Comfort is not a one-time, one-size-fits-all experience that can fix our grief and send us on our way in life. Rather, comfort is a recurring part of grief. When we grieve, God is persistent, often relentless in offering comfort, sometimes in ways we could never imagine. God comforts us again and again and again, “Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up. You will increase my honor and comfort me once again.” (Psalm 71:20-21 NIV).

   It is an absolute certainty that there will be some trouble in our life. Trouble is inescapable—most know what it feels like to have trouble, to be in the middle of trouble, maybe even to be in trouble. The death of one we love is perhaps the very definition of spiritual and emotional trouble. When we grieve we are troubled in mind, body, soul, and spirit, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 NIV). We experience the comfort of God when we take heart, whatever our trouble.

   The psalmist describes trouble as the depths of the earth. When we grieve, for a while we reside in a place that feels very much like the depths of the earth. Sometimes we describe this as being “in the pits”. Time and again God pulls us away from the edge of despair and rescues us from the depths of our grief, "from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up”. However often we experience setbacks and fall back into the depths of grief, the promise is that God will bring us up again and comfort us.

   The experience of comfort is cumulative—over time it adds up to peace. We are blessed with comfort in every large and small expression of caring grace. Comfort overwhelms us when we hold a baby in our arms and feel our heart respond with pure love to the sweet smell of innocence. Comfort floods our spirit when we play with a small child and feel the energy and life-giving joy of being carefree, if only for a moment. Comfort alleviates our pain when we are enfolded by the wordless, warm embrace of one who has experienced the same grief we now know. Those who comfort us with a silent hug that says “I understand, I love you, I care” have themselves been comforted by God. In this world they are agents of God's comfort and God's again.

   My late husband spoke about comfort in a sermon on “Grief and Death”, “I can commend to you a God who loves you, who cares about you, and who will hold you in his arms if you will let Him.” Could there be a better description of comfort? As he spoke, he poured his power and passion into the word cares. At the time, he could not have imagined that his words would be meant for me. I am comforted again and again by our transcendent love, alive and made whole by the power of God's grace

   When the psalmist affirms that God will “increase our honor”, we question what this means in the context of our lived reality. It means that God is at work in our life to make us a better person because of, or perhaps despite our experience of grief. On our long walk through the valley of the shadow of death we discover that grief never leaves us where it finds us. Grief can leave us fearful and disillusioned, or grief can enrich us and enlarge our faith. When at last we move beyond the most painful part of our grief, with the wisdom of hindsight we sense that we have been refined by our experience of death and grief. We have greater compassion for the suffering of others. We cherish the gift of life. We have been transformed for new life through God’s comfort—again, and again, and again, "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God" (2 Corinthians 1:3-4 NIV).

For the Lord comforts his people and will have compassion on his afflicted ones.
Isaiah 49:13 NIV