Experiencing both great suffering and great joy in grief

A Reflection for Tuesday of the Sixth Week of Easter

Find today’s readings here.

The message Jesus shares with his disciples in today’s Gospel is relayed before his crucifixion. At the moment when he speaks of grief to his friends, he is still preparing to die. The darkness is still before all of them, as is the great light of Easter. 

It’s interesting, though, to reflect on this passage in anticipation of the Ascension, which is just a few days away from us. Now that we are in the sixth week of the Easter season, we may think of ourselves as having surpassed the grieving stage of the liturgical calendar. Jesus died, yes, but then he rose. The Ascension can be understood as an extension of his rising and a culmination of our joyous Easter celebration. 

But we can imagine how these moments might have felt different to those who were living alongside Jesus. In addition to being their God, he was also their friend. And Jesus returning to the one who sent him in heaven also meant Jesus leaving them behind. 

Even if the disciples truly believed and trusted Jesus was fulfilling his purpose in once again departing from this world, they had to accept that this fulfillment came with a real loss for each of them. No more hugs, no more laughs, no more hands held or words shared or questions asked. Goodness was happening; they were witness to it. But things would not be the same. 

The grief of the crucifixion must have been a raw, shocking type of pain. Jesus’ friends and family were handed the profound burden of watching their loved one suffer, and processing their own loss at the same time. But today’s Gospel reminds us of another complicated kind of grief that they, like us, might expect to feel in the absence of a loved one. 

When someone dies, we may feel glad that they are with God. But we also may lament that we are left lonely in their absence.We hurt when accepting that a certain relationship that we had and loved can never be experienced in the same way again. 

This type of grief can be such an odd and complicated thing, because it gives rise to both suffering and joy, sometimes in equal measure. We are glad for our lost loved one’s peace and rest, but it’s often our happiest memories that conjure up the deepest sorrow. It’s the immense beauty of these memories—the way they shimmer with love—that does us in. I’m tearing up as I write this thinking about the people my human body will never hold again. And yet the circle finds a way to complete itself: That sorrow so often turns to gratitude for having had the chance to hold them in the first place. 

Thinking about the simultaneous faith and grief that disciples might have felt in the physical absence of Jesus reminds me of how often great joy and great suffering not only coexist, but actively create and shape each other. These interacting emotions are not easy, but they can be beautiful reminders of just how much we love each other. And Jesus speaks of grief to his disciples with kindness and understanding because he sees this complexity and this depth in them like he sees it all in all of us; because he felt the deep love his followers had for him and he loved them right back.

• Facebook
• X
• Mail