Leaning into Lament
When my mother passed away, I was fortunate enough to be at her bedside with her still-warm hand in mine. There was only a brief moment between her last breath and the one that did not follow, but as the chasm between life and death opened, it drew from me a moan so deep that it surprised even my own ears. It seemed to rise from a pit of anguish deep in my soul as though my body knew before my mind did that she was gone.
When I later reflected on this moment, I remembered a funeral I attended in South Africa for one of my African colleagues. I observed her community as they wailed and ululated to express their grief, and found it almost frightening as it was so different to any kind of mourning I had ever witnessed. However, after my own experience at my mother’s side, I made the connection that grief needed to move. Really move through our bodies so it didn’t get stuck. Grief demands to be externalized: hence the groans of anguish when alone in the car or the outbursts of tears in the grocery store when least expected.
Lament became the vehicle I needed to help grief move through my body and loosen its grip on my soul.
On my own journey through grief I stumbled upon the practice of lament. As a believer, it gave me a way to actively enter my grief and express my every frustration, sorrow, fear, and regret to a God that was big enough to hear it. I didn’t need to try making sense of what had happened or find meaning in it, nor did I have to pretend that I had it all figured out in his presence or hear any well-meaning platitudes. I merely had to share my pain, like a child crawling into her father’s lap to cry about a playground bully or a lost toy. After years of trying to ignore my grief, minimize it, and hold it under my breath (until it literally took my breath away in a panic attack on an airplane), lament became the vehicle I needed to help the grief move through my body and loosen its grip on my soul.
The Bible is full of laments. One need only look to the Psalms to find David beating his chest and crying out to God, or to the book of Lamentations where Jeremiah mourns his people’s rejection of God, weeping tears of empathy, and showing us a God of compassion and mercy who suffers when we suffer. What a profound thought. It reminds me of Jesus, of whom it was said, “a man of sorrows, well-acquainted with grief;” (Isaiah53:3) and I am comforted to know he shares in my sadness. Laments are found in songs and poetry and I’ve found much comfort in the words of others who have walked this often lonely road of grief before me. However, it was when I started writing my own laments that I eventually felt an unburdening of my soul, which is why I want to share this practice with you here to use during these COVID times as we mourn our losses collectively.
Writing your own lament.
Start by thinking what you want to lament: what aspect of your life are you grieving and want to bring before God (schools not reopening, your wedding postponed, unemployment looming)? Remember, no complaint is too big or too small to be expressed or heard. Find a quiet place to be alone and have pen and paper nearby. Be as creative or literal as you need to be, submit to the process, and resist the urge to edit yourself as you go. Turn it in to a prayer, a poem, or a song - even a drawing of your thoughts. Breathe. We’re ready to begin.
Address to God: cry out to God. How does the way you address him reveal your belief about your relationship with him?
Complaint: what is your complaint? What anger, pain, heartache or sadness do you want to discuss with God?
Affirmation of trust: have you experienced God being on your side in the past? Remember past faithfulness.
Petition/ Request: what is your deepest desire from God? What do you need right now?
Additional argument: are there past situations you want to remind God about?
Enemies: are there things or people in your life that feel like enemies? How can you bring them to God?
Assurance of being heard: what do you need from God to feel heard? How can you acknowledge that God is listening to your prayer in this moment?
Promise/vow to offer praise to God: what promises of praise can you offer to God in this moment?
Assurance: what attribute of God can you thank him for in this moment? What person/thing/event can you be grateful for?
Abba Father, you see how my anxiety rises at the thought of life returning to the way it was before the pandemic. Carpool runs and too-busy mums. You have been there before when I have felt overwhelmed by the pace of life, reminding me of sacred rhythms of rest. I’m asking you today to meet me in my anxious thoughts as you did on the plane that day when fear of the future threatened to suffocate me. Fear is my enemy and I bring it to you again today, knowing that perfect love drives out fear. I know you hear me, for your Word promises that you know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You are close to the broken-hearted. I will lift my head, because I know where my help comes from. Thank you for being my comforter in times of trouble.