Those Who Mourn

by Terry Modica

Loss changes everything. Whether the loss comes through death, divorce, shattered dreams, or another life-altering event, we suddenly find ourselves living a life we never chose. We long for what was, yet God gently calls us toward what can be.

In one of His most intriguing teachings, Jesus uses the image of new wine and new wineskins to reveal how He compassionately leads us through seasons of painful change. In Mark 2:18-22, Jesus explains that old wineskins cannot contain new wine; the skins will burst and we’ll lose everything. Hidden in the point He’s making is the fact that there will be new wine.

His words don’t erase our sorrow, but they do offer a promise: Even when our hearts have been broken, God is already preparing something new.

ADVERTISEMENT

When my husband Ralph passed away, it felt like I had lost everything. It felt like my insides had been ripped out. Of course, I knew that Ralph was not my “everything.” But he had been intimately embedded in my life for half a century.

There were only two years remaining before we’d celebrate our golden anniversary. We had worked hard, with the help of God, to achieve this amazing milestone. We needed to celebrate it! But then, all of a sudden, while Ralph was still way too young to be finished with our earthly life together, the old wineskin of our loving relationship burst. No one expected his health problems to kill him, but they did.

In my grief, the idea of a new wineskin—a new life without Ralph—did not ease my pain. And then I heard Jesus say: “I know it hurts terribly, but I have plans for you — plans for good and not disaster. You’ll be doing new things that you never would have done during Ralph’s life” (referring to Jeremiah 29:11):

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.“

It’s true. Although I still deeply miss Ralph, my life has taken off in directions that prosper me, fill me with hope, and shape a new future that excites me.

The prosperity comes in the form of productive, meaningful life lived for the glory of God. It’s the fulfillment of one of my favorite scriptures, Psalm 1:1-3.

Blessed is the one
    who does not walk in the ways of the wicked
nor stand in the path that sinners take
   nor sit in the company of scoffers,
but delights in the law of the Lord,
    and meditates on His law day and night.
That person is like a tree planted near streams of water,
    which yields its fruit in due season
and whose leaves never wither.
    Whatever he does will prosper.

The hope that grows in the aftermath of loss includes the belief that someday I will see Ralph again and I will spend eternity with him. But it’s more than that. Hope is one of the top three virtues (faith, hope and love, as St. Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 13:13). Hope is not a wish; it’s real. It’s not an optimistic state of mind; it exists even when we feel depressed. Nor is it expectation; in whatever we expect, God has something better in mind.

Photo by Ronak Valobobhai on Unsplash

The future that God plans for us is the reason for our hope. It’s the building up of our prosperity. And yet…

And yet, we mourn the loss of the old wineskin that we had shared with our beloved. In order to pick up the new wineskin that Jesus is giving us, we have to let go of the old. Not the memories. Not the shared love. But the old way of deciding how we’ll spend each day. When the death of a loved one—or any other kind of loss—changes our lives, Jesus hands us a new wineskin. And He fills it with new wine: more time spent with friends, a hobby we had neglected, new activities, and new ministries. Our sufferings become redemptive when we use them to help others.

For months I prayed to taste the new wine, hoping it would ease my pain. But mourning cannot be rushed (try as I might). I had to walk the path of my new life with one foot wearing the shoe of grief and the other foot wearing the sandal of service.

That’s how it is with the healing process of grief.

The first thing that the Holy Spirit led me to do was help a friend lead our parish’s young adults group. While Ralph was alive, I never would have taken time for this. Now, it got me away from the too-quiet house and it added fellowship to my life. Self-discipline kept me going despite very low energy and great sadness. And I discovered how delightful it is to hang out with young adults who are hungry for deeper faith.

Later, I began to use the gift of writing to author new books. I restarted my inactive podcast show, “Footsteps to Heaven,” reformatting it into the host/guest interview format. My new wineskin was filling up.

When we do what Father God designed us to do, we experience joy. Joy in the midst of grief happens when we accept the changing of wineskins from old to new. It doesn’t get rid of the grief but it does mean that we are trusting God and His plans for our future.

On our earthly pilgrimage to heaven, there’s no such thing as sitting still. It’s okay to rest—in fact, it’s an important part of the grieving process. But moving forward is just as important.

To enjoy the new wine of the life that God has chosen for us, we must keep our eyes on Jesus. To do this, we have to take Him with us whenever our minds wander to the past. Instead of just sitting in our memories and getting depressed, we can walk through them with Jesus and then ask Him to lead us into the future that God has planned for us—a future of prospering, a future where hope kisses our broken hearts, a future of serving God’s kingdom in ways we had never imagined before.

---