Grace in the Grief


Finding God’s Presence and Purpose in the Pain of Loss

Scripture Reference: —1 Thessalonians 4:13 – Psalm 1106:15

“Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope."

“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.”

Tonight, I weep with those who weep.


Among today’s mail was a letter that stopped me in my tracks—one from a broken-hearted prisoner named Stevie, who is beginning his twentieth year behind bars. Alone in a maximum-security prison deep in the heart of Louisiana, Stevie wrote with raw grief about the loss of his beloved grandparents—the very ones who raised him—both passing away within the span of a lonely month.

Every line of his letter was soaked in sorrow, each word echoing the pain of isolation, heartache, and helplessness. He’s new to our ministry, but his grief is all too familiar. And tonight, as I have so many times before, I find myself offering words of condolence—fragile, human words, yet prayerfully carried on the wings of divine comfort.

May the God of all comfort meet Stevie tonight in the silence of his cell, and wrap his wounded heart in the healing balm of grace!

I’ve been called to step into that sorrow—again and again. I receive letters regularly from inmates who have lost a parent or a beloved grandparent who meant the world to them. The ache of not being able to attend a memorial service, of grieving alone in a concrete cell, is one of the most isolating pains imaginable. Often, they have no one to talk to—no one who understands.

But I do understand. In 2004, my wife Cynthia and I faced a tragedy that shattered our world. Our firstborn son, James—just 19 years old—was killed in a devastating automobile accident. It was the kind of heartbreak you never think will visit your door. But sorrow didn’t stop there.

Within 18 months of James’s passing, we were struck again by unspeakable grief when our firstborn daughter, Laura, died under deeply sorrowful circumstances at the age of 26. Losing one child is a wound beyond words; losing two feels like having the very breath torn from your soul.

We were undone. And yet, in the mysterious sovereignty of God, we were not destroyed. Through those dark valleys, the Lord began to carve out a new ministry in our hearts—a ministry we never asked for, but one we have grown to embrace. He has called us to walk with others who are grieving, especially with those who suffer behind bars. So many inmates must process unbearable loss alone, without a hug, a funeral, or even a compassionate ear. And it has become one of the greatest honors of my life to step into their grief, to be a voice of comfort, and to remind them they are not forgotten by God.

These tragedies have forever marked me, but they have also opened a door to minister to countless suffering saints—many of them prisoners—who are walking through their own unimaginable losses. The lessons have been holy. Life-altering. And through it all, I have come to believe that some of the deepest, most meaningful ministry is born not out of ease, but out of ashes.

Introduction: Grief Behind Bars

Grief in prison feels different. It's raw, lonely, and often hidden. You can’t attend the funeral. You can’t hug your mom or kiss your child goodbye. You’re left with just the silence of your cell and the ache in your heart. People may expect you to "get over it" and move on—but the pain is real, and it doesn’t follow a schedule.

Grief is not just an emotion. It’s an unraveling of the soul—a hollow place where love once lived. It’s the quiet sob in the dark. It’s reaching for what is no longer there. But as hard as grief is, it can also be a sacred space—a place where God draws close.

And friend, that’s where hope begins.

Grief in Prison: A Daily Reality

Grief is almost a daily part of prison life. In one form or another, sorrow seems to visit every cell block. Many prisoners carry heavy grief silently, afraid to let their raw emotions be seen. Behind bars, emotions are often equated with weakness—and weakness can be dangerous. So men and women bury their pain beneath a hardened face, while their hearts quietly break.

I’ve been called to step into that sorrow—again and again. I receive letters regularly from inmates who have lost a parent, or a beloved grandparent who meant the world to them. The ache of not being able to attend a memorial service, of grieving alone in a concrete cell, is one of the most isolating pains imaginable. Often, they have no one to talk to—no one who understands.

Others write after receiving yet another denial from the parole board, each rejection convincing them they may never walk free again. That kind of grief can lead to deep depression and despair. Still others grieve after being diagnosed with life-threatening illnesses, fearing they’ll never get proper care—or worse, that they’ll die forgotten behind prison walls.

Some carry grief from being cut off from the outside world. A relationship once full of love and promise fades into silence after a painful “Dear John” letter. These losses—of freedom, of love, of hope—compound the sorrow.

But God is not distant from this kind of grief. He sees it. He feels it. And He walks through it with you.

1. Grieving With Hope

The Bible never tells us not to grieve. Even Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35). But the Word of God does tell us we don’t have to grieve like the world does—without hope.

As believers, we know this life is not the end. The ones we lose in Christ are not lost forever. And while the pain is deep, our hope is deeper. We grieve, yes—but we grieve with hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13).

“Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.” —Matthew 5:4

Comfort doesn’t always come through answers. It comes through presence—God’s presence. He walks with us through the valley of the shadow of death (Psalm 23:4). He is the God who bottles your tears (Psalm 56:8). He knows. He cares. And He has not forgotten you.

