Tag Archives: grief

by Tim Geoffrion | May 1, 2025 · 8:47 am

The Journey to Joy

How Jesus can help you get back on your feet

Right before he was crucified, Jesus said to his disciples, “You will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy…. Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy” (John 16:20, 22, NIV).

What a wonderful and hopeful promise. Yet, we all know that the journey to joy is not always an easy one. It certainly is not something that can be forced, especially when you’re feeling the heaviness of sadness or grief. Who can be joyful when you’re heart-broken, frustrated, discouraged, or simply overwhelmed by life or all that’s wrong with the world?

Nevertheless, Jesus, on his way to the cross, knowing all the suffering that still lay ahead for him and his disciples, could still speak about joy. Joy that no one could ever take away.

What did he have in mind, and is that joy available for us today?

In my previous blog post, I wrote that sometimes in our lives it’s time to grieve. When we’ve experienced great loss, we need to feel your feelings, give ourselves permission to be angry or sad, and cry our bitter tears. But grief need not be the sum of all our emotional experiences. There is a pathway to joy again for those who know where to look and where to go.

When evil asserts its destructive forces, people will suffer, sometimes horribly. That’s a fact. Life is full of pain and suffering for every human being, and sometimes the weight of it all threatens to crush us. Yet, while we may have little or no control over the amount pain we feel—especially when we are physically sick or there are abusive people in our lives—psychologists tell us that it is possible to mitigate the extent of our suffering. And Jesus tells us, despite the worst of what we might have to endure, joy is not far off.

*Jesus revealing himself to two disciples after the resurrection (Luke 24:31)*

In the case of the disciples, Jesus said their grief would turn to joy. That was his promise. Not an easy life, health and wealth, power or privilege. In fact, early Christians sometimes were persecuted horribly, many lived in poverty their entire lives, and ten of the original 12 disciples were martyred.

Yet, at the same time, somehow, there would also be joy. The disciples would literally see Jesus again. They would be able to resume their close, intimate relationship. Their grief would turn to joy—a joy no one would be able to take from them (John 16:22). And that has been the experience for countless millions of people who have come to know and experience Jesus in their personal lives ever since.

For me personally, I feel so much joy every time I hear again the good news of the Gospel—even if it is for thousandth time: “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16, NIV). Knowing and believing that God loves me and generously offers me forgiveness, salvation and eternal life is so marvelous that I cannot find adequate words to describe the joy I feel. And it doesn’t stop there. Whenever I sense God’s gracious, merciful, kind, generous, healing, or life-giving presence, the peace and joy I feel is indescribable.

Over the past five years, one of my greatest sources of joy has come from commiserating with other like-minded people of faith, many of whom are also grappling with so much death, destruction, and suffering in the world. Many conversations can devolve into angry outbursts or rehearsing the same offenses and fears again and again. But the turning point for me often comes when we stop complaining or wringing our hands in fear and start praying.

When I pour out my heart to God with a brother or sister in Christ, a deep peace often settles over me. And more than once, I’ve opened my eyes to see one or more of my prayer partners beaming with the same joy that I was feeling. In such moments, I don’t feel so alone or hopeless anymore. Jesus’s living presence has been revealed. I see him in them, and they see him in me. God has not abandoned me in my suffering. There is still goodness in the world. Jesus Christ is present and at work in me and among others who know, love, and serve him as I do.

As Jesus said: In this world you will have much grief, but your grief will turn to joy.

No matter how much you may have lost or what you may be going through right now, Jesus’s promise to his disciples is for you, too. You don’t have to suffer alone, without hope and without joy.

The journey to joy begins and ends with Jesus. See where he is. Embrace him. And you will have a source of comfort and joy, forever.

With the love of Jesus Christ,

Dr. Tim

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15:13).

A Time to Grieve

Sometimes weeping is exactly what we most need to do. (A Biblical Reflection for Holy Week)

*The Pieta in a frieze depicting Mary’s grief (In the choir, Chartres Cathedral, France)*

In the biblical book of Ecclesiastes, the preacher writes: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die… a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance…” (3:1,4).

