Too Much Praise, Not Enough Lament
Sometimes — far too often, actually — Christians in America praise too much and lament too little. This is particularly true of Christian traditions that are triumphalist in spirit—traditions whose worship centers on “praising” an omnipotent power whom they believe is “in control” of the world’s affairs. In so doing, they can miss a fundamental way in which God is present in human life: in and through suffering and sadness, some of which is a result of human cruelty and callousness, the injustices in life.
These injustices were not planned by God; they are not part of a pre-existing cosmic blueprint. They are the result of human freedom or, in the case of disease and natural disasters, the result of the agencies of the more-than-human world. In open and relational (process) theologies, God works with a world that has agency of its own, and does so in two ways: as an inwardly felt lure toward creating conditions of justice, reducing suffering, and fostering a welcoming spirit; and as a companion to the suffering itself.
Lament is a way of joining God in this companioning. Most deeply, it occurs not in lamenting our own suffering, whatever it may be, but in lamenting the suffering of others—whose experiences and stories we learn to inhabit, as does God. The God revealed in Jesus is not aloof from suffering but present within it. We find God not by looking up to a kingly throne, but by feeling with those who endure pain, loss, indignity, and death. And we do so with brutal honesty, without crossing our fingers.
In her Lenten meditation offered on this page, Vikki Randall puts it this way: “One of the striking things about biblical lament is the brutal honesty. Lament is about laying it all on the table—all the losses, all the suffering, all the pain—without reservation or filtering.” She builds upon the work of Soong-Chan Rah, author of Prophetic Lament: a video of whom is offered at the bottom of this page.
- Jay McDaniel
These injustices were not planned by God; they are not part of a pre-existing cosmic blueprint. They are the result of human freedom or, in the case of disease and natural disasters, the result of the agencies of the more-than-human world. In open and relational (process) theologies, God works with a world that has agency of its own, and does so in two ways: as an inwardly felt lure toward creating conditions of justice, reducing suffering, and fostering a welcoming spirit; and as a companion to the suffering itself.
Lament is a way of joining God in this companioning. Most deeply, it occurs not in lamenting our own suffering, whatever it may be, but in lamenting the suffering of others—whose experiences and stories we learn to inhabit, as does God. The God revealed in Jesus is not aloof from suffering but present within it. We find God not by looking up to a kingly throne, but by feeling with those who endure pain, loss, indignity, and death. And we do so with brutal honesty, without crossing our fingers.
In her Lenten meditation offered on this page, Vikki Randall puts it this way: “One of the striking things about biblical lament is the brutal honesty. Lament is about laying it all on the table—all the losses, all the suffering, all the pain—without reservation or filtering.” She builds upon the work of Soong-Chan Rah, author of Prophetic Lament: a video of whom is offered at the bottom of this page.
- Jay McDaniel
Lamenting Injustice:
A Lenten Reflection
By Vikki Randall
We are praying for rain
Rain to fall down
Washing away the dirt
Washing away the blood
On the sidewalk
On the steering wheel. On the dashboard
On their hands
We are praying for rain
Rain to fall
To mix with tears
So we cannot know which is which
Our hearts in shattered pieces
We are afraid to show
We are praying for rain
We are praying for rain in a barren land
In a land that has known only pain
In a land that has become hard and desolate
We are praying for rain.
Rain to fall down
Washing away the dirt
Washing away the blood
On the sidewalk
On the steering wheel. On the dashboard
On their hands
We are praying for rain
Rain to fall
To mix with tears
So we cannot know which is which
Our hearts in shattered pieces
We are afraid to show
We are praying for rain
We are praying for rain in a barren land
In a land that has known only pain
In a land that has become hard and desolate
We are praying for rain.
One of the hardest tasks for any pastor is officiating a funeral for a child. I've only had to do that once. It was the sudden death of a 10 year old boy. I knew him well, knew the family well. They were active in our church. It was devastating, heartbreaking. As the sanctuary filled, the heaviness, the weight of pain and grief, was palpable.
My co-pastor who was leading with me began his homily with the words: "There is something wrong with a world where this could happen.” There was an audible sigh, as if we’d been holding our breath. Relief that he hadn't offered the usual pat words, words that ring empty in the face of great tragedy. There was something powerful in just saying out loud: This. Is. Not. Right.
