Dr. Crowder shared the following in a letter to future Living Waters Region Clergy on Thursday, March 19.
Grief Is Not Linear: A Pastoral Reflection for Chaplains, Clergy, and Churches
Beloved Colleagues,
Those who serve in ministry—whether as chaplains, clergy, or congregational leaders—regularly find themselves walking alongside people in seasons of deep grief. The loss of a loved one, the end of a relationship, the decline of health, the loss of a vocation, or even the loss of a dream can usher people into a landscape that feels unfamiliar and overwhelming. One of the most important truths we must remember, and gently teach within our communities of faith, is that grief is not linear. Grief does not move in a straight line from sadness to acceptance. It does not follow a predictable timetable, nor does it unfold the same way for every person. Rather, grief moves more like a journey through hills and valleys—sometimes steep, sometimes gentle, sometimes unexpectedly beautiful, and sometimes painfully difficult. There may be days when the grieving person feels a sense of stability, even moments of joy or gratitude. Then suddenly, without warning, a wave of sorrow can return with surprising intensity. A familiar song, a cherished photograph, a particular holiday, or the quiet of an evening can reopen emotions that seemed to have settled. This rhythm of rising and falling is not a sign that someone is “doing grief wrong.” It is simply part of how love continues to express itself in the absence of the one who is gone.
For many years, grief has often been discussed through the framework of stages. While these models have helped many people understand some emotional patterns of loss, they can sometimes create unintended expectations. Individuals may feel pressure to “move on,” “reach acceptance,” or “be strong” for others. When their experience does not match those expectations, they may wonder if something is wrong with them. As pastoral caregivers, we have an opportunity—and a responsibility—to gently challenge those assumptions. Grief is not a checklist. It is a deeply personal experience shaped by personality, culture, faith, relationships, and the circumstances of the loss itself. Two people grieving the same loss may respond in entirely different ways, and both responses can be healthy. Some people express grief outwardly. They cry, tell stories, and seek the comfort of community. Others process grief more quietly and internally. They may reflect in solitude, write, pray privately, or simply carry their memories silently. Neither approach is better than the other. Grief simply finds its own language in each person’s heart.
For chaplains and clergy, this understanding calls us into the ministry of presence rather than the ministry of explanation. Often people do not need answers to their grief; they need companions in it. Our role is not to fix grief or rush someone toward healing, but to walk with them through the terrain. This accompaniment can take many forms: sitting quietly beside a hospital bed, listening to the same story told again and again, offering prayer when words feel insufficient, or simply reminding someone that their feelings are valid and seen. Sometimes the most powerful pastoral care is not what we say but the space we hold.
In congregational life, the community also plays a crucial role in supporting those who grieve. The days immediately following a death are often filled with attention, visits, and expressions of sympathy. Yet after the funeral or memorial service, many grieving individuals find themselves navigating the long journey of loss with far less visible support. This is where the church’s ministry must extend beyond the moment of ceremony. Grief often deepens after the public rituals conclude, when daily life resumes and the permanence of absence becomes more apparent. The empty chair at the dinner table, the quiet home, the first holiday without a loved one—these are moments when grief resurfaces with profound clarity.
A healthy and compassionate community of faith remembers that grief continues long after the funeral. A simple phone call months later, a note acknowledging an anniversary, an invitation to share memories, or a prayer spoken in worship can remind grieving individuals that they are not alone. Scripture itself offers us a rich and honest witness to the experience of grief. The Psalms give voice to lament, confusion, anger, and longing. They remind us that faith does not require the suppression of sorrow. Instead, faith invites us to bring our whole selves—our pain, our questions, and our tears—before God.
Even Jesus, standing at the tomb of Lazarus, wept. In that brief but powerful moment recorded in the Gospel of John, we see that grief is not incompatible with faith or hope. Jesus knew resurrection was coming, yet he still entered fully into the sorrow of the moment. His tears affirm the sacredness of grief and the depth of love that accompanies loss. This biblical witness reminds us that grief is not a weakness. It is a reflection of relationship, memory, and love. Where there has been deep connection, there will often be deep sorrow when that connection is interrupted. Understanding that grief is not linear allows pastoral leaders and communities to create spaces of compassion and patience. It frees people from unrealistic expectations about how quickly they should heal or what their emotions should look like. Instead of measuring progress, we learn to honor the ongoing story of love that grief represents.
Over time, many grieving individuals discover that healing does not mean forgetting or “moving on.” Rather, healing often means learning how to carry the memory of a loved one in a new way. The relationship changes, but it does not disappear. Love continues through memory, through legacy, and through the quiet ways a person’s influence remains present in the lives of others. For those in ministry, accompanying someone through grief is both a privilege and a sacred responsibility. It reminds us that the heart of pastoral care is not found in perfect words or quick solutions but in faithful presence, compassionate listening, and enduring hope. Grief may not move in straight lines, but within its hills and valleys we often witness profound moments of grace: stories shared through tears, laughter returning after long silence, communities gathering to remember, and faith quietly sustaining those who mourn. In these sacred spaces, the church becomes what it is called to be—a community where sorrow is honored, love is remembered, and God’s compassion gently carries us forward.
