When Grief Lingers, God Draws Near: A Reflection from John 21

If you’ve ever lost a loved one, you know how grief can drape itself over your world like a heavy fog. Familiar things lose their taste. You wake up and go through the motions, but it feels like drudgery: you’re just getting by – one breath, one moment, one day at a time.

That emotional weight isn’t foreign to Scripture. I think of how the disciples felt in the days following Jesus’ crucifixion and death. Even after the resurrection, when they knew Jesus was alive, something still felt missing. His physical absence left them disoriented. The loss was palpable – so real, so raw, so much that they retreated to something familiar – fishing (John 21:1–14).

Sometimes, when we’re hurting, we retreat to what we know in a bid to find ourselves again. But here’s the beauty: Jesus met them right there. Right in that space of confusion and grief.

Peter and a few of the disciples went fishing. Most of these men were skillful at it – professional fishermen. However, they toiled all night but caught nothing. Imagine the frustration – trying to distract yourself from pain, and even that distraction doesn’t work.

Then, at daybreak, a stranger calls out from the shore, asking if they caught anything. The answer was short and simple: “no”. But it doesn’t end there. This stranger tells them to cast their nets again – this time with the assurance that their efforts won’t be in vain.

They could have brushed him off: “Sir, we’ve done this all night without success. We ain’t novices, we are skilled at this thing and we’ve tried every technique possible in all directions. Still nothing! Plus we’re so exhausted from trying all night.” But instead, they obeyed. And in that obedience, they saw the miraculous. The nets overflowed. It was then that they recognized Him—it was the Lord.

There’s so much layered in that moment, and here are a few lessons that linger with me:

  • Grief can blur recognition. At first, they didn’t even realize it was Jesus. Sometimes, sorrow clouds our ability to see clearly- even when God is standing right there.
  • God shows up in the ordinary. He met them at the shoreline—not in the synagogue, but in the middle of their work, their fatigue, their failure.
  • Restoration follows revelation. Later in that same passage, Jesus lovingly restores Peter with three simple questions: “Lovest thou me?” (John 21:15–19). And it’s worth noting—Peter was the one who said, “I go a fishing” (John 21:3). He was the one who led the others back into that old familiar rhythm. Perhaps out of guilt, shame, or simply a need for direction. But Jesus knew Peter’s heart. And just as personally as Peter had drifted, Jesus reached out to restore him—directly, deliberately, and tenderly.
  • There’s strength in grieving together. The disciples didn’t isolate; they stayed together. There’s beauty in leaning on one another in times of sorrow.

This reminds me of another tender moment in Scripture when Jesus Himself wept. He didn’t just comfort the grieving sisters of Lazarus with words—He shared in their sorrow. (You can read more about that in my earlier post here.)

Sometimes, comfort comes in surprising ways: a thoughtful message from a friend, a song that stirs your heart, a memory that reminds you you’re not forgotten. But most of all, comfort comes through the Holy Spirit.

Jesus knew that we would need more than memories – we would need His presence. Not just beside us, but within us. He promised the Comforter, and He kept that promise. The Holy Spirit is God’s presence made personal: guiding, strengthening, comforting us in ways no one else can.

This gift isn’t just for the disciples who once walked with Jesus. It’s for you and me, too. We are God’s children, grafted into His family, and we carry His Spirit within us. And in our lowest moments, He reminds us that He hasn’t left.

So if today feels heavy, take heart. He knows. He cares. And He has a plan—even when you don’t. His thoughts toward you are good. His presence is constant. And if you’ll trust Him, even in the ache, He’ll show you His glory.

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4, KJV)


This is the lock system of the Rideau Canal, a UNESCO World Heritage Site in Ottawa. It is designed to help boats transition between water levels by carefully opening and closing gates to raise or lower them. Here, movement requires waiting. It’s a living metaphor for grief – quiet, slow, but never wasted.


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