A Man of Sorrows in a Season of Joy

There's something about the holidays that makes an empty chair feel louder than anything else in the room. The world around us seems to be wrapped in joy and laughter, but for some, there's a quiet ache that weighs on our hearts. Traditions carry a shadow, meals feel incomplete, and the room feels lonely no matter how full it is. In the middle of the heaviness, grief rises over you seeking to overtake, but Scripture whispers this truth: "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted." (Psalm 34:18).

If this season brings feelings of grief, loneliness, heartache, and pain, I want to encourage you that you're not alone. You're not "failing to be joyful" or "thankful enough." You're simply human. And the beautiful truth is that we serve a God that draws near to us in our hurting, before the tears ever fall.

There's something so sacred and comforting about knowing that God steps into our pain instead of stepping away. Our God is deeply personal and doesn't distance Himself from us when we hurt. He embraces us in our grief with open arms.

When Jesus approached the tomb of Lazarus, Scripture offers us one of the most intimate glimpses into His heart. Before He spoke a miracle, before He called Lazarus out of the grave, before resurrection hope filled the air, Jesus simply stood beside a grieving family and let Himself cry with them. He did not offer immediate explanations, solutions, or rush them toward joy. He didn't tell them to “cheer up” or “trust more.” Instead, the God of the universe stepped down and allowed Himself to feel the weight of their heartbreak. He entered their pain with them. And in doing so, He showed us something profound: mourning is not faithlessness.

Grief is not a sign that we don’t believe God is good. It is evidence that love existed, that a relationship mattered, and that our hearts were made for eternity. This same Jesus, the One who wept then, stands beside you in your grief now. The holidays often call us to celebrate, even when our spirits are tender and hurting. But Jesus meets us there, fully acquainted with every tear.

We can also see God's tender embrace in the Psalms of David. When you read David's writings, you don’t find a man trying to hold himself together for God. You find a man pouring himself out before the throne. Scripture shows us that David cries, questions, mourns, wrestles, and confesses his anguish with no filter and no shame. He says things like, “My tears have been my food day and night,” and “How long, O Lord?”. Yet, David is the one God calls a man after His own heart.

The very prayers of David's pain became part of Scripture, preserved for generation after generation. Why? I believe one of the main reasons we have the book of Psalms is because God wanted us to know that we don't have to come to Him once we have it all together or when we feel a certain way. God gave us hearts and the ability to feel things. That alone tells us something crucial: God doesn’t want you to hide your grief. He wants you to bring it to Him. Just as He met David in the messy middle of sorrow, He will meet you there too. Your honesty doesn’t threaten God, your tears don’t push Him back, and your questions don’t disappoint Him. They invite Him close.

The book of Lamentations echoes this truth on an even larger scale. In this book, we see grief stretched across pages and chapters, with no rush toward any kind of resolution. It’s an entire book dedicated to sorrow—to naming it, feeling it, and speaking it aloud. It shows us that lament is not weakness but worship, and that bringing our brokenness before God can be an act of trust. The book of Lamentations serves as a reminder that God makes room for the full weight of human suffering. He is not impatient with your pain. He does not demand that you move on before your heart is ready. Grief can have a place in the story of God.

And in the midst of all this, we find one of the most comforting truths of the entire Bible: Jesus Himself is called the Man of Sorrows. This means He doesn’t just sympathize with us, He empathizes. He lived acquainted with grief, He knew the sting of loss, the ache of loneliness, the pain of betrayal, and the heaviness of heartbreak. So, we can take comfort in knowing that we never sit in our sorrow alone. We never cry a tear that He doesn’t understand on a personal level. The presence of Jesus in your grief is not distant or theoretical. It is personal, intimate, and steady. He is not a Savior who watches from afar waiting for us to figure it out; He is a Savior who sits beside you at the table where someone is missing and holds your heart in it.

In this season of grief, memories may rise to the surface. Some may be sweet, some may be painful, and some may be a bit of both. I find that many people often wonder if remembering loved ones is holding them back from healing. But Scripture tells us otherwise. Throughout the Bible, God calls His people to remember — remember His works, His deliverance, His faithfulness, and His presence. God demonstrated that remembering is an act of honoring what was true, what mattered, and what shaped us. Even Paul, one of God's most faithful apostles, often remembered believers with both tears and joy. We see evidence that God, Himself, also “remembers” His people—not because He forgets, but because remembering is an expression of love. So when you cook the dish your loved one always made, or hang the ornament they picked out, or tell the story they told every year, you are doing something deeply biblical. You are honoring the love you shared and God sees that as something sacred, not a setback.

In all of our weeping, remembering, and aching, God's comfort flows toward us like a river. Scripture says He is “the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort” (2 Corinthians 1: 3-4), which means His comfort is not occasional or accidental. It’s part of His very nature and character. He draws near to the brokenhearted, He binds up the wounds of the grieving, He carries our sorrows, and holds our tears. His peace doesn't erase the hurt, but it surrounds it like a gentle presence that keeps us from sinking.

Perhaps the most remarkable truth is this: God does not ask us to give thanks instead of grieving. He invites us to give thanks with our grief. Gratitude and sorrow were never meant to cancel each other out. In Scripture, they coexist. Sometimes even in the same breath. David did it. Paul did it. Even Jesus did it as He wept at the tomb while knowing resurrection was coming. So if you feel both gratitude and grief this season, you’re not doing anything wrong. You’re experiencing the very tension that Scripture teaches us to hold: a tension that is holy, honest, and deeply human.

So as you move through this season, carry this with you: your grief is seen, your tears are noticed, and your heart is held. Jesus is not asking you to pretend, to push through, or to manufacture joy. He is inviting you to come as you are before the throne, and let Him be near. May you find rest in the Savior who walks with you in the valley and holds you steady until the light breaks through again.

May your roots run deep and your faith remain strong! As always, Stay Rooted, my friends! <3