Learning to Lament: God Speaks

The voices of pain, fear and anger speak loudly. As we journey through lament, we need to listen to and be reoriented by God’s voice. Thankfully, God not only sees and cares for us, but He speaks His words to our broken hearts. Since creation, God has been speaking life and hope and purpose. The written Word reveals Himself—through it we learn His character, His ways and His heart. But it’s not just information—God’s words are relational and purposeful. 

The practice of pouring out our hearts in humble complaint may feel like the easier and more familiar step, but an essential aspect of the lament process is tuning our hearts to hear and receive what God is saying to us. So what are some of the words that God speaks to those who are grieving?

  • God is near, and nothing can separate us from His love. Whatever our pain, He invites us to walk through it with Him. 
  • Just as God daily fed the Israelites with manna during their wilderness journey, He gives us grace and strength for today, and will give it again tomorrow. 
  • No other refuge is sufficient. In Him, we will find rest and joy and hope.
  • He loves what is good and hates what is evil.
  • God is still at work. His power is perfect, and His purposes will be accomplished. 
  • There is more beyond our suffering. We are invited into God’s eternal Kingdom reality, where our present pain is light and momentary compared with our future hope, which is secure and glorious.
  • The world is broken, and we are in need of grace—but He is a God of redemption, and He is making all things new. 

Learning to Lament: The Journey

“To cry is human, but to lament is Christian.” 

Mark Vroegop

It’s natural to want comfort when we’re hurting, so we tend to seek out other people as a sounding board where we rehearse our pain and receive their comfort and affirmation. We cry, we vent, we replay our suffering on an endless loop. For me, it’s so easy to get stuck in that place—the sadness feels all-consuming and it seems like there’s no way out. Now that I think about it, that’s probably why I often avoid acknowledging the sadness altogether—fear that it will swallow me, that I’ll never get out of the pit. 

However, grief is meant to be productive and active; it’s going somewhere. The destination of lament is not a feeling that things will turn out according to our definition of perfect, or a fake display of happiness. Our destination is trust in God as we move deeper into relationship with Him and lift our eyes to focus on His steadfast love and character. Lament leads us on a journey—from darkness to light, hopeless to resting.

The initial step in this journey is to turn to God in response to His invitation. The next element is what we normally think of as the central aspect of grief—crying out to God, pouring out our heart before the Lord. We acknowledge the pain, hurt, fears and frustrations, and we take them to Him. This crying out is very different from just venting though, because of who we’re talking to—God our Father who creates all things and yet knows, loves and cares about us individually. He is the God of all comfort, and we’re talking to Him in the context of relationship.

The journey continues on from there though, leading us to recall God’s character and faithfulness and look to Him for help and hope. By lifting our eyes up off of the pain and focusing on Him, our perspective can be reframed by truth. Like with a camera lens that’s been zoomed all the way in, we can widen the picture, refocus, and see the broader context of what we’re dealing with. Our small story is always happening within God’s grand narrative of redemption. As we continually turn to God and have our vision clarified by His presence, promises and purposes, we grow in trusting and resting in Him, which is where lament graciously leads us. Trust doesn’t mean everything is tied up in a bow—rather, it’s a reminder and persistent recognition that we are tethered to our good God. 

Lament isn’t a one-time linear process; it’s a road we’re going to be traveling as long as we sojourn in this broken world. But it isn’t stagnant; it’s active, moving us toward God and toward each other. 

Learning to Lament: The Invitation

I recently read Mark Vroegop’s book about lament entitled Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy. It gave me a perspective that I really appreciate, and has become a resource that I often recommend to those I counsel. But I’ve been realizing during this season that I really need to learn how to practice lament myself. 

According to Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy, the first step of lament is to turn to God. It sounds simple enough, but sometimes this initial turning is the hardest part. Feelings of cynicism or hopelessness can lead us to seek our own solutions. For me, I tend to either plow ahead and try to fix or control the situation, or I just numb my emotions with distractions like food and tv because it feels like too much to think about. We turn to all the wrong places looking for hope and comfort. 

Though I often cry out to God in short bursts, what I really need is to fully turn, sit with Him, and be still. The pain and fear are hard to face, but I know my good Father is inviting me: “Come, you who are weary.” “Seek My face.” “Abide in My love.” “Take refuge in Me.” How foolish it would be for me to ignore that sweet invitation. These are not things I can solve or face on my own, and ignoring or numbing the pain won’t bring about any good fruit. My Father is inviting me to run into His arms, to know His love and mercy, to be shaped by His truth, to find hope in His redemptive work. My heart breaks over the brokenness of the world, and I don’t want to turn away and pretend not to see. Lament is designed to take us on a journey, and the first step is to turn and run into the open arms of our Father, who has entered into our broken world and is redeeming people to Himself.