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