2. Love Doesn’t Die—It Changes Form

Grief hurts because love is real. But love doesn’t end with death. The people you’ve lost—the ones you can’t write, call, or hug anymore—are still part of your story. Their memory remains. The lessons they taught you, the laughter you shared, the prayers they prayed—those things linger in your heart like embers glowing beneath ashes.

“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress… or death?” —Romans 8:35 (paraphrased)

Grief doesn’t mean you're weak. It means you loved deeply. And that love, in Christ, will be redeemed and restored in eternity.

3. How Grief Can Lead to Deeper Faith

Grief doesn’t just break your heart—it reveals it. It exposes what you truly believe. In prison, you may not have a church pew to kneel in or a grave to visit. But you have something better—you have access to the throne of grace (Hebrews 4:16).

When the tears fall, you learn how to pray for real. When the memories sting, you learn how to hope for heaven. When the loneliness crashes in, you learn how to trust the Comforter.

“Before I was afflicted I went astray: but now have I kept thy word.” —Psalm 119:67


“It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes.” —Psalm 119:71

The prison of grief becomes a classroom of faith.

The story of Job is powerful here. He lost everything—his children, his wealth, his health. But in the ashes of his grief, Job declared, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him” (Job 13:15). And in the end, God restored him—not because Job pretended the pain didn’t matter, but because he trusted God through it.

God is doing the same in you. Through your sorrow, He is growing roots of faith that will not be shaken. He is preparing you for glory.

“The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.” —Romans 8:18

4. There’s No Timeline for Grief

Some days, the ache will feel unbearable. Other days, you’ll laugh and feel guilty for it. That’s normal. Grief doesn’t run on a clock—it runs on love. And healing isn’t forgetting. It’s learning how to carry both the sorrow and the gratitude together.

“To every thing there is a season… a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”—Ecclesiastes 3:1,

5. Timeless Words for a Grieving Heart

Grief is universal, yet deeply personal. Over the centuries, many have tried to put into words what the sorrowing soul feels but cannot express. These voices—some biblical, some historical—offer not only insight but healing. Of all the quotes I've encountered over the years, one stands out and has remained with me more than any other.

Rose Kennedy once said:

“It has been said that time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”

These words matter, especially in prison. They acknowledge a deep truth—some losses never fully leave us. They become part of us. Time doesn’t erase pain; it teaches us how to live with it. And in that sacred process, God meets us. The scar may remain, but so does grace.

Here are several other powerful reflections from Christians across time, who help us understand grief not as weakness, but as a path toward God's presence:

Charles Spurgeon

“I have learned to kiss the wave that throws me against the Rock of Ages.”


Even our pain can push us closer to Christ. Instead of running from the grief, we can let it drive us into the arms of the Savior.

Corrie ten Boom

“There is no pit so deep, that God's love is not deeper still.”
 For those grieving in the isolation of prison, these words bring light. No sorrow can take you beyond the reach of God’s love.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

“Nothing can make up for the absence of someone we love… It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap. He doesn’t fill it, but keeps it empty and so helps us to keep alive our former communion with each other—even at the cost of pain.”
 Bonhoeffer, who died in a Nazi prison camp, understood that grief is part of love. And God honors that love, even through loss.

Matthew Henry (commentator on Psalm 34:18)

“When God seems most distant, He is often most near. He is nigh unto the broken in heart, and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
 God doesn’t despise our brokenness—He draws near in it. These words remind us: grief is not a detour from spiritual life—it’s part of it. And in that valley, you are never alone. The saints have been there. Christ has been there. And He walks with you still.

6. Ministering to the Grieving Saints

In the body of Christ, grief should never be carried alone. While pain isolates, the Spirit unites—and through the love of fellow believers, God ministers His comfort. In prison, where sorrow is often hidden behind hardened faces and stoic silence, God calls forth strong, godly men to step up and minister to the brokenhearted. This is not optional—it’s biblical leadership in action.

A Sacred Responsibility

Biblical leaders are not just preachers of truth—they are carriers of compassion. In Isaiah 61:1-3, the Lord describes the ministry of His anointed servants:

“He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted… to comfort all who mourn… to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.”

God has entrusted this same ministry to every Spirit-filled believer. Inside prison walls, this calling is urgent. When a brother loses a mother, a child, a grandmother, or a close friend—it is the duty of strong men of faith to draw near.

Specific Steps for Ministering to the Grieving

Here are practical ways Christian men in prison can walk alongside grieving brothers:

1. Be Present – Don’t avoid them. Sit with them. Your silent presence may say more than words ever could (Job 2:13).

2. Let Them Talk – Invite their story. Let them weep. Don’t rush their healing or preach at them. Listen with your heart.

