Every tear wiped away
The end of all sorrow
John's vision turns to the most tender promise in all of Scripture: God will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. Every sorrow that has marked the long pilgrimage — every grief, every loss, every pain, death itself — is named here, and named as ended forever.
Notice the intimacy of the image. It is not merely that tears will cease, but that God himself will wipe them away — bending close, like a parent to a weeping child, to dry each eye with his own hand. The God who counted our tears and kept them in his bottle through all the dark valleys will, at the end, personally wipe them all away. The comfort is tender and personal, not distant or abstract.
And the list of what passes away is comprehensive: death, mourning, crying, pain — the whole catalog of human suffering, abolished. He has swallowed up death forever, Isaiah foretold, and will wipe away tears from all faces. This is the end of the long story of sorrow that began with the fall. Whatever grief and pain mark your pilgrimage now, hold this promise: a day is coming when God himself will wipe away your every tear, and death and mourning and crying and pain will be no more, forever. The former things will have passed away.
“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; neither will there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain, any more. The first things have passed away.”
— John, of the new creation — Revelation 21:4 (WEB)
Hold the tender promise that God himself will wipe away your every tear, and death and mourning and pain will be no more, forever.
“He has swallowed up death forever; and the Lord GOD will wipe away tears from off all faces.”
The sorrows of the pilgrimage — grief, loss, pain, death — can feel permanent and unanswered, as if tears were the last word. The interior work is to fix on John's promise that God will wipe away every tear and abolish death, mourning, crying, and pain forever — and to receive the intimacy of it, that God himself bends close to dry each eye, so present sorrow is held within the certainty of its coming end.
This week, when grief or pain presses, hold the promise personally: a day is coming when God himself will wipe away this very tear, and death and mourning and pain will be no more. Let that certain end comfort you in present sorrow.
Grief has a way of feeling final, as though these tears were the last word and the sorrow would simply go on. But a day is set when God himself will bend close and wipe every eye with his own hand, and death and mourning and pain will be no more — and the soul that holds that promise carries its real grief inside a hope that no loss can outlast.
John's vision of the end gathers up every sorrow that has marked the long pilgrimage — grief, loss, pain, death itself — and names each one as ended forever: God will wipe away every tear, and death and mourning and crying and pain will be no more. The whole catalog of human suffering, abolished. The former things, with all their tears, will have passed away.
And the image is intimate rather than abstract. It is not merely that tears will cease, but that God himself bends close, like a parent to a weeping child, to wipe each eye with his own hand. The God who counted our tears and kept them in his bottle through every dark valley will, at the last, personally wipe them all away. Whatever grief marks your pilgrimage now — and the road has real tears — hold this tender promise: a day is coming when God himself will dry your every tear, and death and sorrow and pain will be no more, forever.
- Do my present sorrows feel permanent and unanswered?
- Can I receive that God himself will wipe away my every tear?
- How does the coming end of all sorrow comfort me now?
Lord, my sorrows feel permanent, as if tears were the last word. But you will wipe away every tear with your own hand, and death and mourning and pain will be no more. Comfort me now with that certain end, and bend close, at the last, to dry my every tear. Amen.