Blessed are those who mourn

This article was orginally posted by Diego Gomes to www.digeogomes.blog you can view the original version by clicking here.

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“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” — Matthew 5:4.

Jesus’ second beatitude may seem like a contradiction. To mourn—and be happy about it? But the kind of mourning Jesus speaks of isn’t just any kind of weeping. The original word He uses carries the weight of deep sorrow—grief, intense suffering, the kind of sadness felt in mourning a loss.

It’s the cry of someone missing something—or rather, someone. It’s the weeping of the bride for the absence of the Bridegroom, a homesickness for heaven poured out in the form of tears.

For some personalities, the word tears can be unsettling. To cry is to allow yourself to enter the most vulnerable state of human emotion—tears are perhaps our emotional nakedness. Yet Jesus is not speaking of shallow sentimentality, but of a posture of the heart—a way of positioning ourselves before life and before God.

Those who mourn may not always shed visible tears, but their hearts are aligned with the Lord’s heart. They weep for what He weeps for and carry the burdens of a broken world with compassion that reflects His. Even while living as foreigners in a fallen world, they cry out for eternity:

“How can the guests of the bridegroom mourn while he is with them? The time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them; then they will fast.” Matthew 9:15.

And those days have come! Jesus is no longer physically here. Though we now live in the important age of the Church—a time of preparing the bride and making way for Jesus’ return—we are still in a world under the sway of the evil one, engaged in a spiritual battle against darkness.

It is both natural and healthy for warriors to cry in the middle of war.

These are tears of homesickness for our true homeland, the ache of battle wounds, the horror in the face of the world’s cruelty. While we live on earth, we are pilgrims—not to escape life here, but to live with a longing for eternity.

We are blessed when we mourn—not because God delights in our pain, but because this kind of sorrow brings us before Him with brokenness and hope. There is no moment in which a father’s embrace is more meaningful to a child than in times of tears.

Jesus warned us: in this world, we would have trouble. And the apostle Paul showed us how to face suffering with purpose. He was beaten, betrayed, shipwrecked, hungry, and cold—but all of it shaped him into Christ’s likeness.

In Romans 8:17–18, he reminds us:“If indeed we share in His sufferings in order that we may also share in His glory… our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

Pain can either deform us or transform us—it all depends on who is shaping our hearts in the process.

Scripture is filled with tears—and God never wastes one. Jesus Himself wept with Mary at Lazarus’ death (John 11). He wept over Jerusalem’s unbelief (Luke 19).

He knows what it is to feel. And more than that—He promised comfort. Yes, those who mourn will be comforted. Not with empty promises, but with the real presence of the Holy Spirit—the promised Comforter who lives within us:

“And I will ask the Father, and He will give you another Counselor to be with you forever—the Spirit of truth. The world cannot accept Him, because it neither sees Him nor knows Him. But you know Him, for He lives with you and will be in you.” John 14:16–17.

Today, Jesus wipes our tears through the Holy Spirit. And one day, He will wipe them away forever:“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” Revelation 21:4.

Though spiritual mourning is often a natural response born from the Holy Spirit within us—who intercedes with groanings too deep for words (Romans 8:26–27)—we can also cultivate spiritual mourning as a spiritual discipline.

“Why cry?” you might ask. First—for ourselves. When we recognize our sin, like Isaiah did:“Woe to me! I am ruined…” (Isaiah 6:5). That is the cry of repentance.

Then—for others. When we intercede, putting ourselves in someone else’s place and lifting them before God in prayer. This is the cry of compassion—beautifully and powerfully modeled by Pope Francis during the COVID-19 pandemic, as he stood alone in that empty square, praying for humanity with tears and compassion.

In both cases, there is comfort—the comfort of grace that forgives, transforms, saves, and restores.

So, let me invite you to reflect: Have you been crying lately? If so, what kind of tears are yours? Are they the occasional, weary tears that life’s hardships bring? Or are they the intentional tears of one who, as a child confident in the father’s love, turns sorrow into prayer before the throne of grace?

There’s a kind of mourning that leads to despair. But there’s another kind that leads to hope—and that’s the kind Jesus calls blessed.

Today’s Prayer:Lord, teach me to weep for the right reasons. Give me a heart that is sensitive to Your Spirit—one that won’t grow comfortable in this world or hardened by its pain. Let me weep, yes—but may my tears water the ground for eternal joy. Amen.