Ministry provides us with a front-row seat to the full range of human experience. One week, you are standing in a sanctuary decorated with flowers, watching a young couple promise forever. The next week, you are in a hospital room where machines hum louder than the conversation. On any given day, you can find yourself at the hospital celebrating a young couple’s first baby being born, feeling the fear and excitement of the days ahead. And in the next moment, you’re standing at a graveside, trying to find words that don’t feel as thin as paper as a family questions how they will even make it through their next moments.
If you stay in leadership long enough, you will walk with people through some of their highest moments and memories—engagements, marriages, new babies, graduations, job promotions—and through some of their darkest nightmares: terminal diagnoses, sudden loss, addiction, betrayal, and divorce. Ministry is tilled through different seasons, and grief is one of those seasons we do not talk about enough.
I recently lost a close friend to cancer. She was only 32, and during my own questions and wonderings, it reminded me that we live in a culture that avoids death. We try to run from it with all the modern technologies and efforts at our fingertips. We sanitize it and whisper about it. We treat it as if it is an interruption to “real life,” rather than part of the natural cycle that takes hold of all of us. But Scripture does not avoid it. The apostles wrote about death with startling clarity. They called it an enemy, yes, but a defeated one. They spoke of groaning, longing, waiting, and resurrection hope. A theology of dying is not morbid. It is deeply Christian.
Grief is part of our embodied existence in a broken world. We cling to hope, but we also feel the weight of sin’s destruction and the ache of living in the in-between. The already of Christ’s victory and the not yet of full restoration. Because this tension is real and unavoidable, the question for us in leadership is not whether grief will come, but how we will step into it when it does.
One of the greatest gifts we can give in that space is presence. Not answers. Not explanations. Not tidy theological bows. Presence.
The ministry of showing up is holy work. Sitting on a couch and letting silence do its job. Standing at a graveside and letting tears fall without rushing to wipe them away. Being near enough that someone does not have to carry their sorrow alone. Jesus did this. He stood outside Lazarus’ tomb and wept. He knew resurrection was minutes away, and He still wept. He did not rebuke Mary and Martha for their grief. He entered it.
As leaders, we can feel pressure to “say something meaningful.” But often the most meaningful thing we can do is resist filling the space. Grief is not a problem to solve. It is a wound to tend.
There are also things we need to be careful not to do in seasons of grief.
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- Do not rush people through their grief.
- Do not compare losses.
- Do not minimize pain with spiritual clichés.
- Do not say, “At least…” and then fill in the blank.
- Do not try to defend God as if He is fragile.
Statements like “God must have needed another angel” or “Everything happens for a reason” may be well-intentioned, but they can land as dismissive. In moments of acute loss, people are not looking for airtight theology. They are looking for compassion.
And yet, we also continue to cling to theology. The Christian story gives us words for both lament and hope. We can say, “This is not how it was meant to be.” We can call death what it truly is—an enemy. And we can whisper, sometimes through tears, that it will not have the final word. So, what do we do?
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- We show up.
- We listen more than we speak.
- We ask simple questions: “What has this week been like?” “What do you need today?”
- We bring meals.
- We send texts on the hard anniversaries.
- We remember names.
We normalize grief in our churches rather than sidelining it. We preach a resurrection that is tangible, not abstract. We talk about heaven not as escapism, but as promised restoration— a renewed creation. A day when every tear is wiped away, not because tears were unnecessary, but because they were seen.
Heaven matters in grief. Not in a way that avoids sorrow, but in a way that gives it meaning. The apostles wrote about longing to be with Christ, about mortality being overcome by life. They did not pretend death wasn’t painful. They simply refused to let it be final.
As leaders, we have the chance to shape how our communities grieve. We can model honest lament. We can create space for questions. We can hold both hope and heartbreak without forcing them to compete. There is something deeply beautiful about staying close to death instead of shrinking away from it. Not because we are morbid, but because we believe in resurrection. Not because we enjoy sorrow, but because we know redemption is coming.
Ministry will place you in situations where words seem small, and loss feels overwhelming. In those moments, remember this: your presence is not insignificant. Sitting quietly with someone who is grieving is not “less than”. It may, in fact, be one of the most Christlike things you do.
We are people of hope. But we are also people who weep. And in the in-between, we walk with one another until the day when faith becomes sight and grief gives way to glory.
Posted on March 6, 2026
Jacki C. King is a respected and beloved Bible teacher, author, and dedicated ministry leader. Her passion involves guiding women toward a deep love for Jesus and His Word, encouraging them to embrace their mission in their homes, workplaces, and communities. She is the author of “The Calling of Eve: How Women of the Bible Inspire the Women of the Church” (Tyndale 2022). A proud native Texan, Jacki serves alongside her husband Josh, who serves as Lead Pastor of their local church, and their three boys. She holds a bachelor’s degree in Biblical Studies and Ministry to Women from Criswell College, and a Master of Arts in Theological Studies from Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary.
Connect with Jacki on Twitter and Instagram at @JackiCKing
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