“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens… a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.”
—Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4

I was reminded of those words from Ecclesiastes when we pulled into Castaway Club in Minnesota with a group of teenagers this summer for our Young Life high school trip. The moment of entrance into camp is designed to be full of energy. Staff line both sides of the road cheering as vehicles arrive. Music is loud and upbeat. Characters welcome students with excitement for the week ahead.

But this arrival felt different.

Just before entering camp, we handed out our area camp shirts. On the back was a boat dedicated in memory of Donovan, a high school student who was supposed to be on the trip with us. Just two weeks earlier, we had lost him.

Our students received the shirts with such gratitude. “This is my favorite camp shirt ever.” “I love that we did this.” “This is so sweet.”

Their responses were beautiful. But as I climbed back into the van, the weight of our loss finally caught up with me. I drove our group toward the welcome, trying to hold my emotions together. When we arrived, I quietly stepped away and allowed myself to grieve.

This summer, our community has experienced profound loss. We have sat with questions for which there are no easy answers. We have cried, struggled, and wondered how something so painful could happen.

The Bible has a word for this — lament.

Jesus did not stand at Lazarus’ grave and offer a simple explanation for death. He wept.

But Jesus did something more than weep. He entered into our brokenness Himself. He experienced betrayal, suffering, injustice and death. On the cross, He cried out to His Father in anguish.

And then He rose.

That is where Christian lament is different from despair. We don’t have to pretend that death isn’t terrible. We don’t have to manufacture an explanation for every tragedy. But we can grieve with the hope that death does not have the final word.

Because of Jesus, Christians believe that the story doesn’t end at the grave.

This summer, we have experienced both mourning and joy. We have watched teenagers laugh, form friendships, and encounter the hope of Christ even while carrying the weight of loss.

The laughter doesn’t erase the tears. The joy doesn’t make the grief less real. Instead, they remind us that God is still at work in the middle of both.

Perhaps that is one of the gifts of lament: it allows us to bring our honest questions to God without walking away from Him.

We may not understand why something happened. But we can know the One to whom we bring our questions.

And because of Jesus, we can grieve deeply while still holding onto hope.

There is a time to weep. There is a time to mourn.

And because Jesus lives, there will also be a time when mourning and death are no more.