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Matthew 5:4 (KJV):
“Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.”
Definition of “mourn”
Verb
- To feel or show deep sorrow or regret, especially for someone who has died.
- To express sadness over a loss or misfortune.
Examples
- She mourned the passing of her beloved friend.
- They mourned the loss of a simpler way of life.
Synonyms: grieve, lament, weep, bemoan, rue
Antonym: rejoice
To grieve with depth and reverence; to feel or express sorrow over a loss, especially the death of someone cherished. Mourning is not just sadness—it’s love that has nowhere to go, a sacred ache that honors what was and longs for what still lives in memory.
🌿 Blessed
- Literal meaning: Fortunate, favored, divinely approved.
- Spiritual depth: This isn’t about worldly happiness—it’s about being in right relationship with God. To be “blessed” here means to be under God’s grace, even in sorrow. It’s a paradox: those who grieve are not forgotten—they are held close.
It’s not the absence of pain, but the presence of God in pain.
💧 Are they that mourn
- Mourn: To grieve deeply, to lament, to feel sorrow—especially over loss or sin.
- In context: Jesus is speaking not only of those grieving death or hardship, but also those who mourn their own brokenness, the brokenness of the world, and the separation from God caused by sin.
This mourning is sacred—it’s the heart’s cry for healing, for restoration, for mercy.
🤍 For they shall be comforted
- Comforted: To be consoled, strengthened, and given peace.
- Divine promise: God Himself will comfort those who mourn—not just with emotional relief, but with spiritual renewal. This comfort may come through the Holy Spirit, through community, through scripture, or through quiet moments of grace.
Comfort is not just soothing—it’s transformation. It’s the balm that turns sorrow into hope.
🌸 Devotional Reflection
This beatitude invites us to see mourning not as weakness, but as a doorway to divine intimacy. When we mourn—whether over loss, injustice, or our own failings—we are not abandoned. We are blessed because God draws near to the brokenhearted.
🌼 Devotional: “The Day the Pie Fell”
It was Grandma’s famous blackberry pie—baked with love, laced with sugar, and destined for the church potluck. My little brother, in a heroic attempt to “help,” tripped over the cat and sent the pie flying. It landed upside down, splattered like a crime scene across the kitchen floor. Grandma gasped. Mom sighed. And my brother burst into tears. That pie was more than dessert—it was tradition, memory, and love in a crust. And now it was gone.
We mourn more than death. We mourn lost moments, broken dreams, fractured relationships, and yes—fallen pies. Jesus didn’t say, “Blessed are those who have it all together.” He said, “Blessed are they that mourn.” He saw the tears, the ache, the quiet griefs we carry. Mourning is not weakness—it’s proof that something mattered. And in that sacred sorrow, He promises comfort.
Comfort doesn’t always come in thunderclaps. Sometimes it’s a warm hug, a shared laugh, or a new pie baked with extra love. Grandma didn’t scold—she handed my brother a spoon and said, “Well, I guess we’re eating this one off the floor!” We all laughed through tears, and somehow, that messy moment became one of our most cherished memories. Comfort came not by erasing the loss, but by redeeming it.
Jesus comforts us not by pretending the pain isn’t real, but by entering it with us. He weeps with us, walks with us, and whispers hope into the hollow places. The promise of Matthew 5:4 is not just future comfort—it’s present companionship. The Comforter, the Holy Spirit, dwells with those who mourn, bringing peace that passes understanding and joy that comes from the Holy Spirit
So if you’re mourning today—whether it’s a person, a plan, or a pie—know this: you are not alone. Your sorrow is seen. Your tears are treasured. And your comfort will be there. It may arrive in unexpected ways—a song, a scripture, a silly memory—but it will come. Because Jesus said so. And He never breaks a promise.
Let mourning be a teacher, not a thief. It teaches us to love deeply, to hold loosely, and to trust fiercely. It reminds us that this world is not our home, and that every tear will one day be wiped away. Until then, we mourn with hope, still find joy in sorrow in Christ and bake new pies with forever love.
Conclusion: A ruined pie may seem small, but grief doesn’t measure itself in size—it measures in meaning. That pie was more than dessert. It was tradition, anticipation, love baked into the crust. And when it fell, the boy didn’t just see splattered berries—he saw disappointment in the eyes of people he cared about. He thought, “I ruined it for everyone.” But what he really felt was the weight of wanting to bring joy, and fearing he’d brought sorrow instead.
That’s why we grieve over things like ruined pies, broken ornaments, and forgotten birthdays. Because they represent connection. And when connection feels lost, even for a moment, our hearts ache.
But here’s the grace: Grief opens the door to comfort. And comfort reminds us that love isn’t so easily ruined.
💬 A Devotional Reflection
“Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.” — Matthew 5:4 (KJV)
The boy mourned not just the pie, but the joy he hoped to share. And in that mourning, he was met with grace—a grandmother who smiled and said, “Well, I guess we’re eating this one off the floor!” Laughter returned. Love remained. And comfort came, not by fixing the pie, but by redeeming the moment
☀️ Tip of the Day
Let yourself feel. Don’t rush past sorrow. Invite God into it. He doesn’t just fix—He sits, listens, and loves.
📖 Scripture Recommendation
Psalm 34:18 – “The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.”
Isaiah 61:3 – “To give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning…”
🙏 Matching Prayer
Dear Lord, Thank You for seeing my sorrow and calling me blessed in it. Help me not to hide my grief, but to bring it to You. Comfort me in ways only You can—through laughter, through love, through Your Word. Teach me to mourn with hope, and to comfort others with the comfort I’ve received. Let my broken places become holy ground. Amen.
Susan Barker Nikitenko Sept 12th 2025© MBNMRMPMKBPBANNABENGERCP343432#
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