God will wipe away every tear of His people

Perhaps today you woke up with tears in your eyes and no desire to get up to face the world, thinking about that deep pain that something has caused you, whether the death of a loved one, the disease or any other circumstance of life. These are problems that sooner or later come to us and obviously we must be attached to some kind of promise to be able to overcome them. The weight of existence can sometimes feel like an anchor, pulling us into the depths of despondency where hope seems like a distant, flickering star.

In these moments of profound vulnerability, the soul often cries out for a meaning that transcends the immediate suffering. We find ourselves asking not just “why,” but “how long?” It is in this precise space of human frailty that the divine reaches out. I hope that today you can regain breath through these words, finding a reservoir of strength that does not depend on your own energy, but on the unfailing nature of the One who created you and knows the exact count of the hairs on your head and the volume of every tear you have shed.

The Bible is full of promises for believers, real promises that God has to fulfill in due course and we must be aware of them, not to demand God, but to know what we are really waiting for and at the same time be able to rest in them. Often, we treat biblical promises as mere suggestions or poetic sentiments intended to soothe the mind, but they are far more than that; they are legal decrees from the throne of the Universe. To be aware of these promises is to arm ourselves with a spiritual map in the midst of a foggy valley. When we understand the “due course” of God, we begin to realize that His timing is not an indicator of His absence, but a testament to His perfect sovereignty.

There is nothing better than resting on the promises of God, since we know that they will be fulfilled, not like those promises of men, that we do not really know if they will be fulfilled. Human promises are limited by human capacity, fluctuating emotions, and the finitude of time. We may intend to keep our word, but we lack the power to control the future. However, when God promises, the promise is fulfilled because it is fulfilled—it is backed by His immutable character and His infinite power. Glory to God! This assurance provides a peace that surpasses understanding, a stillness that remains even when the storm continues to howl outside our window. John, the beloved disciple, while exiled on the desolate island of Patmos, was given a vision that transcends the suffering of this age. He stated the following:

1 Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea.

2 I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband.

3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.

4 ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

Revelations 21:1-4

We live in a world full of pains, diseases, wars, enmities and a thousand other things, in a totally fallen world, a world without God. This “fallenness” is not just a theological concept; it is the raw reality we see in the news, feel in our aching joints, and witness in the brokenness of our relationships. Since the fall in Eden, the very fabric of creation has been groaning, as Paul describes in Romans, waiting for redemption.

We see the consequences of sin not just in the “big” tragedies, but in the subtle erosion of joy, the anxiety of the future, and the coldness of heart that often permeates society. But we are not like those who live life to live it, without any sowing for eternity. For the believer, this life is not a destination; it is a corridor. We cannot get used to this world, since we do not belong to it. If we find ourselves feeling like foreigners here, it is because we are.

Our citizenship is in heaven, and our current residence is merely a temporary tent. The Bible tells us in the book of Hebrews that those great heroes of the faith did not get used to this world, because they waited in an eternal heaven. They understood that to be a “pilgrim” is to have a focused gaze on a distant home. They were willing to endure the discomforts of the journey because they knew the magnificence of the arrival. We have been promised to move from a land full of sorrows and tribulations to a new Jerusalem where we will not have the needs of this world. Imagine a city where the infrastructure is built on holiness, where the atmosphere is pure love, and where the concept of “scarcity”—whether of resources, health, or time—is completely unknown.

Verse three is a promise that makes the sun rise for us in the midst of darkness, providing a light that the world cannot extinguish. John says: “Behold the tabernacle of God with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God he will be with them as his God.” This concept of “dwelling” or “tabernacling” is the culmination of the entire biblical narrative.

From the moment God walked in the garden with Adam, to the Tabernacle in the wilderness, to the Temple in Jerusalem, and finally to the incarnation of Christ, God has been moving toward us. However, in our current state, our sin creates a barrier, and our vision is dimmed. But the promise here is one of unhindered, face-to-face communion. A certain biblical character said: “Who is man so that you can remember him?” When we look at the vastness of the cosmos, the billions of galaxies and the intricate complexity of life, we are struck by our own insignificance.

