When you hear the word “lament”, what springs to mind? Perhaps an elderly relative complaining about the sorry state of the world? Or a melodramatic teenager whose life is ending because they can’t have the latest gadget? In Gary’s sermon, he explained lament as an honest and heartfelt expression of frustration, anger, or sorrow in response to pain. Biblical lament occurs in the context of our relationship to God, and it begs God to show his love by keeping his covenant promises. I think one of the most honest and quintessential expressions of lament might be a baby’s cry. An infant doesn’t understand all the complexities of life; she just knows that right here, right now, she is miserable and if she screams loud enough and long enough her parents will try to do something about it. Her cry is made in the context of that relationship, it comes out of a place of helplessness, and it hopes for a solution to the problem.

As we grow, I think many of us lose our capacity for heartfelt lament. As a young child, I didn’t hesitate to run for Mom if I had a scrape that needed tending. By the time I got to high school, my troubles weren’t nearly so easy to fix, and in college, I gradually stopped calling my parents when I had a bad day. While this progression is a natural and mostly healthy part of growing up, we take it a step too far when we lose our ability to relate to God through lament.

What are some reasons we stop lamenting as adults? Maybe there’s a sense that we don’t want to be a bother to others - after all, they have their own difficulties, many of them worse than ours. Is this situation really important enough to seek help from other people, let alone from God? And then of course there’s the way we as a culture idolize self-reliance and independence. Asking for help is seen as a sign of weakness, and it’s somehow virtuous to solve your own problems by your own strength. Or maybe we stop lamenting because we increasingly realize that our problems aren’t something that other people can readily fix. Whether it’s a medical condition, a broken relationship, or a struggle with sin or addiction, why would we lament if we don’t have hope that something or someone might help?

The Gospel counteracts all these attitudes. My pain and sorrow are amazingly worth God’s attention; Psalm 56:8 tells us that God keeps track of our tears as if they were kept in a bottle. What is more, lament is the appropriate response to the effects of the Fall, whether personal or societal. We see this throughout the prophets - Habbakuk 1:2-4 could have come straight out of a Psalm of lament with its cry for God to end injustice. 

The idea that I need to find the strength to solve my own problems is the opposite of what the Gospel teaches. This is something I struggle with a lot; I really hate not feeling in control of my life and I will do just about anything to avoid that truth. Yet I am truly helpless to face the sin and evil in the world, and the practice of lament teaches me to be honest not only with God but with myself.

And finally, the Gospel assures us that there IS someone who is greater than our problems. No matter how big or small, God actually can keep his promises and his love assures us that he will keep them. When we offered our Impossible Prayer Requests to God at Christmas, it was an act of faith that all of those impossible prayers are actually possible for God. He is in the business of making all things new, and Revelation 21 tells us that one day “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

So once again I’m reminded that I need to be more like a little child - to re-learn the honesty that lets me cry and get angry and be vulnerable. Because lamenting in this way teaches me that the world is broken and that I need a savior. And the journey through lament leads to praise for the God who is renewing my heart and the whole world.

~Joanna Hinks