Grief comes easily to me. The furnace of my many afflictions—stoked by painful bone disease, stage 4 cancer, advancing arthritis, perpetual 35-year-long head pain, and multiple lumbar injuries (not to mention various relational and spiritual sorrows)—has reached a point of high heat. My bones sometimes melt, and my spirit feels hot within me.

When you grieve as much as I have, you sometimes wonder what the Lord thinks of it. Is my grief permissible, or have I fallen into grieving doubt and self-pitying discontent? I believe there are biblical answers to these questions, since in many ways the Bible is a record of tears—one long, nearly unbroken recorded sequence of lament and joy.

Legitimate Grief

The Bible is a record of tears—one long, nearly unbroken recorded sequence of lament and joy.

We hear the sound of Israel’s lament in Egypt, and we read the ancient Hebrew poets vent their many sorrows and sighs. Later, we meet some weeping prophets, an early church familiar with grief, and a frequently tearful pastor—all of whom bear witness to the validity of grief in a genuine life of faith (Ex. 2:23–25; Jer. 9:1; Acts 8:2; 20:19, 31, 36–38; Rom. 8:18–23; 9:1–2; Phil. 2:27; 3:18; Rev. 6:9–10).

Our Lord was a “man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isa. 53:3). He’s the sinless One who cried out in loud lament, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” and who “offered up prayers and supplications with loud cries and tears” in the days of his flesh (Matt. 27:46; Heb. 5:7).

He’s also the One who wept over the death of his dear friend Lazarus (John 11:33–38), even though he knew he was going to raise Lazarus from the dead. Before Jesus fixed the tragedy, he chose to feel it, which is a good word for anyone in a caregiving role today. By choosing tears, he showed that when sad things happen, it’s OK to feel sad—even if we know there’s a happy ending.

I hope this speaks to us all. Severed relationships, church hurt and divisions, broken marriages, shattered dreams, fractured families, lost jobs, malignant tumors, deceased loved ones, unrealized dreams—all are real sorrows and valid griefs. We’re permitted to weep. While it’s wonderful when truth comforts us and offers hope, that hope doesn’t mean we shouldn’t mourn life’s broken, battered, and burdensome aspects. Life hurts. We need tears, both to heal our wounded hearts and to mirror the responses of our Savior.

When Grief Goes Bad

But the depth of my grief makes me wonder if grief can become sinful. And if so, when? Is it possible to grieve too much or loudly or long, so as to dishonor God? Is there ever a time when it’s sinful to be sad? This is an urgent question for me, since I long to honor my Savior in my sighing and singing and in my living and dying. I need to know when my grief has gone too far.

Is it possible to grieve too much or loudly or long, so as to dishonor God?

The book of Job makes it clear it’s possible to grieve either blamelessly or sinfully. Job’s mourning early on was guiltless. He tore his robe, shaved his head, and sprawled on an ash heap. In all this lamentation, he “did not sin or charge God with wrong” (Job 1:20–22; see 2:7–10). But later, he did cross a line, and God rebuked him soundly.

So where is that line? And when does grief become sin? Here are five answers.

1. Grief becomes sinful when it’s blasphemous.

Blasphemy accuses God of doing wrong or acting unjustly. Early in his trials, Job didn’t charge God with wrong. But later he did. When he didn’t, he was commended (1:22). When he did, he was rebuked (40:6–9). I may ask God why he has done what he has done. But I may not charge him as being wrong for doing it.

2. Grief becomes sinful when it’s ruinous.

When my ongoing and unrelenting grief undermines and even ruins my life of faith and keeps me from facing life responsibly, it has become sinful. David grieved his son’s death but then rose, got cleaned up from his mourning, and resumed worship and the responsibilities of his life (2 Sam. 12:15–20).

There are times to grieve, and there are times to face whatever it is that God has planned for us to do, and to get up and do it (Eccl. 3:1–11). John Piper expresses responsible grief well: “Occasionally, weep deeply over the life you hoped would be. Grieve the losses. Feel the pain. Then wash your face, trust God, and embrace the life that he’s given you.”

3. Grief becomes sinful when it’s hopeless.

We aren’t to grieve hopelessly as the world does (1 Thess. 4:13), and while we may be perplexed by life, we ought not to be “driven to despair” (2 Cor. 4:8). Hopelessness is essentially a denial of God’s promises, and hopeless grief dishonors Christ’s work and triumphs. I must choose hope.

4. Grief becomes sinful when it’s idolatrous.

When we refuse to be comforted, we sometimes reveal a greater love for the people and possessions of this life than for our Savior, which can lead us to forsake him.

The book of Hebrews is about believers tempted to forsake Christ because of how hard their life of faith had become. This is when grieving needs to stop: when it makes me think I need something or someone better than Jesus, and when it tempts me to forsake him for another. We’d do well to remember the groaning of the people of Israel who wanted to turn back from following God because leeks, onions, and garlic were more appealing than he was (Num. 11:1–6).

5. Grief becomes sinful when it’s joyless.

Paul commands us, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice” (Phil. 4:4). And his example models deep sorrow and profound joy simultaneously. Joy isn’t optional for the believer. It’s a conscious choice to remember and contemplate all the lavish blessings we have in Christ and to find our joyful contentment in him, no matter our losses and crosses (Hab. 3:17–18; 2 Cor. 6:10; 12:8–10; Eph. 1:3–11; Phil. 4:11–13; Heb. 13:5–6).

My point isn’t to burden God’s weeping children with an even greater weight to bear—guilt to compound their grief. We have sorrows enough over which to mourn. We don’t need shame piled on.

But we should remember that God is our heavenly Father who does no wrong; he always does what’s right, good, and best. To accuse God of doing wrong only adds to our grief, for it deprives us of the hope, joy, contentment, and confidence that may be found in him. At the end of it all, he’s the only One who can be trusted to get it right every single time.