B-Sides of the Old Testament: Lamentations

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We decided in the Two Way [Sermon Discussion Group] the other day that part of the reason that these books are considered B-side material is because they are so depressing. Or if not depressing, at least tougher sledding, emotionally and theologically. They are not stories that we can tell children, about families and miracles with some occasional animals thrown in for good measure….a whale here or an ark there. They are not full of beautiful language like “The Lord is my shepherd” in the Psalms or “Comfort, Comfort, Ye My People” like Isaiah. They aren’t epic tales of kings and soldiers and war, of deceit and intrigue and romance. Simply put, they are not as accessible as so many books in the Old Testament are. Would Stephen Spielberg ever make a movie about Leviticus? Nehemiah? Lamentations? Could you imagine? “In theaters soon: Wormwood and Gall…a heartwarming tale of a man grinding his teeth with gravel, in IMAX!”

And yet, might I suggest that while Lamentations is not escapist theater or mushy romance, it is exactly what we need to hear in today’s world. For can any of us doubt that we are living in a world that is lamentable? Can we rightly say that there aren’t things that we lament, in our personal lives, on a national scale, in a global context? Perhaps this is exactly the book that we need, even if the explosions and swashbuckling heroes aren’t anywhere to be seen. To make the point, let’s start with an exercise:

• Close your eyes for a moment and notice your breath and your body. Now, I want you to think about a time this week where you heard about something in the world that gave you a concern. Maybe it was on the news, or a social media post, or a political ad.  An injustice that has happened in our nation. In the world. Something that has angered or saddened you. An abuse of power, perhaps someone who has used their privilege to hurt others or failed to protect the innocent. An act of violence, at a school or public place. A broader crisis that feels out of control: economic crisis, moral crisis, ecological crisis.

• Now, move closer to home. Think about an injustice that has happened to someone you know, perhaps a family member or childhood friend. Someone who was judged unfairly, or treated poorly because of their race, or gender, or faith. What feelings do you have as you think about that injustice?

• Now, even closer, think about a personal concern in your life. Is there the pain of grief, that stings when you think of the one that you loved so deeply, gone before you were ready? Have you been treated unfairly, unjustly? Is there a time when you were told to “just cheer up” or push down your tears, instead of letting your God-given emotions flow?

• Now, with these various experiences layered on top of each other, imagine God standing in front of you. What words would you say? What emotions would you share? As you think of those words, pay attention again to your body. Has your breath quickened, as you relive a pain or grief? Have your shoulders tightened, your jaw clinched? Do you feel as if your teeth are grinding on gravel?

Slowly open your eyes. And…welcome to Lamentations.

Imagining or reliving the laments of our own life help us to understand what is happening in the book of Lamentations. Most scholars agree that Lamentations was written directly after the fall of Jerusalem, annihilated by the Babylonians. Traditionally, even, there is a belief that the prophet Jeremiah, who was active during these years, might have been the author. And it is absolutely clear that Lamentations responds to the experience of someone who has lost everything in the horrors of war. When we read this book, it makes sense to read it through the lens of Palestine. Of Ukraine. Of Myanmar. Of Haiti.

And yet, there is a growing scholarship that suggests that this isn’t the only way to read this book. They would suggest that the book is still impactful, even if we don’t personally know the context of war and destruction. While the context is death and destruction in a certain time and place, there is a universal feeling to the book. Perhaps there is a reason that the book itself does not claim to have been written by Jeremiah, or anyone. It seems to make the point that each of us knows the experience of lament. The experience of anger, trauma, rage, and shame that the author knew is something that we know, too. So, what do we do with it all? The author of Lamentations has something to say about this, as well. In fact, two somethings. And, like a good sermon should…they start with the same letter: H.

The first H is Honesty. OK, so the H is silent in this one. But the point is the same. The author of Lamentations insists that the only way through our lamentable grief is to be honest. And, wow, there is a lot of honesty in this passage, isn’t there? Talking about God, the author says things like:

• He has filled me with bitterness…

• He has made my flesh and my skin waste away…

• He is a bear lying in wait for me, a lion in hiding…

• Though I call and cry out for help, he shuts out my prayer…

• My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is…

Enough honesty for you? But, throughout the chapter, and the book, it doesn’t feel like this honesty is weakness. It feels like strength, even faith. Do you ever notice how we often treat God like a sleeping baby? We don’t want God to erupt into tears and fury, so we tiptoe around our truth. We are afraid that if we let God know how we really feel, that God might exact some kind of price or punishment, and we’ll wish we had stayed quiet. So, we shush ourselves and each other, hoping that widdle-biddie God doesn’t get his sensitive feelings hurt. Not Lamentations. Zero holding back. The author roars from deep power and honest lament. It’s like he is stomping around as if he is TRYING to wake God up. “Where are you? Why aren’t you doing something about this? Get up and get to work!”

