Lament

In his book Prophetic Lament: A Call for Justice in Troubled Times, Soong-Chan Rah writes: “The American church avoids lament. The power of lament is minimized and the underlying narrative of suffering that requires lament is lost. But absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. Absence makes the heart forget. The absence of lament in the liturgy of the American church results in the loss of memory. We forget the necessity of lamenting over suffering pain. We forget the reality of suffering and pain.” Lament is a passionate expression of vulnerably coming before God to lay one’s losses, challenging relationships, grief, and sorrow at his altar, to cry out however you need. Lament is not a required charismatic expression so much as a prayerful response to the troubles we all experience, that exhibit the human condition and subsequent brokenness within us and around us.

We know from the apostle Paul, in Galatians 3:28, that in Christ alone there is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female. We are one in the Lord. Pressing into my own frustrations adjacent to the lamentation of others unites me with the full range of human longing. I need this reminder that regardless of geographic location, socioeconomic status, gender, or ethnicity, a gut-wrenching shout against life’s harshness respects no borders. If our solidarity with those who are face-to-face with suffering is to ever ring true, we must also become participant, suffering servants capable of being personable and truly supportive. Lament cannot be done from the sideline of privilege. Everything must be poured out to God as a demonstration of increasing dependence on him, which always implies a decreasing dependence on self and the allure of this fleeting world. I must come clean to God about my doubts, fears, and grief, even the rage that the Reformer John Calvin called “distraction emotions.” Lamenting enables me to confirm that things are far from how they ought to be. Because of that, I can then accept hardship as the pathway to peace.

In the crooked straits and jagged cracks of humanity, God’s sovereignty becomes clearer and, if I choose, enables ways to enjoy redemption and its otherworldly companion named peace. In Christ, I step fully into God’s love and the Holy Spirit helps me to see evidence toward that end where it seems least likely. As an African American woman of robust evangelical faith, I am neither Democrat nor Republican, liberal nor conservative, neither feminist nor womanist. Unapologetically, always and everywhere, I will claim my adopted identity as a follower of Jesus Christ, with convictions rooted in the truth of God’s holy Word. Therefore, I am committed to not hiding from the messiness of life. Inspired by Psalm 135:5-6, I want to be bold in proclaiming what I know about the Lord, not what others have said, or I have conjured in my mind trying to be cool in the eyes of this crazy world: “I know the greatness of the LORD—that our Lord is greater than any other god. The LORD does whatever pleases him throughout all heaven and earth, and on the seas and in their depths.” Seasons of despair will come and go. The task of the faithful is to cling to the assured hope we have of God’s amazing grace. He is our manna in life and death. With exactness, the psalmists give legitimacy to feelings of isolation, shame, despair, danger, physical impairment, and death as cause for lament. Lament is one way we can bring into God’s presence parts of our lives that are painful, traumatic, or disturbing.

By no means, however, does this mean we are warranted to oversimplify or dismiss the atrocity, oppression, injustice we see or feel, scurrying around sporting a blindfold in the name of Jesus. No, that is not lament and not of God. As a woman of color, and an African American woman at-that, the tensioned double jeopardy (or tripled jeopardy when faith is also considered) of marginalization is ever-present, with ignorance, bigotry, victimization, violence, white privilege, and all manner of unequal, inhumane behavior swirling around me. This is not an opinion theorized behind the coveted veil of academia or intellectualism; rather this is the reality of black life, which I choose to combat with the tools of faith. Lament, then, creates a sacred space for me to cry out to God in sorrow and anger for the many complex issues that come my way. Without the Lord’s guidance and this level of transparency, surrendering all to him, I am easily tossed to-and-fro, overtaken by hate’s huge, unrelenting waves.

Joy is not an enemy of lament, as some may think. When wading through the thickness life’s disappointments, the promises of God, often mysterious and at times seemingly out of reach, remain true. Lament and joy are friends, and yet being in healthy relationship with them both requires grit and the clear decision to trust in the Lord Jesus. We are God’s workmanship, created in his very image. God is good, never to know defeat or failure. He shall not leave or forsake us. He will use every morsel of our life to draw us closer to him (Romans 8:28) for his glory and our good. My hope each morning is that Jesus helps me to steward well the new mercies I have been given, none of which I deserve. I want to fall more in love with him and less in love with myself.

In lamenting, I simply ask that God creates in me a clean heart and renews a right spirt within me (Psalm 51:10-19). I do not want to be a crabby, ungrateful, bitter believer harboring resentment deep in my heart about anything or anyone. It isn’t worth it. Especially as I push more fully into my forties, I find myself clinging to wisdom that I have heard countless times that is only now, finally and thankfully, beginning to make some sense. The words of Reverend James Cleveland, the late, great Gospel singer, come to mind: “I don’t believe you have brought me this far to leave me.” When I find myself tired from traveling God’s road of redemption, sick and tired of being sick and tired, exasperated with myself and the world, God’s promises are the anchor I need. I know that he will lead me all the way home to the Promised Land, soon and very soon.