Lament

LAMENT

This fall at Duke Divinity School, I took a class titled "Journeys of Reconciliation." We read a book titled Lament: Reclaiming Practices in the Pulpit, Pew and Public Square. I wrote a personal reflection as to what I thought lament might be able to give my family. I share my reflection with you--Jillaine

As I read this book, I felt very tied to its questions, its ideas and own lament that lament is rarely a part of the daily practice of the church and its surrounding community. Father Katongole, before we all departed a few weeks ago from class, noted that we should keep a particular community in mind as we read this book and then make note of what would the gift of lament be for this community. I of course knew at that moment that I would keep my family in mind as I read this book seeing that I was eagerly awaiting this reading since the beginning of the semester. I was hoping that it would be for me exactly what Father Katongole had mentioned, a gift. Have I found it to be a gift? Yes. But questions and confusion are still present.
One way I believe that lament can be a gift to my family is in the questions I have wrestled with regarding the difference between despair and lament. The reading, allowed me to distinguish one way in which lament and despair are different. Lament contains, or maybe better to say assumes, community. In order for lament to occur rightly, if that is fair to say, it must have community. Thus, for us to lament a death, a disease, a job loss etc., we must be surrounded by a support system that will in the time of need, “carry forth hope on our behalf when we ourselves have no hope in us,” (p 4). I now see that despair accompanies lament, but despair on its own, with no community to envelop it, will never take note of the hope. And it is this hope that must be ever present somewhere within the community because “the spine of lament is hope,” (p 54).
Another way lament can be a gift to my family is in its ability to be, as Ellen Charry writes, “A way through the extremes of high Calvinism and atheism, so that we can both trust God and lament the calamities of life” (p 107). From the onset of my mother’s diagnosis questions arose such as, “Why her?” “Why our family?” “What have we done to deserve this?” “Have we not been faithful enough?” “Have I not been faithful enough?” My family also heard plenty of these: “God will show you something good in all of this,” or “God will never give you more than you can handle,” or “God has a plan, don’t worry.” Whether Scripturally based or not, the questions we unanswerable, and the statements were unhelpful, not to mention sometimes insulting. My family found (finds) ourselves in one of two places: resigning to accept this as the will of God, saying that God “wants” my mom to be sick, or wrestling with thoughts that this must not be the good God we know and at times the thought that there was no God. Although the two places seem to be the quick and easy way to think through things, they are anything but easy for us as a Christian family. We don’t want either of them to be true. We want there to be a God, and we want there to be a deeper and better explanation to my mom’s illness than, “God wants this for her.” Lament gives us the in-between that wrestles with faithfully trusting God, and allowing honest expression our confusion, anger, hurt, fear, sadness, and pain. We are able to trust that God is present in our lives as God has always promised, and yet not lie God hiding that we believe right now life is pretty horrible and painful.
So, yes lament can be a gift to my family. But I must admit that lament will not bring what I really want which is the pain to go away. Lament is not the quick and easy way to resolve the questions and confusions of this disease because it does not answer the questions or divest the confusion. I see it as simply facing the questions and confusion head on, which, may bring about something even better than the answers -- that is a peace to my family, but above all to my mother. I hope so.