Grief Doesn’t Win - 1 Peter 1:3-7

Introduction

It’s easy to live your whole life in dread. Dreading the disappointments of your work. Dreading the day that your blood pressure or your cholesterol aren’t normal. Dreading your kids growing up, or dreading them moving out. Dreading the burial of your parents. Dreading the difficulties that come with age. And, dread ruins joy.

Dread is often associated with the realization that no one will escape grief. Grief is as certain as death. (Can we just pause there for a moment and let that sink in?) During your life, you’ll bury people that you love more than your own life. You’ll lose out on dreams that you held so tightly that they felt like they were part of you. You’ll sin in ways that you didn’t think were possible and hurt people that you want, more than anything, to make feel safe. At various times and in various ways you will be “grieved by various trials,” Peter says.(Emphasize various trials)

So, we seem doomed to a life of dread.

God’s Word

And, that’s where the gospel intervenes. The gospel steps in to say that where the world looks to the future with dread because of grief to come, Christians look to the future with hope because we know that grief isn’t final. Joy is. Paul tells the church of Thessalonica that he doesn’t want them to “uninformed…that (they) may not grieve as others do who have no hope.” That is, he recognizes that they will know sorrow, but he wants them to recognize that their sorrow is always flavored with hope.

So, I wonder this morning where dread has crept into your life. I wonder where you’re tempted to feel sorrow and loss apart from hope. Well, wherever that is, why ever that is, I want us to see this morning “Why We Grieve with Hope:” (Headline)

Grief isn’t most “real.”

1 Peter 1:3 “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,”

Grief is normal, typical, and healthy. That’s to say that every life will experience painful loss, and the experience of that loss ought to be felt heavily. Many people recognize the first stage of grief as denial because when we see it, we know there has to be more. It’s not healthy for a person to experience a great loss and to feel ambivalent about it. That’s a more serious indicator.

So, Peter is talking here to a group of Christians that have been left reeling in grief. Roman persecution of Christians has reached fever pitch. These Christians have buried people that they love. They’ve lost their way of life. The dreams they had for their lives have been forfeited because of their faith in Jesus. That’s a lot of loss. And, it’s loss of life seemingly without either closure or dignity.

So, what Peter says to them is to enable them to grieve with hope. He says, “Don’t forget you’ve been born again!” Don’t forget that the “great mercy” of God has already interrupted your misery and “caused” you to be born into a “living hope.” I want you to think about what it means for us to revel in God’s “great mercy” and to be “born again.” It means that we’ve accepted that reality right now is not as it was meant to be and that we were part of the problem. To be saved one must realize that they were born as a sinner into a sinful world that is filled with suffering and that their only hope was that they could be “born again” so that their sins are forgiven now and so that they will live in a redeemed world eventually.

We “accept” reality.

So, as Christian, we aren’t people who live in denial of reality. We accept it. We accept that we contribute to the problem of the world with our sin. We accept that we are too weak to fix it. We accept that our world is cursed and broken. We accept that death has come because of sin and divorce has come because of sin and disappointment has come because of sin. We accept reality. And, that’s the key to processing grief. To accept that cancer interrupted your dreams. To accept that your spouse really did cheat on you. To accept that you don’t have the job that you felt like you were promised. To accept that your child has special needs and that your dreams for them aren’t possible. Not pretending, not compartmentalizing, not escaping, but accepting.

We “trust” in a “greater” reality.

But, Christians are able to accept and face the profundity of these losses in a way that is unique. We realize that though this is reality today, it’s not reality forever. We are people who live between two realities. By God’s “great mercy,” God has “caused us to be born again to a living hope.” So, yes, this death of my child or end to my relationship or dementia for my parent is reality today, but it won’t be reality forever. There is a greater reality that is yet to come and that reality will last forever, and that’s what we trust.

In the last church I served, our lead pastor suffered the sudden loss of both of his parents within a matter of weeks. And, I remember his first Sunday back in the pulpit after such a profound loss. The introduction of his sermon was interrupted by him just weeping. All of us knew how badly he was hurting. He was close to his parents and lived beside them. He had taken care of them. So, when he went to speak the truth of the Bible, all he could do was just weep. His grief was very real. Yours is too. But, I remember when he was able to find his voice his again, that he looked up and with a tear-drenched, grief-stricken smile he said, “I’m just so thankful for Jesus, and I really can’t wait to get to heaven.”

