To Lament Is Christian

The language of lament is sprinkled throughout the Bible but tends to show up with high density in the Psalms. Consider Psalm 13 authored by David, which opens with the question “How long, O Lord?” Perhaps not so provocative of a statement. But the next lines ask, “Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? . . . How long shall my enemy be exalted over me? (vv. 1–2). These questions appear more like accusations than interrogatives. You have forgotten me. You have hidden your face from me.

We also read of laments in other parts of Scripture than the Psalms. As he reflects on all the occupational hazards associated with being a prophet, Jeremiah tells God he felt duped into the ministry. “O Lord, you have deceived me, and I was deceived,” he says. “You are stronger than I, and you have prevailed” (20:7). One pastor paraphrased this as, “Lord, you sweet-talked me into the ministry,” not meaning the sweet talk of a lover but of a seducer.

Mark Vroegop notes in his book Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy that laments are far more than rants addressed to God, the equivalent of unbridled Facebook outbursts to anyone who will listen, or worse, the vomiting of emotions into the void. Biblical laments are strictly crafted poems and thus have other elements too, most notably what Vroegop describes as “the turn.” The turn is that moment in the psalm when the author moves from expressing his emotions to asking for help and asserting his faith in the goodness and sovereignty of God despite persistent suffering and lingering questions. We see this, for example, in Psalm 13, when after questioning how long God will allow an enemy to be exalted above him, the psalmist turns to declare, “But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation” (v. 5). Though all around his soul gives way, he anchors his hope in God.

This is important because it’s actually this very progression, the progression through words of despair to words of hope, that God is often pleased to bring us from despair to hope, from rage to rest. This is why J.A. Medders calls laments underground tunnels to hope.

Last year I wrote a review of Vroegop’s book for 9Marks, but in the review, I neglected to share one of my favorite aspects of the book: the short, propositional statements he uses to define lament. Over and over he writes, “Lament is ________.” In one place, Vroegop argues that to lament, in the biblical sense of the word, is distinctly Christian. He says this because it takes faith in God to trust him to hear our pain. Giving God the silent treatment, a distinctly un-Christian approach, is saying that God can’t be trusted with honest anger.

Our church is studying the Psalms of Lament throughout Lent, the time leading up to Good Friday and Easter. In preparation for the series, I reread Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy. I’d encourage you to read this excellent book too.

Below is a little taste of most (but not all) of the book’s short, propositional sentences that I love so much.

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Lament is how you live between the poles of a hard life and trusting in God’s sovereignty. (p. 21)

Lament is how we bring our sorrow to God. Without lament we won’t know how to process pain. (p.21)

Lament is how Christians grieve. It is how to help hurting people. Lament is how we learn important truths about God and our world. My personal and pastoral experience has convinced me that biblical lament is not only a gift but also a neglected dimension of the Christian life for many twenty-first-century Christians. (p. 21)

Christianity suffers when lament is missing. (p. 21)

But lament is different. The practice of lament—the kind that is biblical, honest, and redemptive—is not as natural for us, because every lament is a prayer. A statement of faith. Lament is the honest cry of a hurting heart wrestling with the paradox of pain and the promise of God’s goodness. (p. 26)

To cry is human, but to lament is Christian. (p. 26)

Lament is a prayer in pain that leads to trust. (pp. 28, 158)

You might think lament is the opposite of praise. It isn’t. Instead, lament is a path to praise as we are led through our brokenness and disappointment. (p. 28)

You might think lament is the opposite of praise. (p. 28)

Lament is not a simplistic formula. Instead, lament is the song you sing believing that one day God will answer and restore. Lament invites us to pray through our struggle with a life that is far from perfect. (p. 34)

Lament is a prayer that leads us through personal sorrow and difficult questions into truth that anchors our soul. (p. 34)

Lament is how we learn to live between the poles of a hard life and God’s goodness. (p. 36)

Lament is the language of a people who believe in God’s sovereignty but live in a world with tragedy. (p. 44)

Lament is an expansive prayer language. It can be your companion through a wide spectrum of struggles and challenges. (p. 65)

Lament is how we endure. It is how we trust. It is how we wait. (p. 74)

Lament is not merely an expression of sorrow; it is a memorial. (p. 90)

Lament is a place to learn. (p. 91)

Lament is a journey through the shock and awe of pain. (p. 96)

Lament is the song we sing while living in a world that is under the curse of sin. (p. 99)

Lament is an uncomfortable yet helpful teacher. (p. 100)

Lament is one of the ways that a heart is tuned toward God’s perspective. (p. 103)

Lament is the language of those stumbling in their journey to find mercy in dark clouds. (p. 108)

Lament is a prayer of faith despite your fear. (p. 110)

Lament is the language that moves us from our sorrow toward the truth of God’s promises. (p. 119)

Lament is the language that calls us, as exiles, to uncurl our fingers from our objects of trust. (p. 123)

Lament is the song you sing when divine blessing seems far away. (p. 136)

Lament is the prayer language for these gaps. It tells you where to look and whom to trust when pain and uncertainty hang in the air you breathe. (p. 142)

Lament is the language of a people who know the whole story—the gospel story. (p. 151)

Lament is the historic prayer language for hurting Christians. (p. 159)

Lament is more than a biblical version of the stages of grief (i.e., denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance). It invites God’s people on a journey as they turn to God, lay out their complaints, ask for his help, and choose to trust. (p. 160)

Lament is the prayer language for those who are struggling with sadness. (p. 162)

Lament is a means of grace, no matter what trial you face. (p. 170)

Lament is the personal song that expresses our grief while embracing God’s goodness. Everyone has a story. Lament is never a song you set out to sing. (p. 172)

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not naive enough to believe that lament is the single solution for racial tension. There is much work to be done in listening, understanding, addressing injustice, and fostering hope. But I do think lament is a starting point—a place where people from majority and minority backgrounds can meet. (p. 186)

Lament is the bridge between dark clouds and deep mercy. (p. 190)

Lament is the language that helps you believe catastrophe can become eucatastrophe. (p. 192)

Lament is the language of waiting for God’s justice to be accomplished. . . . [L]ament is the way we live with pain beyond belief and divine sovereignty beyond comprehension. (p. 192)

No matter where we are in our journey, lament is a means of mercy. Lament is how you move from no to yes, and from why to who. (p. 194)

* Photo by SamuelMartins on Unsplash