Jesus said some wild and wonderful things! I’ve often wondered if he did this deliberately so his followers would easily remember them when they came to write their gospels and epistles many years later. If that was his purpose it worked, for sure! One teaching which has always seemed paradoxical to me comes from what has become to be known as “The Sermon on the Mount” — although in reality this collection should proably be better labeled as “sayings on a hillside”.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted” (Matthew 5:4 ) NLT, sets up a profound paradox that challenges conventional, rational, common-sense thinking.
Mourning, a state of deep sorrow that is often tied to loss, death, or regret, seems the opposite of blessedness—a term suggesting happiness, peace, or divine favor. How can grief be a source of joy?
This paradox isn’t an isolated quirk of Jesus’ teaching but echoes a recurring theme across the Old and New Testaments: God’s ways often invert human expectations, finding strength in weakness, hope in despair, and blessing in brokenness.
At its core, the paradox hinges on the meaning of “blessed.”
In the Beatitudes, it’s not about fleeting emotional highs but a deeper state of being—favor with God, alignment with truth, or a promise of ultimate restoration. Mourning, then, becomes blessed not because it’s pleasant, but because it reflects a heart awake to reality. Those who mourn over personal loss, sin, or the world’s pain are attuned to what’s broken, and that awareness opens the door to divine comfort.
The second half of the verse—“for they will be comforted”—points to a future state, suggesting that the happiness lies not in the mourning itself but in the resolution it leads to, whether through God’s presence now or eternal peace later. It’s a bitter seed that blooms into something sweet.
We can see a similar inversion in Isaiah:
“He has sent me to tell those who mourn that the time of the Lord’s favor has come… To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair.” Isaiah 61:2-3 (NLT)
Here, mourning isn’t celebrated for its own sake but as a precursor to transformation. The ashes of grief—think of a people devastated by exile or loss—are swapped for a crown, a symbol of honor and renewal.
The paradox mirrors Jesus’ words: those who feel the weight of sorrow are precisely the ones God lifts up. The “joyous blessing” doesn’t erase the mourning but reframes it as a step toward something greater, a divine exchange that defies human logic.
Another Old Testament example comes from one of King David’s songs : “Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.” Psalm 30:5 (NLT)
This verse captures that same tension—sorrow and joy aren’t mutually exclusive but sequential. The night of weeping isn’t denied; it’s real and raw. Yet the promise of morning joy flips the script, suggesting that pain has an expiration date. Like the Beatitudes, it’s less about reveling in tears and more about trusting the arc bends toward light. David knew mourning—grieving over sin, loss, and betrayal—yet he ties it to a hope that outlasts the dark. The paradox lies in this coexistence: weeping is temporary, but the joy it ushers in is lasting.
The New Testament echoes this theme with stark intensity: “Let there be tears for what you have done. Let there be sorrow and deep grief… Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up in honor.”James 4:9-10 (NLT)
The call to weep isn’t masochistic; it’s a recognition of wrongdoing that invites God’s elevation. The paradox is sharp: grieve deeply, and you’ll rise higher. James doesn’t sugarcoat the pain but pairs it with a promise, much like Jesus’ “they will be comforted.” The happiness isn’t in the tears but in the honor that follows, a restoration born from brokenness.
Paul adds another layer in his letter to the Corinthian church: “Our hearts ache, but we always have joy. We are poor, but we give spiritual riches to others. We own nothing, and yet we have everything.” 2 Corinthians 6:10 (NLT)
This juxtaposition of aching hearts and persistent joy reflects the Beatitudes’ spirit. Paul’s life—marked by imprisonment, beatings, and rejection—embodies mourning, yet he claims an unshakable joy rooted in faith. The paradox isn’t resolved by denying the ache but by seeing it as part of a bigger picture where “everything” (spiritual abundance) outweighs “nothing” (material lack). It’s a happiness that transcends circumstance, much like the comfort promised to mourners.
So, what ties these together? Jesus’ statement isn’t a standalone riddle but part of a biblical pattern where God meets people in their lowest states—mourning, weeping, aching—and turns them toward something higher.
The paradox isn’t that sorrow feels good but that it’s fertile ground for God’s work. Isaiah’s beauty for ashes, David’s morning joy, James’ honor through humility, and Paul’s joy amid ache all amplify Matthew 5:4. They suggest mourning is blessed because it strips away pretense, connects us to truth, and positions us for comfort, whether in this life or beyond.
It’s not happiness as the world defines it—smiles and ease—but a deeper, stranger joy that only makes sense through faith’s lens. The mourners are happy not despite their tears, but because of where those tears lead.
Good grief!
Blessings on you and yours, Jim Black
P.S. if you’d like to read previous ruminations of mine they can be found at https://www.salvationarmyconcordca.org/chronicle/?category=Bible%20Study