So, what time is it? What time is it for those living in places like Myanmar, Eastern Congo, Ukraine, Gaza, and many other places around the world, for those whose lives are consumed by unimaginable hardship, violence, and loss due to war, earthquakes, famines and other apocalyptic like disasters? What time is it in America? What time is it for you?

For me, there is not one simple answer. On one hand, the problems and suffering of the world call me to take my responsibility as a global citizen all the more seriously, to look for more ways to support my brothers and sisters in Christ around the world, to speak out against injustice at home and abroad, to protect the vulnerable and abused, to share the Gospel with those who do not know the hope that comes through Jesus, and to link arms with others who are trying to exhibit the love of Christ in concrete ways to those in need.

At yet, sometimes it all feels like too much. Sometimes weeping is exactly what I most need to do. And it’s not just me. One of my closest colleagues in Myanmar, who does more than anyone I know to help others in need, wrote to me after the 7.7 magnitude earthquake and admitted, “Sometimes I feel very depressed.” Another colleague from Ukraine confided to me, “I am war fatigued, to say the least.” At such times, as much as I would like to bury my painful feelings, run away, or just collapse in weariness, what I usually need most is to stop trying to help anyone else for a moment and take some time to grieve.

By grieving, I release the tremendous pain I feel before it explodes inside me or utterly depresses me.
By grieving, I can feel and not forget how much I loved whomever or whatever I lost.
By grieving, I can rage against the powers of death and destruction, refusing to be defeated by evil.
By grieving, I feel the depth of my frustration and tap into my determination to live.
By grieving, I admit to myself, “So much is out of my control. There’s so much I would like to have been able to do but couldn’t.”
By grieving, I give up expecting unrealistic miracles. Instead, I reach the end of myself and reach out to God and others for the comfort and strength I need.

On Good Friday, Christians remember the awful day when evil forces conspired to kill Jesus. In the photo you see, Mary, the mother of Jesus, is depicted with her hands outstretched, her face contorted with grief, and her eyes turned heavenward. Her beloved son, Jesus, had just been brutally nailed to a cross, executed for daring to challenge the religious authorities, who were blind to God’s working through his life and indifferent to the needs of the poor, needy, and vulnerable.

In her moment of unimaginable pain, with Jesus’s lifeless body draped over her knee, Mary could only see and feel her great loss. She didn’t know that resurrection was coming. Even if she had all the faith in the world, the horror of it all remains. What must it have been like for Jesus’s poor mother? What is it like for those burying their dead in Mandalay, in bombed out villages, in IDP camps? For those who are still searching for lost ones, who have disappeared or are presumed dead under the rubble of fallen buildings?

I only imagine how great their grief must be. But I do know this. For those who turn to God amid their pain and loss, and for those who put their faith in Jesus Christ, they do not “grieve… as those who have no hope” (1 Thess. 4:13). Why not? Because through a relationship with Jesus Christ, we do have hope. Hope that we are not alone or abandoned by our Creator. Hope for life after death—not just a reincarnation into another life of suffering, but eternal life with new bodies, hearts, and minds, re-created to live in fellowship with God forever. This promise is for all those who know and love their Creator and who put their faith Jesus Christ as their Savior and Lord. It’s by Christ’s sacrificial death that we are forgiven. It’s by the Holy Spirit that our hearts and minds are renewed. And it’s by believing that we are saved (Romans 8:1-6; 10:9-10).

That’s the hope we as Christians live by. But for this holy week, we must pass through Good Friday first. The night is so very dark, and our tears flow. It’s a time to grieve.

With the love of Jesus Christ,

Dr. Tim

Next time, I will write about “The Journey to Joy”.

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by Tim Geoffrion | February 25, 2025 · 11:11 pm

The Light of Day

Why keeping our eyes on Jesus is so helpful

What do you think? Is the sun rising or setting in this photo? Without context, it’s not always so easy to tell the time of day.

