8 Resolutions Jesus Would Be Happy WithSample

2. Resolve to Grieve with God

Jesus is still at the beginning of His most famous sermon, the Sermon on the Mount, and already He’s flipping the script.

He’s speaking to a crowd that isn’t winning by any worldly standard. These are people crushed under Roman rule, scraping by in poverty, burdened by sickness, failure, disappointment. People whose dreams haven’t just been delayed, they’ve been shattered.

And to them, not the successful or the self-sufficient, Jesus says, “You are the blessed ones.” (Matthew 5:4, NIV)

That line alone would’ve made the crowd lean in.

Because in every society, ancient or modern, we tend to bless the unbothered. The ones who smile through it all. The positive thinkers. The ones who "don’t let it get to them." But Jesus goes the other way.

He says, “Blessed are those who mourn.”

Not those who fake it. Not those who numb it. But those who feel the ache and don’t run from it.

The Greek word Jesus uses for “mourn” is pentheō, and it’s intense. It’s not a moment of misty-eyed sadness. It’s soul-deep grief. The kind that comes when something sacred has been lost, when you’re undone, heart cracked open.

This isn’t just about mourning death (though it includes that). It’s about mourning everything that’s broken:

The injustice you see on the news

The pain in your own family

The wound you carry from a past season

The parts of your story you wish you could rewrite

The sin you wish you could un-choose

To mourn like this is to see clearly. It’s the refusal to live numb or distracted. It’s honesty with God and yourself. It’s keeping your heart soft in a world that teaches us to harden up.

And Jesus calls that blessed.

Why?

Because comfort doesn’t come to the closed-off. It comes to the open-hearted.

To those who dare to feel loss, and still dare to hope.

Jesus isn’t praising sadness for sadness’ sake. He’s talking about spiritual resilience, the kind of inner life that refuses to settle for shallow peace. The ones who mourn are the ones still awake to what’s wrong and still longing for what’s right. And the comfort Jesus promises? It’s not a platitude or a “thoughts and prayers” moment.

It’s presence.

It’s the Spirit of God Himself, called the Comforter (John 14:16), who draws near when the tears won’t stop, and everything feels raw. It’s Psalm 34:18 (NIV), “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” And it’s the promise of Revelation 21:4 (NIV), “‘He will wipe away every tear... there will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain...”

We want resurrection, but we often try to skip crucifixion.

We want joy, but without lament.

We want healing, but resist naming the wound.

But in the kingdom of God, grief isn’t a detour; it’s the path.

We mourn not because we’re weak, but because we love.

And to love in a broken world means allowing your heart to break, too.

To mourn is to tell the truth about the pain and to hold it in the presence of God. And every time we do, Jesus meets us there. With real comfort. Not always answers. Not always fixes. But comfort. Deep, divine, unshakable comfort.

So if you're in a season of mourning, don’t rush through it. Don’t shove it down. Feel it. Name it. Bring it to God. Write down the burden you are wrestling with and hear Jesus say: “You're not alone. You’re blessed. And you will be comforted.”

Prayer

Jesus, I don’t want to pretend. I bring You my sorrow, my disappointment, the things I’ve lost. I confess the brokenness in me and in the world around me. Help me not to numb it, but to feel it, and in feeling it, to find You. Be my Comforter. Meet me in the mourning. Keep my heart soft. Help me trust that even my tears are held by You. Amen.

Reflection

What loss, wound, or injustice do you need to name honestly before God? How might you make space to receive His comfort rather than numbing the pain?