That deep emotion that resists all our feeble attempts to placate, to offer meager crumbs of solace, is what drives the biblical practice of lament. We have entered into the season of Lent, a time marked in the Christian calendar with mourning, confession, and a focus on mortality. Before we can embrace the joy of resurrection, we must first take stock of our current reality. We must first lament.
And so this is where we find ourselves now, as a nation, and as a global community, as we witness unspeakable violence and terror, loss and degradation. In the face of unimagined injustice, there are no words, no pat answers. Only the deep, raw grief of lament. Before we dare to speak into the darkness—to try to answer what seems unanswerable–we must stop first and name the sorrow. We must stop and take account of all that's been lost, and name it. We must first lament.
My co-pastor who was leading with me began his homily with the words: "There is something wrong with a world where this could happen.” There was an audible sigh, as if we’d been holding our breath. Relief that he hadn't offered the usual pat words, words that ring empty in the face of great tragedy. There was something powerful in just saying out loud: This. Is. Not. Right.
That deep emotion that resists all our feeble attempts to placate, to offer meager crumbs of solace, is what drives the biblical practice of lament. We have entered into the season of Lent, a time marked in the Christian calendar with mourning, confession, and a focus on mortality. Before we can embrace the joy of resurrection, we must first take stock of our current reality. We must first lament.
And so this is where we find ourselves now, as a nation, and as a global community, as we witness unspeakable violence and terror, loss and degradation. In the face of unimagined injustice, there are no words, no pat answers. Only the deep, raw grief of lament. Before we dare to speak into the darkness—to try to answer what seems unanswerable–we must stop first and name the sorrow. We must stop and take account of all that's been lost, and name it. We must first lament.
Why does the way of the guilty prosper? Why do all who are treacherous thrive?
- Jer. 12:1, NRSVue
O LORD, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen? Or cry to you “Violence!” and you will not save?* Why do you make me see wrongdoing and look at trouble? Destruction and violence are before me; strife and contention arise.
-Hab. 1:2-3 NRSVue
In Prophetic Lament: A Call for Justice in Troubled Times by Soong-Chan Rah, lament is defined as a "response to the reality of suffering [that] engages God in the context of pain and trouble… Lament is the language of suffering."
One of the largest libraries of lament is in the book of Psalms. There are many types of psalms—praise, creation, royal, liturgical, confessional. But about 40% of the book is lament psalms. Because life is hard. Because when life is hard, when there is suffering, we need words to cry out to God. The psalms give us that language—the language of lament.
Why, O LORD, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?
- Psalm 10:1 NRSVue
Will the Lord reject forever? Will he never show his favor again? Has his unfailing love vanished forever? Has his promise failed for all time?
- Psalm 77:7-8 NRSVue
How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain in my soul, and every day have sorrow in my heart?
- Psalm 13:1-2 NRSVue
Another place where we find the language of lament is in the book of Lamentations, dealing with the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple in 586 BC. The books of Daniel and Jeremiah speak to the exiles—those taken as captives to Babylon. But Lamentations is speaking to those left behind. The elderly, the vulnerable, left in a once great city now in ruins, their very survival imperiled.
It is there I believe we might find some words that will help frame our response to the suffering we experience or see in the world around us. Though the historical context of Lamentations is quite different than our own, there is so much in the text that speaks deeply and powerfully to us, as we see the devastation left behind after incursions in Los Angeles, Portland, Chicago. In Minneapolis.
How lonely sits the city that once was full of people! She weeps bitterly in the night, with tears on her cheeks…
Look, O LORD, at how distressed I am; my stomach churns; my heart is wrung within me… In the street the sword bereaves; in the house it is like death.
They heard how I was groaning, with no one to comfort me…for my groans are many, and my heart is faint.
- Lam. 1: 1-2, 20-22 NRSVue
In Prophetic Lament, Rah draws a connection between the cycles of suffering and confession in the book of Lamentations, with the need for America and the Church to contend with our own complicity in the sins of racism. This is not an easy path to take. We want to resist looking too closely at our painful past. But centuries of pain and suffering cannot remain buried forever. And so we can see the injustice being brought upon our cities being played out in starkly racial terms, with racial profiling and dehumanizing language. With detention. Deportation. Devastation.
Rah writes:
“In the United States, grief and pain related to race are often suppressed, and the stories of suffering are often untold. Our history is incomplete. The painful stories of the suffering of the African American community, in particular, remain hidden. Often, American Christians may even deny the narrative of suffering, claiming that things weren’t so bad for the slaves or that at least the African Americans had the chance to convert to Christianity. The story of suffering is often swept under the rug in order not to create discomfort or bad feelings.”
