Learning to Lament
A God Who Weeps - Part 5
Sunday, October 2, 2022
Lamentations 1:1-6
Why do you forget us continually; why do you abandon us for such a long time?
Return us, Lord, to yourself. Please let us return! Give us new days, like those long ago.
Lamentations 5:20-21 (CEB)
Listen to this week’s sermon here:
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As a culture we are not good at lamenting. Of course everyone grieves, especially over a profound personal loss such as the death of a loved one, but even those around the grieving person are often quick to encourage them to move on. We don’t like sitting with our grief long. We prefer to be active, to stay busy, to distract our minds and hearts from the pain.
In the case of larger scale tragedies or evil, such as the attacks of 9/11, the line between lament and revenge is significantly blurred. Of course we mourn the loss of the victims, but before we can even process the magnitude of what happened, we turn immediately to blame and hatred.
In the case of the over 1 million deaths in the US and over 6.5 million deaths worldwide over the recent COVID-19 pandemic, blame was not always as easy to assign and so we took our revenge out on one another by politicizing every attempt at prevention, treatment and rebuilding. It’s difficult to grieve when we are caught up in the passionate firestorm of accusations and rage from every side.
No matter the evil that befalls us, personally or as a nation or world, our first response is to seek and explanation or a scapegoat and then to fight. The trouble with this cultural mindset is that it leaves no room for healing, and so we become wounded warriors, tearing ourselves apart mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically, economically, and in every other way all because slowing down is not an option. If we pause from the fight too long, the emotion will overwhelm us and the pain is too deep to process. So we press on.
I tell the story in my upcoming book of a pastor who abruptly entered a hospice room shortly after the patient had died, offered a vibrant (and loud) prayer of celebration for this person’s eternal life, and disappeared as quickly as he came, leaving the family stunned and numb as their time of holy silence, mourning and sharing together had now come to an end far too soon. Yes, as Christians there is joy in death because of our hope in the resurrection, but even Jesus, the resurrection and the life himself, wept at the grave of his friend Lazarus, with full knowledge that he was about to do the impossible by calling him forth from the tomb.
Some things in life simply defy words and easy explanations. Lament does not answer all of our questions or solve our problems, but there is nevertheless a deep need for humans to have the space to pour out the raw brokenness of our hearts before God, both for our own sake and for the healing of the larger community.
As we receive the broken body and blood of Christ this week, may we enter into solidarity with all who suffer around the world. For many, the joy of Sunday has not yet come. Sunday does not erase the pain one feels on Friday and Saturday. The scars remain.
In order to heal, we must make space for honest lament.