 14:7-9; 1 Cor. 3:23).
Over the last several years, I’ve thought a lot about what it means to focus on Christ as being my sole comfort in death. I’ve found this to be comforting. However, I didn’t really think about Christ as being my sole comfort in life. My focus has always been more on His comfort and His presence in death. Perhaps that's why I've struggled so much with experiencing God's comfort in my grief now.
Our Sole Comfort in Life
How can Christ be my comfort in this life? I’ve often looked to Christ along with my husband, family, and friends to comfort me. But I haven't looked to Christ to be my sole comforter, to ease my pain and grief. I’ve wanted Jesus along with many other things to be my comfort as a way to cope with my grief and loss. I’ve wrestled with such questions like: “Have I made my family and other relationships, which are a blessing, out to be more than they are intended to be”? “Have I been mistaken about what God’s comfort truly means”? “How can I experience Christ’s comfort”?
Scripture explains that our comfort comes from our relationship with our Savior, not the removal of all sorrow. Jesus has paid for my sins and has brought me into relationship with Himself. As the Catechism continues, “He watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven (Luke 21:18). Because I belong to Him, Christ, by His Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for Him” (Eph. 1:13-14; Rom. 8:12-14).
Christ can be my sole comfort in life because He experienced human frailty, pain, suffering, and grief in ways I can’t imagine. He stood in my place to pay the price for my sin. His love is so vast to cause Him to do this that He has called me to belong to Him, body, and soul—all of me! I am cared for deeply and I belong to Him.
The Comfort of Belonging
In 1 Corinthians 14:7 Paul says, “If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.” I’ve come to realize I never have nor ever will grieve or suffer alone. Christ is always with me and I am His. This is the great comfort I've been looking for all along. It's His presence and the truth of my belonging to Him that eases my grief and provides me with the strength to endure.
We are not promised a total removal of pain or suffering, but when we experience suffering and grief, Jesus provides us with strength and hope in the midst of our pain. Our comfort comes from knowing that Christ holds onto us no matter what comes our way. Strength will be provided to endure in that moment, not prior to our need. My family and friends can come alongside of me in this process to help ease the burden, but they don’t have the ability to provide the deep level of comfort and presence that only Christ can give.
As I have learned to rest in Christ alone as the source of my comfort, increased peace, trust, and joy have become more real to me. I’m less focused on my grief and losses and more focused on who He is and His enduring presence. At times, I feel a sense of loss with my grandchildren living far away. Now, I can focus more easily on my relationship with Christ and enjoy the times I’m with children and grandchildren rather than concentrating on missing them. I’m thinking more about how to live for Him in this season of my life than what’s next on the horizon.
In the future, when I’m in a conversation about personal losses, I’m planning on steering the discussion toward the comfort Christ’s presence has brought to me in the midst of my grief and pain. I’ve come to rest in my belief of belonging to Him in this life and ultimately in death—and it’s the only real comfort I need.