Likewise, when darkness casts a thick shadow over our personal lives, or over our country and so many other places around the world, we may feel confused and uncertain about what’s really happening. What does all this turmoil, violence, and destruction mean for us and the people we care about? Is the light we’ve been depending on going to keep shining, get brighter, or God-forbid, go out altogether?

Personally, I’ve been going through all the stages of grief lately (shock, bargaining, anger, depression–but not yet acceptance) over the cataclysmic changes in my own country and all the upheaval and fallout globally. As I’ve written about before, I especially feel a lot of empathy for my students, colleagues, and friends trying to cope with ongoing, unimaginable oppression, abuse, and hardship in their war-torn contexts—especially those trying to survive in Eastern Congo, Myanmar, and along the Thai-Myanmar border, where I am serving now.

But this blog post is not about social and political problems, or even empathy for those who are suffering the most in our lives or around the world. It’s about how you and I can cope with the prevalence of darkness in our lives, especially when the light appears to be dimming in so many places for so many reasons for so many people. At times, I am tempted to despair. And you may be, too.

But I don’t. Despair, that is. And here’s the reason why.

The Apostle John wrote about him in the Bible, when he said:

“In him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:4-5, NRSV).

John was speaking, of course, about the incarnation of God in the form of Jesus Christ. He was saying that Son of God came into this world to shine the light of God into our darkness. Despite appearances to the contrary at times, our Creator is good and does care for us. Regardless of how bleak our circumstances or how unloving or hurtful others may be, in Jesus, there is light. There is love. And there is hope.

The key is to know where to look for the light and how to let the light of Jesus shine more brightly in our hearts and minds. You may have your own way of drawing on the light of God, but in my experience, if I want more of God, I have to reach out to him as a matter of intentionality and discipline. I have to pay attention to what’s beautiful, good, and inspiring in creation and in my family and among my friends. I must surround myself with others who can encourage me with their experiences with God, especially my brothers and sisters in Christ who remind me that I’m not alone and that God does answer prayers. And then what probably helps me the most is getting outside myself to do something loving and kind for somebody else. When I help lighten the burdens of others or simply show up to encourage them in their distress, I often feel better. I intend to be a conduit of God’s love to them, but I wind up experiencing God’s love for me in the process. And the light in my life gets brighter for me as well as for them.

These are dark days for many people. Perhaps for you, too. But do not assume that the light in your life is about to go out. Suffering may be an unavoidable part of human experience, and great losses are inevitable for all of us in this life. However, John’s word of hope remains true: “In him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

May Jesus be the Light of your day today and shine more and more brightly in your heart and mind in the days ahead.

With love always,
Dr. Tim

Photo: Sun rising in Chiang Mai, Thailand.

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by Tim Geoffrion | August 30, 2024 · 4:52 pm

When They Die Too Soon

A Biblical Reflection on Handling the Premature Death of a Loved One

*Monument in the Mae La Refugee camp, near the Myanmar-Thai border, in Thailand*

“When Paul had finished speaking, he knelt down with all of them and prayed.They all wept as they embraced him and kissed him. What grieved them most was his statement that they would never see his face again….” (Acts 20:36-38, NIV)

Recently, another one of my former students from Myanmar was tragically killed. Not yet 25 years old, La Seng sacrificed his life for something he believed in. He died a hero and inspiration to many. One of his closest friends, in mourning his death, told me that La Seng was a symbol of love and integrity. He showed by his life—and by his willingness to risk death—what it means to live by his faith and put love into action.

Yet, his death was deeply disturbing, too. He was way too young, and the hole he left was big. Those who knew and loved him feel devastated. To me, he was like a spiritual son. God had used our special connection to guide and encourage him at a critical point in his life. He had found peace in the direction he chose. Alongside his willingness to serve his country, he led a ministry to children and became known among his classmates and friends as someone who was exceptional conduit of God’s love and grace.

What good could possibly come out this loss and so many others like it? How are we supposed to handle it when someone like this dies too soon and leaves such a big void in our lives?

