As Christians reflected on suffering, mourning, and hope during the days leading up to Easter, we spoke with popular evangelical author and speaker Margaret Feinberg about moving from grief to joy. In her new book “Fight Back with Joy,” she describes her own experience of joy in the face of breast cancer. Click here to read an excerpt.
Author and cancer survivor Margaret Feinberg’s advice on what to do—and not do—for loved ones facing a crisis:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Hwzy9qCT_Y&w=800&h=450]

Read an excerpt from “Fight Back with Joy” by Margaret Feinberg:
Wasn’t bereavement the antithesis of joy? Stumbling across the words of Jesus in one of his most famous sermons, I spotted something I’d never noticed.
Unlike Matthew, who describes Jesus ascending a mountain to address the people, Luke places Jesus in the center of the crowd. He steps among the mentally ill, those crippled by infirmity, people barely hanging on to life. Rubbing elbows with those who have diseases and unclean spirits, Jesus tells them to consider themselves blessed:
“You are blessed when the tears flow freely. Joy comes with the morning.”
The Greek word for “blessed is makarios and can be translated “happy” or “fortunate.” Jesus describes the down-and-out as the lucky ones. Such words seem counterintuitive. After all, tears are often seen as a sign of weakness—the crinkly white flag of giving up. Jesus declares that those strong enough to allow the sobs to escape are among the fortunate. The Son of God gives the quivering permission to mourn.
Perhaps we should not be surprised. Many of Israel’s prophets were poets. Their stark words evoked weeping. Those tears provided a pathway to relinquishment. Through mourning, the people released the way things were so they could embrace how things might be. They traded their exasperation for expectation.
A friend of mine talks about grief and the process of mourning as if it’s a river. He points out that there’s more to a river than meets the eye. The river’s current smooths the rough edges of stones and provides an outlet for fish to travel to mating grounds. Biochemical processes degrade and decompose organic waste. The rushing water flushes away debris.
So it is with the river called mourning. If you poke your head beneath the rippled surface. You see deposits being washed away that long needed to be released. Sometimes the river rushes unexpectedly, knocking you off your feet; other times it laps gently around your ankles. And if you pause long enough, you discover small treasures worthy of pocketing.
My friend’s image awakened my to a truth I suspect Jesus knew: Mourning is a river that carries us to joy.
Sometimes we need to give space for grief in order to make room for joy. No one is immune to sorrow, and only those who learn to grieve well can recapture the healing it brings. Just as light needs darkness, so joy needs grief. And just as night preceded morning, so joy comes in the mourning.