It has been almost two years since Mom died. Never having gone through this intense of a loss, I don’t know what to expect. As the church builds their anticipation toward Easter this year, I find myself increasingly frustrated and hurt by the imbalance (more on that later). So much victory, so little heartbreak. Where do I belong?

Our worship band tends to pull out “Easter Sunday” songs before the actual day in order to get the congregation familiar with them. Revving the engine, so to speak. I know. I used to be part of it. It never bothered me before. After grief, worship music is different. One song in particular has rubbed me the wrong way: Dead Things Come Alive by Brandon Lake, Chris Brown and Elevation Worship. It’s a gloriously positive song, highlighting that Jesus is a healer, savior, all-powerful, the one who crushes the serpent’s head, the one with dominion over death. Yes and amen. I believe that. The end of the song repeats these couple things: “Where, oh death, is now your sting? And where, oh grave, your victory?” This quotes 1 Corinthians 15:55. The other refrain repeated is “Dead things come alive in the name of Jesus.”

All true statements. All things I believe and are great cause for hope as a Christian. But it’s incomplete. It’s out of balance. It’s overwhelming victory with little to no grief. I can already hear the argument: “But there’s the Good Friday service.” Yes, there is. One time a year we allow ourselves to look at sin’s effect on us and the world, and to grieve it. Once a year. That is, if our church allows a minor key service for Good Friday. Some can’t hold the tension even on that day, and put in victorious worship songs. Assuming we do it well, once a year is not enough. It is a symptom of our pain-avoidance as a church that we cannot grieve, mourn, weep and lament together on a regular basis. The lament psalms are around a third of Israel’s public praise songs. We are not even close to that. It’s a great miss, considering how much difficulty and pain we walk through in this life.

C.S. Lewis also experienced this death-aversion, and had this to say in A Grief Observed. “It is hard to have patience with people who say ‘There is no death’ or ‘Death doesn’t matter.’ There is death. And whatever is matters. And whatever happens has consequences, and it and they are irrevocable and irreversible. You might as well say that birth doesn’t matter. I look up at the night sky. Is anything more certain than that in all those vast times and spaces, if I were allowed to search them, I should nowhere find her face, her voice, her touch? She died. She is dead. Is the word so difficult to learn?”

We celebrate births, and ask how the mother and father and child are doing as he/she grows. We check in, we celebrate milestones. We know that life matters. When someone dies, we don’t know what to do. We get uncomfortable. After the funeral, we never mention that person’s name. We don’t check in on how the bereaved are doing. We don’t recognize milestones or anniversaries. We don’t remember the dead in our services or conversations. We don’t sing their grief. We don’t pray their groans. Perhaps your church does. Most do not.

I was in a GriefShare group when our worship band began rehearsing that song. Over and over, I could hear “Dead things come alive in the name of Jesus” while we were grappling with the pain of our mother/daughter/wife/father’s death. The irony was not lost on me. While some people can worship to that song, it hit me like an arrow in the heart. What I heard was, “Dead things come alive in the name of Jesus, except your mom. Maybe you didn’t pray in the name of Jesus enough.” Another part of me fought back and said, “No, dead things don’t come alive. Not now. I know my mother will rise again, but dead things also stay dead. For years.”

It wouldn’t be as painful to hear this song if we would actually acknowledge the sting death brings in the present. But all we do now is celebrate that death has no victory or sting. Then what is this agony inside me? Jesus never meant for us to live only celebrating. Faith and tears coexist. Trust can look like bringing doubts and questions to God. Weeping does not mean there is no hope. Can not both be true? Can’t we weep over death while believing there is resurrection coming? I can weep with great sorrow because my mom is dead, while trusting God will raise her from the dead. I can ache and ask God all my questions while believing his promises are true.

1 Corinthians 15 was written to some people who didn’t believe there was a resurrection of the dead. Paul was writing to convince and explain to them what is true of Jesus’ death and resurrection and what will be true of us when we rise. Our church context today has no trouble remembering we will rise again, but spends almost no time mourning or grieving death, disappointment and loss. The grave is empty, but we’re not sad it was filled in the first place. We’re out of balance, and that alienates people who are deeply grieving. More than that, it hurts the church, who is not equipped to walk through great trials, who don’t mourn the things God mourns, and who have no deep comfort to offer those whose lives have blown up. It’s a shallow worship when we don’t weep over our Lazarus’ death. 1 Corinthians 15:55 was not written so people would not mourn. It was written so that they could “stand firm” and “let nothing move you (1 Corinthians 15:58). It was written so they could continue on in their faith.

Sometimes faith is celebration. Sometimes it is weeping with great sorrow. Sometimes is it living with a continual ache, with part of you missing until you meet Jesus yourself. That’s a long time to wait. And living with that deep ache is exactly what your victorious Savior is an expert in. He not only rose from the dead, he suffered. He groaned. He wept. He lamented. He knew grief intimately and deeply. He knows your story and walks through every moment of it with you. Yes, on Easter Sunday, many people’s expectations of worship will be rejoicing with loud singing, smiles, hands raised, celebrating the victory of Jesus’ resurrection. Your Easter offering may be tears, weeping, aching, and groaning, seeking to continue on when the weight is heavy. Even if the church doesn’t recognize your weeping and groaning as worship, Jesus does. He sees it, and it honors him. It’s a beautiful Easter offering.