“How ya doin’?” It’s a question we toss around casually, often as a mere greeting rather than a genuine inquiry. We’re conditioned to respond with a quick “Fine, thanks!” even when we’re far from it. But what happens when life isn’t fine? When the weight of the world feels crushing, and we can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel?
In these moments, we need to rediscover the ancient practice of lament. Far from being a sign of weak faith, lament is a powerful spiritual tool that allows us to embrace our full humanity while deepening our trust in God’s unfailing love.
The Bible is no stranger to lament. In fact, it’s woven throughout Scripture, particularly in the Psalms. Of the 150 psalms, an estimated 50 to 65 are psalms of lament. This shouldn’t surprise us, given that many were written by David, a man who spent considerable time fleeing for his life. The entire book of Lamentations serves as a poignant memorial to the pain and confusion of the Israelites following the destruction of Jerusalem in 586 B.C.
But what exactly is lament, and how does it differ from mere complaining? Let’s look at Psalm 13 for guidance:
“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 have sorrow in my heart all day long? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?” (Psalm 13:1-2)
At first glance, this might sound like a complaint. But notice how the psalm ends:
“But I trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord because he has dealt bountifully with me.” (Psalm 13:5-6)
This shift in tone reveals the true nature of lament. Unlike complaining, which questions God’s character based on current circumstances, lament recognizes God’s goodness even in the midst of suffering. It’s a form of praise that acknowledges life’s difficulties while still affirming God’s unchanging nature.
Lament also demonstrates the depth of our relationship with God. When we cry out, “How long, O Lord?” we’re not shouting into the void. We’re speaking to Someone we know intimately, Someone we trust will answer. This implies a pre-existing relationship, a history of God’s presence in our lives.
Think about it: We can only feel abandoned by someone we’ve known before. We can only miss a face we’ve seen. The very act of lamenting shows that we feel safe enough to express our raw emotions to God, knowing He can handle our pain and confusion.
Contrast this with a heartbreaking story from an orphanage in Russia, where visitors were struck by the eerie silence in the nursery. The babies weren’t quiet because they had no needs; they had simply learned that their cries would go unanswered. When we stop crying out to God in our times of need, it may signify a loss of trust and intimacy in our relationship with Him.
Lament is also a call to action. When we pray, “Consider and answer me, O Lord my God! Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death” (Psalm 13:3), we’re asking God to intervene in our lives. It’s a form of surrender, acknowledging our limitations and finding comfort in God’s limitless power.
Of course, this doesn’t mean God is obligated to act exactly as we wish. But lament allows us to lean into who God is, trusting in His faithfulness even when we can’t see the outcome. As one wise person once said, “God didn’t bring you this far just to leave you here by yourself.”
Interestingly, lament isn’t always personal. Many psalms express national lament, crying out on behalf of an entire people facing crisis or exile. This reminds us of our connection to the wider community of faith. When we pray the psalms of lament, even if we’re not currently suffering, we’re cultivating empathy for those who are. We become more aware of the pain and injustice in the world around us, and we may even find ourselves called to be the answer to someone else’s prayer.
In our fast-paced, “good vibes only” culture, we often feel pressured to move on quickly from grief or pretend we’re okay when we’re not. But unprocessed pain has a way of resurfacing, often at the most unexpected times. Learning to lament gives us permission to work through our emotions on our own timeline, leading to genuine healing and spiritual growth.
When we embrace lament, we discover new depths to our faith. We may not always get the answers we want, but we learn that we’re never truly alone in our struggles. As theologian Frederick Buechner beautifully expressed, “The resurrection reminds us that the worst thing is not the last thing.”
This truth is at the heart of the Christian journey. We walk through valleys of shadow, but we do not remain there. Lament brings hope because it reminds us that God is with us, even in our darkest moments. It teaches us to trust not in our circumstances, but in the unchanging character of a loving God.
So the next time someone asks, “How ya doin’?” don’t be afraid to be honest. And more importantly, don’t hesitate to bring your true feelings to God. Cry out. Question. Lament. For in doing so, you’ll find yourself drawing closer to the One who hears every whispered prayer and catches every falling tear.
In a world that often feels chaotic and cruel, the practice of lament offers a powerful antidote to despair. It allows us to face our pain honestly while still clinging to hope. It reminds us that even when we can’t see the way forward, we serve a God who specializes in making a way where there seems to be no way.
As you go about your week, consider incorporating lament into your spiritual practice. Read through the psalms of lament, letting their raw emotion guide your own prayers. Pay attention to the suffering around you, and don’t shy away from sitting with others in their pain. And above all, remember that your cries are heard by a God who is closer than you could ever imagine, even in those moments when His presence feels distant.
In lament, we find the courage to be fully human and the faith to trust in a fully present God. May we all learn to lament well, finding hope and healing in the process.
