When the Soul Weeps Alone
Reflections on Zechariah 12 and the Loneliness of Mourning
This passage from Zechariah recently came alive during a Bible Study I’ve been a part of — one that’s felt especially meaningful during this season of Lent moving into Easter. As we’ve walked through Isaiah, our leader brought out this related prophecy that echoes so deeply the grief of recognizing Jesus as the one who was pierced… and the sorrow that realization brings.
What struck me — and stayed with me — is how this grief is not shown as a unified public display, but as an intensely personal sorrow. Each family, each individual, mourns apart. “Each clan by itself… and their wives by themselves.” Even shared sorrow becomes private.
And, in this private sorrow, grief becomes our only companion, peculiar as that seems. Yet, grief doesn’t come with a script, a schedule, or a guidebook. It simply is — raw, weighty, and often excruciatingly personal. And while others may walk alongside us, offering love and support, there are moments in mourning when we feel we are the only ones carrying the ache.
It reminded me how true this is in our own experience with grief. Whether we are grieving the death of someone we love, a life that has changed, or even the quiet losses no one else sees, mourning can feel incredibly lonely. People may be near, but there are parts of the pain that feel like only we can hold them.
In this prophecy, the Lord speaks of a future day when Israel will recognize the One they have pierced. What follows is a collective sorrow — the whole nation mourning. Yet, in verses 12 through 14, Zechariah describes how each clan mourns by itself, and even within the families, the wives mourn separately.
Why would Scripture note this level of separation? Why not show a united crowd in shared lament? Because grief, at its deepest, touches each soul differently. These verses capture this truth in a way few other passages do — grief, though often shared in circumstance, is intensely individual in experience.
The piercing described here is ultimately fulfilled in the crucifixion of Christ — a wound not just in His body, but in the hearts of those who come to recognize what His death truly means. It is a spiritual grief, personal and profound. And much like the sorrow we feel over loss — whether it’s a loved one, a relationship, or even the loss of how life “used to be” — this mourning often leads us inward.
The death of someone close can create an invisible chasm between you and the world. People can be kind. They can be present. But they cannot enter your grief. Not fully. Even those who knew the same person, shared the same memories, or walked through the same daily reminders — they will process it through a lens entirely their own.
Zechariah’s words remind us that it’s okay to mourn alone. That it is, in fact, part of the sacredness of loss. Each heart brings its own history, memories, and love. Mourning, then, becomes an act of individual reverence — a private reckoning with what was and what will no longer be. And yet, this prophecy also holds great hope.
The mourning begins after a beautiful promise: “I will pour out on the house of David… a spirit of grace and supplication.” God starts the process of healing and repentance. He meets us in the mourning. Even when it feels like we’re weeping in isolation, we are never truly alone — God is with us in that sacred space.
In the context of Easter, this passage is even more powerful. We look upon the One who was pierced — Jesus, crucified for our sins — and we weep, yes, but not without hope. His death brings us face-to-face with our need for grace. But His resurrection brings the comfort that our mourning has a purpose, and that it will not last forever.
So if you’re carrying grief this Easter — a quiet kind of sorrow that others may not fully see or understand — I want to remind you: it’s okay to mourn in your own way. Your heartache is not too small or too slow. Your individual mourning is not a weakness, but a reflection of deep love.
May you feel the nearness of God this season — the One who was pierced, the One who rose, and the One who still walks with us in our most private pain.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
— Matthew 5:4
I am a school counselor turned counselor educator, professor, and author helping educators and parents to build social, emotional, and academic growth in ALL kids! The school counseling blog delivers both advocacy as well as strategies to help you deliver your best school counseling program.
I'm a mother, grandmother, professor, author, and wife (I'll always be his). Until October 20, 2020, I lived with my husband, Robert (Bob) Rose, in Louisville, Ky. On that awful day of October 20,2020, my life profoundly changed, when this amazing man went on to be with Jesus. After Bob moved to Heaven, I embraced my love of writing as an outlet for grief. Hence, the Grief Blog is my attempt to share what I learned as a Counselor in education with what I am learning through this experience of walking this earth without him. My mission is to move forward with my own healing as well as to help others in grief move forward to see joy beyond this most painful time.