In Acts 20, the Apostle Paul doesn’t answer this question directly, but his farewell speech to the elders of the church in Ephesus (in modern day Turkey) offers many helpful insights. He called the elders to meet with him one last time on a beach a several days journey from their home. He knew that he would be arrested, abused, and unjustly killed at some point in the future, and he wanted to prepare them and say goodbye. Knowing that their hearts would be broken, he prayed for them and urged them to remember their experience with him, to live by what he taught them about Jesus, and to follow the example that he had set for them.

At one point he said, “Now I commit you to God and to the word of his grace, which can build you up and give you an inheritance among all those who are sanctified.” Then later he added, “In everything I did, I showed you that by this kind of hard work we must help the weak, remembering the words the Lord Jesus himself said: ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’” (Acts 20:32, 35)

The lesson from Paul’s words and example is profound. In your times of great loss and suffering, you are not alone. You are not without hope. All is not lost. Your painful experiences and heart-breaking losses don’t have to break or defeat you. God still has a purpose for your life. And Jesus shows you the way.

The death of those who die too soon may feel like a waste, but their death need not be wasted. When you lose people whom you’ve admired, respected, or loved, all that they gave to you is still within you. Nothing can remove the sting of their death, and your grief may linger for years. Yet, the memory of them can remain a source of inspiration and strength for the rest of your life. And God’s “word of grace” can minister to your broken heart and nourish and feed your soul.

You can move beyond focusing so much on the pain of your loss and turn your attention to those who are still living, those you who need from you what God has equipped you to offer. And, by God’s grace, the road filled with too many early deaths can become a pathway overflowing with life.

“And after you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, support, strengthen, and establish you. To him be the power forever and ever. Amen.” (1 Peter 5:10, NRSV).

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by Tim Geoffrion | May 3, 2024 · 3:55 pm

Grieving Our Losses

…honestly, yet hopefully

[Four minute read]

Serving victims of oppression, brutality, and destruction in Myanmar, Thailand, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo has forced me to grapple with unimaginable trauma and despair afflicting those living in or fleeing war zones. Their suffering and losses are often unimaginable to someone like me, who grew up in a comfortable, relatively safe, Midwestern town in the United States. Yet, there they are. Right in front of my eyes.

Sometimes, all they have left is their tears. Sometimes, all they can feel is their rage. Their future has been decimated. Their hope shattered. Biblical promises fall flat. God seems cruelly absent.

Just recently, one of my former students in Myanmar, Pastor “Kyaw”, texted me with some tragic news. His village had been bombed. Several were killed or injured. For many, everything they owned went up in flames. More than 200 homes now lie in ruins, including his own. As is true for some three million people throughout Myanmar, most of the people have sought shelter in an internally displaced persons (IDP) camp or have fled the country. Their village has become a ghost town.

How are they going to survive? How are they going to cope psychologically, emotionally, and spiritually? What will be the long term of effect of such trauma and loss?

In talking with Pastor Kyaw, Psalm 137 came to mind. I’m sure the ancient Israelites were asking themselves the same questions during their exile in Babylon (6^th Century BC). They had been conquered by an invading army. They were forced from their beloved villages and country. They had lost everything that was “home” to them and were now captives in a foreign land. As far as they could see, they had no hope. No future.

“By the rivers of Babylon—there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion…. O daughter Babylon, you devastator! Happy shall they be who pay you back what you have done to us! Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock!” (Psalm 137: 1, 8-9, NRSV)

According to the famous psychiatrist, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, those who suffer significant loss typically move through five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance (On Death and Dying, 1969).