That’s what it looks like to grieve with hope. His grief was real, but it wasn’t most real. He was living between two realities: One is the pain in the here and now and the other of hope that will endure forever. So, he accepted today’s pain in light of tomorrow’s hope. This morning, Jesus enables you to look at the devastating loss that you’ve known — the significant death of loved one, the loss of a dream you’ve always had, the end to your marriage, the disappointment of your health — He enables you to look at it and accept it. And then, He lifts up your chin so that you can see just as truly that though it’s true; it’s not most true. His salvation of you from all of this is.

And, I want us to really key in on the two cornerstones of that greater reality so that you can see that…

Grief isn’t most “certain.”

1 Peter 1:3–5 “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.”

Grief is the loss of someone or something that removes certainty. It’s the fresh absence of an assumption. It’s losing an apparent need. It’s going to bed alone for the first time in 40 years. It’s waking up and not having a job to go to or a steady source of income to depend upon. It’s picking up the phone to call your dad and realizing he isn’t there. It’s realizing that you may never know what it’s like to carry a baby full term or to go home to a loving wife. These were assumptions you had always made, maybe even taken for granted, and now suddenly they’re gone.

So, grief is the realization that the rest of your life will look different than you expected it to look, and, in this way, grief seems to threaten the future. I like to describe grief as a big blob that just seems to hang over you, and you point to that blob and say, “I’m grieving that my husband cheated on me and left me.” But, to really reckon with grief, you have to begin breaking down that blob into bite size pieces so that you realize that all major grief is comprised a thousand tiny griefs. The grief of not being valued by your husband and the grief of not feeling like enough for him. The grief of financial insecurity and the grief of realizing you won’t grow old together. It’s the grief of wondering whether you will die alone or the potential ramifications on your children. It’s the insecurity of the future that grief produces, which is often shaded by your own regrets of what you could’ve done or should’ve done differently.

Our “hope” is “certain.”

And, it’s to this uncertainty of the future that Peter is showing us again that our new birth bolsters us. Our new birth lays two cornerstones for us so that we can build a life upon that won’t crash down in all the chaos. The first is found at the the of verse 3 and is “a living hope.” I’m using the word hope a lot in this series. It’s because a lot you are looking for hope. What do Christians mean when they say “hope”? The type of hope we’re talking about is not the type we’re used to talking about. We’re used to talking about hope as an aspirational desire for the future. “I hope I get a big, fat tax refund.” “I hope that my truck lasts another 100k miles.” That’s not what Christian hope looks like. We’re not aspirational about the future; we’re certain. Our hope has been verified. Jesus was raised from the dead. Death has been defeated. The earth is being renewed. The Kingdom is coming. Jesus is reigning and coming soon. That is, our hope is alive, and it will live as long as Jesus does.

And, Jesus’ resurrection is not just about one day; it’s about today. Your hope won’t spring to life some day; your hope is living right now. Jesus won’t be raised from the dead one day to give us hope. He’s alive right now. And, it’s this CERTAIN, living, verified hope of that reality that produces the energy and perseverance to make it through the loss of your husband or son or friend or business partner. It’ll sustain you through your shattered dreams and altered future. Your future with Christ isn’t, “I hope so,” but “I know.”

Our “inheritance” is “secure.”

The second cornerstone that our new birth lays for us is found in verse 4 and is a secure inheritance. Born again “TO a living hope” and “TO an inheritance that is imperishable.” Our hope is not in the type of flimsy inheritances we can receive on earth. Our heirlooms crumble, rust, and fade into dust. They can be lost, stolen, or misplaced. The inheritance for those in Christ isn’t like that at all. Our inheritance is not the dead leaving something to the living. The gospel is the dead receiving an inheritance from the Living. It’s not the dead leaving something for us; it’s the Living calling us into a share in his very life. It’s where the dead are given life. Our hope is as imperishable, undefiled, and unfading as the resurrected Christ. It won’t rust or fade. It can’t be lost or stolen.

