Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Sometimes there are no other words to express all the feelings that well up inside me. And even at times, these words that have been passed down to generation after generation of believers still feel insufficient.
It has been a long week...and one with a lot of questions. Why does God allow terrible things to happen? Why do God-fearing, God-following people suffer and those who don't follow Christ not seem to suffer at all? How can I provide comfort to people who understand the reality of injustice much more than I ever can?
How can we as Christians who talk and talk and talk about justice make any kind of change in a dangerous and violent society where people are too afraid to speak out?
This week took a shocking turn for my church family in Santa Rosa when one of our brothers was brutally killed after preaching at another church a few minutes outside of town. This man was a well-respected member of our church, always humble and caring, always with a smile and a joking word. He was also a mentor within the youth group and will be greatly missed as a father-figure for many kids, not just his own.
Although it has not been easy, it has been a privilege to be part of this church community and share in their pain this week. To walk along side them and share in the grieving process has taught me a lot already and continues to stretch me in my relationships with friends and in my faith.
When faced with situations of injustice and pain, my first reaction is often one of anger and frustration. Then I think, "ok, but what are we going to DO about it?" Taking action feels like the only correct response, and if I'm not actively pursuing something, then I'm not doing enough. But perhaps we need a change in our thinking. To allow ourselves the freedom to be still for a moment (or two), to mourn, weep, question, beat our chest and dwell in the tragedy and pain.
It was only in reading the thoughts of others that I was able to allow myself this space for lament and mourning:
The antiquated notion of lamentation points us in a direction opposite to our contemporary impulses. We are conditioned to respond to a problem...by identifying a course of action and mustering as much resolve as possible in an effort to make a positive difference. The standard operating principles – which have their place – include effort, productive change and hope. Lamentation derails that. It provides a sacred space in which to expose our shadiest feelings.
I need this. I can’t carry all [of this] with me.
Lamentation is a space in which we do not need to hide or minimize these normally frowned-upon sentiments...In lament, we walk straight into the darkness, the valley of shadows, and stay there as long as necessary.
Nancy Duff, a professor at Princeton Theological Seminary and an advocate of reviving lamentation, writes that usually “we are taught that true faith in God mitigates such intense feelings” as the ones we might express in lament. Similarly, theologian Walter Brueggemann notes the common and, in his view, unfortunate belief that good Christians do not “acknowledge and embrace negativity.”
But the biblical lamenters – who wrote a full third of the Psalms – make an art out of our impropriety. They express desire for harsh vengeance (“Happy shall they be who take [the Babylonians’] little ones and dash them against the rock.” Ps 137:9); they make brazen accusations against God (“You [God] have renounced the covenant with your servant.” Ps 89:39); and they cry out in utter despair (“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” Ps 13:1). This is not how I was taught to pray in Sunday School.
Lamentation even allows us to give up. Duff says it “allows us to rely on God and the community to carry forth hope on our behalf when we ourselves have no hope in us.”
I know that my community here is NOT without hope and have already seen a vibrant strength in the midst of tragedy...but I am asking my broader community to carry forth the hope on our behalf, because sometimes even our most resilient faith can be hard to find.
[quoted text from Will Braun. full article here]
Just read this again and liked it again :)
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