As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God? My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me all day long, “Where is your God?” These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go to the house of God under the protection of the Mighty One with shouts of joy and praise among the festive throng.
Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you from the land of the Jordan, the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar. Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.
By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me— a prayer to the God of my life. I say to God my Rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?” My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me, saying to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. Psalm 42
I had been a minister for less than a year. My wife and I were living in an apartment next to the church where I served on staff. One day I received a call from the apartment complex manager asking me to come to her office. A tenant in another apartment had just gotten the tragic news that a family member had unexpectedly died. This tenant was distraught, and the manager thought that I could help since I was a minister.
So I quickly made my way to the manager’s office and was introduced to a lady who was clearly hurting over the sad news. Without prompting, this woman began to tell me about the loss she had just experienced. Then in a burst of emotion she shouted, “Why didn’t God do something?”
At that the manager attempted to comfort the lady by declaring, “You shouldn’t say things like that.” Immediately, the woman shut down. Other than a few grunts and nods, she had nothing else to say. So I just sat there in silence with her for several minutes, before she abruptly stood and announced she needed to go home. With that she left. Soon I also returned to my apartment unsure of exactly what had happened and feeling like I hadn’t been all that helpful.
As I gained experience and training in ministry, I was able to look back at that moment with more clarity. The best thing I had done that day was to simply be with this woman especially after she had been shut down by the manager. That well-intentioned but soul-crushing admonition for this hurting woman to not speak what was on her heart was one of the worst things she could have heard. What she needed was permission to express, spew if you will, what was raging within. That permission was not granted. My regret was not being more proactive to encourage this wounded soul to say whatever she wanted to say.
This story reveals a larger problem in the Christian community. We have lost the gift of lament. Go to any church today and most all of the songs reflect praise and adoration for how good and awesome God is. The words and tunes are upbeat and positive. It is as if heaven has already been reached and all around us are blessings to enjoy.
Don’t get me wrong. God is certainly good and awesome. He is always worth of our praise. There are blessings we as believers have that come from the gracious hand of the Lord. And yes, someday we will have an eternity to celebrate the completion of His saving work. However, there are days when God doesn’t feel good and awesome. There are days when it seems that all His blessings have been taken away from us. And there are days when the promise of heaven seems like an empty hope.
This is where lament comes into view. Lament allows us to give voice to our inner dissonance without fearing that someone is going to tell us, “You shouldn’t say that.”
Psalm 42 is a classic example of a lament. The Psalmist indicates that his soul is panting for God not because he is full of joy and praise, but because he is dry within and cannot seem to make connection with God. People around him taunt him for a faith that appears to not be working. Furthermore, he painfully looks back to a time when it was easy for him to shout praises to God. Implied is the fact that such praise now seems forced at best.
Yet he challenges himself. Why is his soul cast down? Why is he so disturbed within? Outwardly he expressed the inner tug-of-war between the reality of his current circumstances and his faith which he refuses to release. Up and down he goes like riding a spiritual teeter-totter. He struggles with his situation, and he remembers his faith. He feels abandoned, but he reaches out to the God of love anyway. The Psalm closes without resolution. The struggle between faith and despair continue.
This is lament. And it is a gift. Lament allows us to expel the pain, doubt, and fear that is within. Only then is there room for faith to return and fill the soul. But even that is not an instant thing. Laments take time. We have to fight to move through them. But when we do, we come out stronger, wiser and better prepared for the next struggle that is sure to come.
Perhaps you are experiencing some tough times. Faith which once came easily now seems illusive. Doubts fill your mind. It feels like God has let you down. Worse, it feels like He’s even abandoned you to your pain. You cry out, but it all you hear in return is silence. In such a state, you will be tempted by the upbeat church of today to “fake it ‘till you make it.” I hope you will resist that temptation and instead receive the gift of lament.
Tell God how you feel without the need to clean it up to make it appear more acceptable. Remember He already knows the truth about you. So like Jeremiah who once called God a liar, say it like it feels. God can handle the truth. At the same time, fight to remember those times when God was close and His blessings felt. Healing comes not by living in denial nor by releasing yourself into cynicism. Rather it comes by allowing yourself to live in the tension between the current disillusionment and the undeniable reality of God’s past goodness and the future hope it brings.
This is what I mean when I say receive the gift. For it is a gift. In our pain we are allowed to be fully human as we face all our limitations and liabilities. At the same time, we are invited to turn our pained eyes to the One who weeps with us, gave Himself for us, and will ultimately restore us to wholeness. Surely, this is a gift we all need to receive.