3. Invite their story. Let them weep.
One of the greatest gifts you can give a grieving brother is your ears. Listening is a ministry—a holy act of love that reflects the heart of Christ. Don’t rush their healing. Don’t try to "fix" them with quick answers or overloaded sermons. Sometimes, the best way to minister is to simply be quiet and present.

4. Grieving people need to know they are seen, heard, and safe. When you let someone pour out their sorrow, you are helping them lighten the unbearable weight of grief. Tears that are allowed to flow are often the beginning of healing.

5. “To answer before listening— that is folly and shame.”
—Proverbs 18:13 (NIV)

6. “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.” — James 1:19

7. Being a good listener requires humility. You set aside your own desire to speak, and instead, you make room for another’s pain. You’re not just hearing words—you’re tending wounds. Grieving men may need to repeat their story, cry without restraint, or sit silently in your presence. Don’t interrupt the holy work God is doing at that moment. The Holy Spirit often speaks the loudest in the silence between two people.

8. “A time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance…”— Ecclesiastes 3:4

9. Let them mourn. Let them talk. Be like Jesus on the road to Emmaus, who walked beside the two grieving disciples, patiently listening to their confusion and sorrow before opening their eyes to truth (Luke 24:13–35). Listening is the first step toward hope.

10. Speak the Word Gently – After listening, share a verse of hope. Let God’s Word do the healing. Don’t minimize their pain with clichés.

11. Pray With Them, Not Just for Them – Hold their hand. Put an arm on their shoulder. Let them hear your voice cry out to God on their behalf.

12. Follow Up – Grief doesn't expire after one day. Check in weeks later. Ask how they're holding up. Offer to read a Psalm or pray again.

Two Verses Every Grieving Saint Should Memorize

Encourage grieving men to commit these two verses to memory. They are life preservers in a sea of sorrow:

Psalm 34:18 –“The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Let them cling to the nearness of God in their darkest hour.

Revelation 21:4 –“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more…”
This is not the end. There is a day coming when grief will be no more.

A Final Word to Godly Men in Prison

Brothers, your calling is not on pause because of your prison sentence. In fact, your cell may be your pulpit. You have seen sorrow—now let God use it. Be a man who runs toward the weeping, not away from them. Speak truth soaked in grace. Bring comfort that costs you something.

As Paul wrote to the Corinthians:

“[God] comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction…” (2 Corinthians 1:4)

Let that be your ministry today

Final Thought: Grief Is Holy Ground

You are not less spiritual because you’re grieving. You’re not weak. You’re human. Even Jesus wept. And in your grief, you are never alone. Christ walks with you, weeps with you, and promises that one day, He will wipe every tear from your eyes (Revelation 21:4).

So don’t rush the process. Don’t hide your tears. Let your grief be what it is—a sacred testimony that you once loved deeply… and that one day, in God’s perfect time, you will see that love again.

Grief That Grows into Grace

Grief never fully leaves us. It changes, but it never disappears—and maybe that’s a mercy. Because in the ache, we are reminded of how deeply we loved, and how deeply we are still loved by our Father in Heaven. For those of us behind prison walls, grief can feel like a thief that shows up uninvited and overstays its welcome. But for those who know Christ, grief becomes an invitation—to deeper compassion, to greater ministry, to a heart softened and shaped for the kingdom.

I’ve walked through the valley of unimaginable sorrow—not once, but twice. And I’ve found that Christ walks there too. His presence doesn't erase the pain, but it transforms it. What once felt like a sentence of despair has, by His grace, become a calling to comfort.

If you are grieving today, know this: You are not forgotten. You are not forsaken. The Man of Sorrows understands every tear and every groan. And when we take the comfort He gives and extend it to others, we become living testimonies that beauty still rises from ashes.

A Prayer for the Grieving Behind Bars

Father of Mercies and God of All Comfort,
You see the broken hearts behind concrete walls, the pain that’s muffled by prison noise but never forgotten by You. For the man who weeps in silence, for the woman who aches without the embrace of family, Lord—draw near.

You are close to the brokenhearted and save those crushed in spirit. Be near now. Let Your Word speak louder than the sorrow. Let Your presence be felt more deeply than the pain.

And for those called to minister to the grieving—give them gentle hearts, listening ears, and wise words soaked in Your Spirit. Let them weep with those who weep, and hold out hope when despair threatens to drown.

Turn our mourning into ministry. Let our sorrow become sacred soil where Your comfort grows. And let none of us waste our tears, but offer them back to You—our Redeemer, our Restorer, our Eternal Hope.

In the name of Jesus Christ, who weeps with us and wipes every tear,

Amen!

From: Fight the Good Fight of Faith / Life Journal: by Gregg Harris