Which is the same thing we see in the life of Jesus, especially in the last week of his life. The Luke passage from earlier comes right after the joy of the triumphal entry on Palm Sunday. Jesus, knowing what was ahead, saw the Temple and city of Jerusalem and wept in angry lament, wishing he could gather the innocent together like a mother hen with her chicks. That same Jesus soon was weeping in the Garden, honestly pleading to God to take away the cup of death. And then a few hours later, he cried out from the cross, quoting one of those angry and lamenting psalms, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” The faith of the Old Testament, and the faith of Jesus, is one of clear-minded, honest, lament. Honesty is not weakness but is the strength of faith.

So take this as your permission granting to share honestly and clearly, whatever your lament looks like. Pray to God, not holding back. Write out your prayers…journal, or write poetry like the author of Lamentations. Tell a friend. Tell your therapist. Lament requires our honesty, and the Bible invites it.

Lamentations teaches us to be honest, but there is another H word there, as well:

Lamentations 3.21–26

²¹ But this I call to mind,
    and therefore I have hope:

²² The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
    his mercies never come to an end;
²³ they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
²⁴ “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
    “therefore I will hope in him.”

²⁵ The Lord is good to those who wait for him,
    to the soul that seeks him.
²⁶ It is good that one should wait quietly
    for the salvation of the Lord.

Do you see it? Hope. According to the text, it is only after we have been honest with God, complaining, and despairing, and accusing, and lamenting, that’s when we can arrive at hope. Even when the thing that is hoped for is far, far away. In the book of Lamentations, we don’t get a happy ending: the promised land restored, and the people restored, and the fields and crops restored, and the olive oil and wine flowing in peace and prosperity. Part of the reason I think we don’t like the book is because it doesn’t ever get to happiness by the end. It never arrives. But in some ways, hope is even more powerful than happiness. Imagine the power of someone, standing, in the middle of a burning city, writing poetry about a God whose love never ends. That is hope. That is faith. That is power.

Cole Arthur Riley writes about this relationship in “Lament” in her book This Here Flesh:

Lament is not anti-hope. It’s not even a stepping-stone to hope. Lament itself is a form of hope. It’s an innate awareness that what is should not be. As if something is written on our hearts that tells us exactly what we are meant for, and whenever confronted with something contrary to this, we experience a crumbling. And in the rubble, we say, God, you promised….Our hope can only be as deep as our lament is. And our lament as deep as our hope.

I think when God bears witness to our lament, we discover that we are not calling out to a teacher but inviting God as a nurturer—a mother who hears her child crying in the night. She wakes, rises, and comes to the place where we lie. She rushes with her holy warmth against our flesh and says, I’m here.

That is a picture of hope.

Once again, I invite you to close your eyes. This sermon and this text are…a lot. Perhaps you are still carrying some lament, held from the first guided prayer time or maybe held for much longer. Again, pay attention to your body. Where do you hold that lament? That grief? The pain and anger of “God, this is not right”?

Perhaps it is in your jaw, clinched as if you have been chewing on gravel. If so, reach up and touch your jaw. Feel its warmth, and know…God is there.

Perhaps it is in your stomach, churning and anxious as you think about this lament. If so, place your hand on your stomach and trust…God is there.

Perhaps you feel your heart racing, pulse rising as you think about these things that unsettle you. If so, place your hand on your heart. Maybe you can feel your heartrate slowing as you breathe…maybe not. But either way, know…God is there.

And finally, perhaps you feel the lament in your shoulders. You feel that you carry the weight of the world, and can feel them tight and stiff. Some folks demonstrate hope and trust by placing their hands on their shoulders…their right hand on their left shoulder and their left hand on their right shoulder. Feel the pressure. Perhaps tap each side in turn. Do you feel as though you have been embraced? God, like a mother in the night, holding her arms around you…”I’m here…I’m here…I’m here.”