“Denial” is when you are still in shock or just can’t get your head around what just happened or what bad news the doctor told you is going to happen.
In “Anger,” you rage, sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly. You never dreamed that something like this would happen to you. And if someone betrayed you or let you down—whether it is yourself, someone else, or God—you might be really angry about it, and wind up lashing out with hateful or violent words to hurt whomever you blame for your loss.
In the “Bargaining” stage, you might obsess on how you might have prevented the tragedy. “If only I had done [this or that] ….” Or, if you’re grappling with bad news for the future, you may make desperate promises to yourself, to others, or to God. “I promise I will do better….” hoping to somehow prevent the inevitable.
In “Depression,” the horrible truth has finally sunk in, but it may feel like too much to bear. Your energy and drive are gone. You may be plagued with guilt, shame, or despair. You may not even want to get out of bed in the morning.
Fortunately, depression need not be the final stage in grief. For most people, at some point, there comes “Acceptance.” Here, you finally accept what you cannot change in the past or something that is going to happen. You may retain an emotional tie to someone or something you have lost, but the bond you feel ceases to be debilitating. Your strength and motivation to live return.

I don’t know for sure which stage the ancient Israelites were in when Psalm 137 was written. It’s obvious they were in a lot of pain, and they certainly hadn’t reached the acceptance stage. They were still weeping and raging. The psalmist was even dreaming of the most cruel kind vengeance imaginable. His feelings were raw and real, but only one snapshot within his undoubtedly long grief process.

Thus, we should not think this psalm is blessing hatefulness or brutal retribution. Rather, it acknowledges the need for honesty about our darkest and most troubled feelings en route to healing and wholeness. Our instinctive reactions may look really ugly at times, but honesty must precede transformation.

When I feel distraught or full of rage, as painful as it may be, it’s usually best if I let myself feel my feelings. I try not to condemn myself for feeling hateful or vengeful, but I don’t act on these feelings. I recognize that I’m grieving, and such reactions are normal. I need to be honest about how I’m feeling, but I don’t have to stay stuck there. Truly, I don’t want to waste my life being angry all the time.

After Jesus’ horrific killing, followed by his astonishing resurrection, the time came for him to say goodbye to his disciples. One more loss for the disciples. Yet, according to the Gospel of Matthew (28:19-20), Jesus urged his disciples to look forward, not backwards. He told them to focus on their calling, which in their case was to preach, teach, and demonstrate the truth of the Gospel. And he assured them that they would not be alone. “And surely,” Jesus promised, “I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matt. 28:20b).

When I come to the depression stage, sometimes, I just need to feel sad. My sadness honors the fact that I cared a lot about whatever was (or will be) lost. Yet, as upsetting or devastating as the situation may be, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life feeling sad. Depression is not my destiny. I may not feel hopeful at the moment, but I can choose to believe that God is present and at work in my life for good. And I can reach out to Jesus to ask for help to escape the darkness and despair.

I don’t know what kind of loss you might be grieving right now, or what stage of grief you might be in. But based on my ministry among victims of war and great loss, my personal experience, and the teaching of the Bible, I can assure you there’s more to your life and future than whatever you’re experiencing at the moment. It won’t always feel this awful. There will be a better day. No matter what you may have lost, you still have an important purpose in life. There’s work for you do—people who need your love and care. Other grieving or struggling wayfarers, who need a word of encouragement or simply a helping hand. …those who do not know the hope you have of an enduring relationship with God through Jesus.

So, grieve your own losses honestly. Be compassionate and patient with yourself as you work through the various stages of grief. Yet also remain hopeful. You are not alone, and Jesus Christ has called you to share in his ministry of love in this broken world full of so much sorrow and pain.

Coping Better with Unwanted Change: Four Steps to Greater Peace and Joy (Step 1)

What unwanted change is wreaking havoc in your life right now? Maybe it’s a significant loss—you were fired, someone you loved died or left you, or you’re grappling with an unexpected financial setback or liability. Maybe you received a frightening diagnosis, or you are struggling with an ongoing illness or disability. Maybe it’s an upsetting situation (or person) that you can’t avoid, such as an unreasonable boss, a troublesome neighbor, or a forced move and undesirable change of location. Whatever it may be, how are you handling it?

I’ve always been a glass-half-full kind of person. I believe in the power of positive thinking. Yet, how can you be upbeat when your life suddenly changes dramatically for the worse? How can you get past all the inner turmoil when you’ve lost so much or continually have to deal with a person or situation that you hate but can’t get away from?