“Americans often have a difficult time addressing the issue of race… American culture gravitates toward narratives of exceptionalism and triumphalism, which results in amnesia about a tainted history. The reality of a shameful history undermines the narrative of exceptionalism, so it must remain hidden.
“True reconciliation, justice and shalom require a remembering of suffering, an unearthing of a shameful history and a willingness to enter into lament. Lament calls for an authentic encounter with the truth and challenges of privilege, because privilege would hide the truth that creates discomfort.”
-Soong-Chan Rah, Prophetic Lament, p. 47-48, 57-58
One of the striking things about biblical lament is the brutal honesty. Lament is about laying it all on the table, all the losses, all the suffering, all the pain, without reservation or filtering. Rah writes, "Lament is an act of protest as the lamenter is allowed to express indignation and even outrage about the experience of suffering… It is not the moment to explain or justify. It is not even a moment to plead for a better future. Lamentations provides the space and time to mourn… Rather than denying reality, Lamentations portrays suffering and death in gritty detail.” (Rah, p. 44, 46)
And so, this Lent, we will take the time to name all the things. To speak of the suffering. Global suffering and insecurity with the loss of USAid, leading to starvation
and disease, coupled with warmongering in Venezuela and Ukraine, Congo and Gaza.
Suffering in our homeland with casual cruelty, violence, detention. Families shattered.
And we will name the names, beginning with: Geraldo Lunas Campos. Luis Gustavo Nunez Caceres. Luis Beltran Yanez-Cruz. Parady La. Victor Manuel Diaz. Heber Sanchaz Dominguez. Keith Porter. Renee Nicole Good. Alex Jeffrey Pretti.
I invite you to take a moment now and think of your laments, both the small, intimate suffering that comes in private and personal and devastating ways, and the larger grieving for a nation, a world crying out for mercy and for compassion.
In this moment, name them all. What have you lost? What have we lost? What are you grieving? What are your fears? What losses do they represent? Don't try to edit it to make it less ugly or more worthy. Don't look for a sliver lining.
Lament gives us the space to name it all. To sit with it all. To mourn. And as we grieve, we cling to our faith in the God who grieves with us. N.T. Wright writes: "The point of lament, woven thus into the fabric of the biblical tradition, is not just that it's an outlet for our frustration, sorrow, loneliness and sheer inability to understand what is happening or why. The mystery of the biblical story is that God also laments. Some Christians like to think of God as above all that, knowing everything, in charge of everything, calm and unaffected by the troubles in his world. That's not the picture we get in the Bible."
Many—not all, but many of the lament psalms end with a little Hebrew word "vav," usually translated "and" or "though.” It provides a pivot point—a way of turning toward hope. A way of looking toward that future that we pray for, every time we pray the Lord's prayer, "may your Kingdom come, may your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven."
But today, we will mourn.
Lord, we come before you today from many different places. We are carrying pain or sorrow. Some of our wounds are raw and open, some are scarred over after many years. But we bear them all. Give us the courage today to bring these things before you, to say the true things, trusting you with our pain, our questions, and our tears.
Come Lord Jesus come. Come into our sorrow, our fear, our loss.
We name now the things that we are mourning today, the places of pain and grief…
Hear our prayer. Amen.
Reclaiming Lament
Soong-Chan Rah, Author of Prophetic Lament
"The American church avoids lament. But lament is a missing, essential component of Christian faith. Lament recognizes struggles and suffering, that the world is not as it ought to be. Lament challenges the status quo and cries out for justice against existing injustices. Soong-Chan Rah's prophetic exposition of the book of Lamentations provides a biblical and theological lens for examining the church's relationship with a suffering world. It critiques our success-centered triumphalism and calls us to repent of our hubris. And it opens up new ways to encounter the other. Hear the prophet's lament as the necessary corrective for Christianity's future.' (Publisher)
"The American church avoids lament. But lament is a missing, essential component of Christian faith. Lament recognizes struggles and suffering, that the world is not as it ought to be. Lament challenges the status quo and cries out for justice against existing injustices. Soong-Chan Rah's prophetic exposition of the book of Lamentations provides a biblical and theological lens for examining the church's relationship with a suffering world. It critiques our success-centered triumphalism and calls us to repent of our hubris. And it opens up new ways to encounter the other. Hear the prophet's lament as the necessary corrective for Christianity's future.' (Publisher)