Honestly we are no one so that a God so holy and so great bows before us, however, He in his eternal love decided to dwell among us and has given us promises that one day we will always be before Him. This is the scandal of the Gospel: that the Creator of all things desires the company of the creature. He has not only prepared a place for us, but He has prepared us for that place. We will not be there as guests or spectators, but as His family. We will be there not for a day or a week, but for an eternity. Consider the magnitude of that: billions of years will pass, and we will only be at the beginning of our fellowship with Him. The fatigue of the soul will be replaced by an ever-renewing vitality. Is not this great? Does this not put our “light and momentary troubles” into a perspective of eternal glory?

John ends by saying that on that day God will wipe every one of the tears that we have shed. Notice the intimacy of this action. It does not say He will simply “stop the tears from falling,” but that He will “wipe them away.” This suggests a personal touch, a hand that reaches out to the face of the believer to remove the traces of the valley of shadows. We will no longer cry to any loved one, for the separation that death imposes will be abolished.

We will not cry anymore over the failures of our past, the regrets that keep us awake at night, or the bitterness of missed opportunities. We will not feel more pain—no more chronic illnesses, no more mental anguish, no more the crushing weight of depression. We will not have more tribulations, because those things will no longer exist; they will be part of the “old order” that has passed away like a bad dream upon waking.

In that new reality, God will be our comforter for ever and ever. He will be our sun, providing the light of truth; our moon, reflecting His beauty in our lives; our slumber, giving us perfect rest; our awakening, filling us with purpose; our everything. We often seek “everything” in people, careers, or substances, but those are broken cisterns that hold no water. In the New Jerusalem, the Fountain of Life will be directly accessible, and our thirst will be quenched forever. The absence of “the sea” in John’s vision symbolizes the absence of chaos and separation, meaning nothing will ever again come between the believer and their Savior.

The transition from our current state to this promised future is not merely a change of location, but a transformation of being. Our current bodies, susceptible to decay and weakness, will be exchanged for glorified bodies capable of experiencing the fullness of God’s presence without being consumed. The “mourning and crying” we experience now are the birth pains of the world to come. Just as a mother forgets the agony of labor in the joy of holding her child, the redeemed will look back on the trials of Earth and find them eclipsed by the radiance of Christ’s countenance.

This is the hope that sustained the martyrs, the hope that gave strength to the reformers, and the hope that can carry you through your current struggle. Every trial you face today is under the sovereign control of the One who has already written the final chapter of history. He is not indifferent to your suffering; He is using the very furnace of affliction to purify the gold of your faith, preparing you for a weight of glory that is beyond comparison.

Furthermore, the promise that “there will be no more death” strikes at the heart of our greatest human fear. Death is the “last enemy,” the intruder that has stolen our peace and our people since the dawn of time. In God’s new order, death is not just managed or delayed; it is swallowed up in victory. Imagine a world where the word “goodbye” has lost its sting, where “forever” is not a romantic exaggeration but a literal reality.

This is the inheritance of the saints. This is the prize for those who remain attached to the promise. When we feel overwhelmed by the “fallen world,” we must remind ourselves that we are living in the Saturday of history—the day of waiting—but the Sunday of the resurrection and the eternal Monday of the new creation are coming. Our groans are heard, our prayers are bottled, and our perseverance is noted in the halls of heaven. No effort made for the Kingdom is wasted, and no tear shed in faith is ignored.

Simply, let’s embrace these promises together and live for eternity. Let us not be discouraged by the temporary setbacks of this life, but rather let us use them as reminders to set our affections on things above. When the world offers you despair, answer it with the Revelation of John. When the enemy tells you that your pain is permanent, point him to the promise of the New Jerusalem. We are on the winning side of history.

The victory has already been secured by the Lamb who was slain and who now sits on the throne. Our task is to walk in the light of that victory, sharing this hope with a world that is desperately thirsty for a drop of true comfort. Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful. May your heart be encouraged, may your spirit be lifted, and may you find the strength to stand tall today, knowing that the Hand that flung the stars into space is the same Hand that will soon wipe away your every tear.