In this multi-part series, I’m going to share four steps that have been very helpful to me when I have felt heart-broken, frustrated, disappointed, sorry for myself, or any number of other negative emotions due to some unwanted change, circumstance, or person in my life. These insights first came to me many years ago when wrestling with painful relational issues when my family and I walked across northern Spain on the Camino in 2006. Over time, I’ve come to see that the same “4 Steps to Loving A Hard to Love Person” (See, Accept, Appreciate, and Delight) also provide a pathway to coping better with any unwanted change in my life. These steps may take a great deal of time to work through, but when taken thoughtfully and prayerfully, they have proven very helpful in getting unstuck mentally and emotionally in a wide variety of difficult situations. In this post, we’ll look at just the first step in this process.

Step 1: “See”

By the rivers of Babylon—

there we sat down and there we wept

when we remembered Zion.
Psalm 137:1 (NRSV)

When ancient Israel suddenly found themselves as captives in Babylon in 586 BC, they had to grapple with incredible losses—the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem (Zion), their forced exile from their home country, and the collapse of their lives as they knew them. We can’t go back to reconstruct all the ways they handled this tragedy, but can infer from the text that, instead of putting their heads in the sand (e.g., by believing false prophets who tried to give them false hope of returning to Judah), the exiles saw the situation for what it was, faced the awful truth, and let themselves feel the emotional weight of their losses. “By the rivers of Babylon—there we sat down and there we wept….” Such grief was bitter, but it was also an important step toward moving forward.

However, for many of us, when we experience great loss or are suddenly forced to cope with frightening or overwhelming burdens, instead of facing the truth as the Israelites did, we get stuck in nonproductive, emotional turmoil. We may walk around in a daze or even in denial of what’s happened, or our fight-flight-freeze instincts may trigger an intense emotional response that either ties us up in knots on the inside or pushes us to act in unhelpful or even hurtful ways.

That’s what was happening to me for much of 2021. After 13 years of (in-person) teaching in Myanmar, the doors suddenly slammed shut in my face, when the military seized power in a coup-d’état on February 1. My school suspended all classes, the country began its ongoing slide into disarray, and it became no longer safe for me to return. Then there was the daily trauma from continual reports of imprisonment, beatings, or killing of protestors, doctors, journalists, political opponents of the regime, and even some of my students. Houses were burned to the ground and hundreds of thousands fled to the jungles to survive.

All this felt overwhelming and too difficult to fully face. For months, I felt almost panicky about my powerlessness to help them. I felt guilty that I wasn’t doing more, yet I could never identify what I could do differently. And so, instead of coming to grips with reality, I lived in a perpetual state of anxiety on their behalf, as if sharing their distress and desperation would somehow prove that I wasn’t abandoning them in their hour of need. The truth was, I was so caught up in my unexamined, emotional reaction that I couldn’t realistically assess the situation. I was stuck in my emotional turmoil, carrying a burden that wasn’t helpful to me or anyone else.

In practice

How about you? Where are you being held prisoner by your emotional reactions? What do you need to see more clearly about whatever you’re grappling with?

What did you lose or what burden has been placed on your shoulders that you did not choose and do not want?
What is the clearest, most accurate, description of what happened or is happening?
If you could name it, in a word or two, what would you call what happened to you?
How is this [unwanted situation] affecting you emotionally, physically, relationally, and spiritually?
What is your best realistic assessment of the implications of this change for your future?

Even if it takes more time than you’d like to be able to answer these questions clearly, don’t give up until you get enough emotional distance to accurately assess your situation. Be patient with yourself, but don’t give up. The goal is to be able to make good decisions about your future based on the truth instead of being held prisoner to your emotional reactions or a distorted picture of reality.

Here is one short prayer that I created many years ago continues to be helpful to me whenever I’m in emotional turmoil and can’t seem to see clearly. Perhaps it will help you, too.

“Loving God, please help me to see whatever I need to see. Give me courage to face the truth, and wisdom and strength to act on whatever you reveal.”

Next week, Step 2: “Accept,” the next critical step toward recovering your inner peace and joy.