Church. Today is a terrible day.
In John 16:33 Jesus said, “I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” In the ebb and flow of life, there are days that are harder than others. There are also days that are far greater than others. Hence “ebb and flow.” Today the water is scary, deep, and dark.
Loss is a universal experience—one that brings us to the edge of our humanity, where pain and faith intertwine in ways that are both bewildering and transformative. When someone we love is taken from us, we are confronted with questions that echo through the chambers of our hearts: Why Chris? Why Daylee? Why Emma? Why this way? What remains of us after they’re gone? Yet, even in the depth of our grief, we find that worship can become the anchor that holds us steady, tethering us to a God who remains constant, even in our sorrow.
In the immediate aftermath of loss (especially young, vibrant, and still-dreaming lives), worship may feel like the furthest thing from our minds. How can we lift our voices in praise when our hearts are breaking? How do we sing of His goodness when we feel the weight of loss pressing down on our spirit? The beauty of worship in these moments is that it isn’t about pretending the pain doesn’t exist; it’s about bringing it into God’s presence. The Psalms teach us that lament is a form of worship—an honest pouring out of our hearts before the One who understands our grief more deeply than we do.
When we worship through our pain, we declare that God is still sovereign, even when our circumstances seem chaotic. We acknowledge that He is good, even when life feels anything but. This doesn’t decrease or cancel our sorrow; rather, it invites God into it. It’s in these moments of raw vulnerability that we often encounter His comfort most profoundly. As Isaiah 61:3 promises, He gives “a crown of beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, and a garment of praise for a spirit of despair.” Worshiping God through loss doesn’t always look like singing songs or lifting hands. Sometimes, it looks like whispering prayers through tears. Sometimes, it’s a simple act of choosing to trust Him when every fiber of our being wants to pull away. And sometimes, it’s as quiet and sacred as sitting in His presence, offering Him the broken pieces of our hearts.
Through it all, we are reminded that our God is the God of redemption. He is not distant from our pain; He entered into it fully through Jesus, who wept at Lazarus’ tomb even though He knew resurrection was coming. This tells us that our grief matters to God, and it’s in His presence that we find hope—not just for the restoration of all things in eternity but for the healing of our hearts in the here and now. To worship God through loss is to declare that death does not have the final word. It’s to affirm that love endures beyond the grave and that the God who is with us in our mourning is also the God who will one day wipe every tear from our eyes.
So, as so many of you walk through the valley of Chris & Daylee Overton and Emma Carroll, take heart. Worship, in whatever form it takes for you, is not about having all the answers or being unshaken by grief. It’s about leaning into the One who holds us when we cannot hold ourselves. It’s about finding, even in the shadow of death, the light of His presence.
We’ll talk about that more Sunday as we declare the unfathomable PEACE delivered to earth by Jesus. Invite someone who needs this and might not normally choose church. We go on, only by the grace of God.
Pastor Brent