Grief wants you to believe that your future has been stolen away, and that’s where the gospel steps in. I preached this passage at Shawn Keel’s funeral. Shawn passed away a year and a half ago at 36 years old with wife and two young kids at home. And, at his funeral it felt like the future had been stolen away. Anniversaries and birthdays and graduations had always been pictured with him there, but now the future was different than that. And, this loss is significant. It’s real and valid. But, it’s temporary. Shawn is already enjoying his inheritance, and someday you will enjoy yours, too. The sense of loss will be overwhelmed and displaced by the inheritance that is being saved for you.

Fill the security of this: Your inheritance is “kept” for you, and you’re “kept” for it. For He won’t keep your inheritance without keeping you, too. Jesus has prepared a place for you. You have a reservation in eternity, and it’s held by your resurrected King who sits at the right hand of the Father. And, he’s escorting you (“guarded” military term) to your mansion through these choppy water with his own resurrection power (v. 5).

You see, grief is certainly telling you the truth when it tells you that the future will be different than you planned. You need to accept that realization. But, it also tempts you to buy the lie that your future isn’t secure. Your hope is alive. Your inheritance is kept for you. Your safety net is in place. You’re going to be okay. Your future is more certain than your grief is.

Grief isn’t most “permanent.”

1 Peter 1:6–7 “In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.”

Grief requires the right “expectations.”

(Draw expectations chart) When it comes to grief, having the right expectations is key to hope. Healing is a process, not a light switch. (Draw chart one — This is how we expect our sanctification to go, and this is how we expect our healing to be. Steadily up and better every day.) I had two major surgeries with two completely different experiences. The first was an emergency surgery, and they’re literally reading me my patient rights as they’re whisking me away to the operating room. I had no idea what was in front of me. So, when I woke up, spent 9 days in the hospital, and 7 weeks in a chair, I freaked out. I thought this was my new normal. I didn’t think I was going to be okay, and it made the experience that much harder. During the second surgery, I had two weeks to process leading up to it. The doctor told me that I’d be comfortable during my four days in the hospital, but that I’d get home and think I was dying. And, he said the second day would be worse. But, the third day would be some better and after a week, most of the severe pain would subside. So, when I went home and the first day was awful, I thought, this is what I should expect. The second day — same. The third day, I felt a little better, and after 7 days, the worst pain had subsided. I wasn’t great, but I felt on schedule. So, I realized I was okay.

(Draw chart 2) So, we should expect our grief to be less like a steady upward climb and more like a dot graph. Sometimes it’s really bad; sometimes, it’s okay. But, over time the floor raises and the ceiling raises. The bad days become more bearable, and the good days become more enjoyable. The anger and sorrow and depression are part of the expectation of grief. They are on schedule. So, long as you’re moving generally upward, bad days will come. We want them to space out more and more.

Grief requires the right “outlook.”

That is, we should expect our experience to be what Peter says. We should recognize that though the deep sense of loss feels permanent; it won’t last. Now, as Christians, that doesn’t mean that you won’t find yourself tearing up for the rest of your life over a loss or that you won’t miss your spouse or child every, single day. It means that you recognize that ultimately Your pain loses in the end. The sting of death loses in the end. Hope wins. Your pain doesn’t lead to defeat; your pain leads to praise. It’s “for a little while.” That’s the outlook that changes it all.

As Peter looked at this suffering church, his mind must’ve went back to where he saw this story before. He saw his hope appear to die on a bloody cross. He had turned away from Christ and abandoned all hope. But then, Sunday came and Jesus rose, and the cross turned out to be a testament to the genuineness of Jesus as the Savior. So, the cross became a source of praise. Pain had lost. Hope had won. The pain had only lasted for a little while, but Jesus’ glory was going to last forever.

So, your grief feels like forever right now, but it’ll only be a memory one day. From the perspective of eternity you will look back over the devastation of today so that you can say with Paul: “For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen.” That’s the expectation of Christians. That’s reason we grieve with hope.