Lament. If you were to ask me to define the word, I'd tell you that it is the most powerful form of worship that there is. It is full acknowledgement of pain. It is a willingness to be undoubtedly wrecked. It does not laugh the pain away. It does not take the edge off with a drink. It does not truck on as if nothing is wrong. Instead, it takes one step in front of the other, down, down, down, and welcomes desolation to sit down for a long chat. In December of 2019, I asked the Lord to give me a word for the upcoming year. He responded with "endurance" and I groaned, because I knew what that meant. At least, I thought I did--but nothing could have prepared me for what came next. I think it's safe to say that 2020 brought many of us to our knees. Together, in America, we experienced political upheaval, the exposure of racial injustice, and the ravages of a sweeping pandemic. All three of these had (and continue to have) deadly effects. Simultaneously, my family endured the horrific near-death accident of my grandfather and the exhaustion of his subsequent care. This occurred as my mother adjusted to a new marriage and my sister and I welcomed my step-father into the family. To say as much as possible without exposing our privacy, during this time, my loved ones and myself also experienced heavy relational turmoil, mental health struggles, difficult decisions, and other major unforeseen transitions. Last April until November marked some of the toughest months which I have ever had to endure. Over and over, I opened my front door to find a handwritten, signed, and sealed invitation to lament. Soon enough, I found myself utterly imbued in its throes. As I meditated on lament, I was brought to Romans 8. The biblically-literate Christian champions this chapter for its conclusion of victory and God's good providence, but only recently did I realize how much the passage talks about death. Within its 39 verses, Romans 8 alludes to death or decay upwards of 10 times. Among other things, it discusses bodies that are subject to death, the need to put to death our bad habits, the death of Christ, the decay of all creation, and an encounter with deadly persecution. Though the church often forgoes discussion on this side of Romans 8, the chapter clearly contains an undercurrent of death. Not only this, but it is contextualized by Romans 7: a gut-wrenching lament of struggle and defeat. Almost every genuine Christian I know groans in solidarity when this passage is brought up. If we are honest, we are not strangers to such defeat. But I wonder: have we become strangers to lament? Are we afraid of such a transaction, with the price of our pain so costly that we're unwilling to believe that any measure of hope could offset it? Do we think that rejoicing precludes mourning? Maybe we fear what lurks at the ends of ourselves. In any case, we often stay away from the long, dark hallway behind the door of lament, because we fear a dead end. We are afraid that hopelessness cannot give way to hope, that defeat is the true end instead of victory, and that not every death can be resurrected. We have focused on the victory of Romans 8 and neglected its lament of death. We are wrong to do so. We have a clear model towards resurrection, and it involves first a panicked Friday night and an empty, desolate Saturday morning. Someone once told me that the earthly existence is the only time in which mankind can worship God through pain. That realization has somehow made it easier for me to do so. We must engage with lament. It is a powerful form of worship, not only because it is raw and costly, but because it is temporary. We have a limited window of time in which we can choose to embrace it. If you're interested in hearing more about lament, click here to hear my spoken word poem: What Do You Do? As I said, my word for 2020 was "endurance". With each new wave that hit me, while I lamented, I returned to my designated theme verses: Hebrews 10:36-37. They read as following: "You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what He has promised. For in just a little while, he who is coming will come and will not delay."
I found encouragement in these verses, because they injected purpose into my suffering. They reminded me that God would use my lament and its causes to strengthen me. They reminded me that my tears were teaching me to wait on Him and that I would one day reap the endurance that I so painstakingly sowed. I held onto that. As I persevered, I learned the truth. In the wasteland of my lament, my prayers were digging a well for my tears to fill. I would not always stay by this well, but others would go behind me, and find rest there amidst their own desert seasons. In the midst of my struggle, my emotions were bricks, laying down a road to bring myself and others to Him. Lament was not just another unfortunate phase that I had to endure. Instead, it was part of a much more beautiful picture, drawing others in pastels and bright colors, and bringing us all closer to the One who never left us, and the One who is coming again. Much love, x Savannah
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AuthenticityI want to wipe the smudges off the picture of what Christian living is really like. I’m from Massachusetts: land of the candid, home of the outspoken, so I’ll try to tell life as it is. My aim is to share my stories and personal observations of God with honesty and clarity, and to do so in ways that leads you to see the truth: your heart is not alone. ArchivesCategories |