Somewhere along the way, we modern Christians got lament wrong: we began thinking of it as optional instead of a required practice of the faith. A strange word to modern ears, "lamentation" feels inherently ancient. It brings to mind images of an overwrought demonstration of mourning -- sackcloth and ashes, "wailing and gnashing of teeth" of biblical proportions.
More than the mere expression of sorrow and regret, however, lamentation is a powerful act, one that the church desperately needs to reclaim. In our world of nonstop news and social media, lamentation is an essential and even revolutionary act.
Scripture suggests that lamentation is a liturgical act that reorients and transforms us. Lamentation is uncensored communion with God -- visceral worship where we learn to be honest, intimate and humble before God. Lamentation is both an acknowledgment that things are not as they should be and an anguished wail, beckoning the Lord to intervene with righteousness and justice.
When we lament, we confess our humanity and concede that we are too weak to combat the world's powers, principalities and spiritual wickedness on our own. When we lament, we declare that only God has the power to truly mend the world's pain and brokenness.
Why is that so relevant to our times? Tragedy, after all, has always existed. But today, we are bombarded by an unprecedented, unceasing stream of media that exposes us to the world's pain and brokenness as never before.
We not only hear about the tragedies in Ferguson, Baltimore, Charleston and Waller County, Texas; we now also routinely see traumatizing video of unarmed civilians being killed -- Tamir Rice, John Crawford, Walter Scott, Sam Dubose.
Nevertheless, before we truly grieve one tragedy, another occurs. So in our rush to keep up with our newsfeeds, with the latest scandal, the newest tragedy, we move on before processing the trauma we have just witnessed. We move on to stay up to date -- and in part, because we believe that our minds and our hearts, like our smartphones, can hold only so much.
Lamentation, however, forces us to slow down. In the midst of daily tragedy, lamentation requires us to stay engaged after the cameras and publicity move on. It summons us to immerse ourselves in the pain and despair of the world, of our communities, of our own sinfulness.
Still, why lament?
Because, paradoxically, often the best way to cure pain is to engage it.
