"Holy Crying": The Healing Power of Lament—Even in Eastertide (A guest post)
Photo by michael podger on Unsplash
The Rev. Sarah Hollar is a Mentor for Backstory Preaching, the voice of the Narrative Lectionary in Sermon Prep To Go, an Episcopal Priest serving the Diocese of North Carolina, and Imagineer for Being, Becoming, Beloved—an invitation into Spiritual Practices for a faithful life replete with wonder. She is married to a futurist and together they share aged parents, four children and six grands. An avowed badge nerd, you can also find her on trails logging miles for virtual challenges.
It’s spring, trees are budding, grass is coming in lush, the golden dusting of pollen has arrived.
It’s spring and signs of new life are all around us and signs of good news seem promising.
We can visit with our families after long separations.
We can think of possible vacations, the return of baseball, in-person church, and maybe even pared down versions of springtime rituals like proms and graduations.
Vaccines are available, area job postings are growing—these are all signs of and reasons to - hope.
We should be relieved, elated, refreshed, maybe even euphoric seeing these signs after the long hard season of Covidtide we’ve endured. We’re still here, better is coming.
There is a vague, often unspoken feeling
And yet… There is a vague, often unspoken feeling. There is a sense running counter to optimism. There is a weariness still draping itself over so many of us.
Even as we lean into the positive movement forward, we carry some skepticism.
“What comes next will not be a return to what was. What comes next will be a transition period, a time of figuring out the new normal. Transitions by definition mean change, and change, even positive change, brings stress. ”
What comes next will not be a return to what was. What comes next will be a transition period, a time of figuring out the new normal. Transitions by definition mean change, and change, even positive change, brings stress.
Stress at a time when we’ve already stretched our bandwidth—our reserves in handling the new, the unknown, the unpredictable—is not welcomed.
In addition to our caution in embracing this transition and navigating the new normal, we have all experienced real loss these past 14 months.
There are family interactions we will never recover.
There are memorable events which will remain uncelebrated.
These months aged people we love at an accelerated rate. We all know someone who lost someone too soon.
The literal and figurative lock down frayed some unraveling relationships past the point of holding.
We’ve been living in crisis mode and the trauma is real.
Pandemic pain is not the only wound.
Concurrently, we’ve dealt with the growing awareness that our nation is not in a golden age. We’re seeing cracks and rot of deferred maintenance left too long unattended.
As an industrious, moral people, it’s disheartening that civil discourse and compromise for the common good is so elusive at this time.
And so, on any given day, we can find ourselves bone weary, soul tired. On any given day, we can feel badly that we aren’t more effusive or grateful.
We can fall into the trap of comparative grief. Well, so many have it worse than me, I shouldn’t complain or bemoan.
We feel the feels and they are unpleasant! What is our answer and where is our help?
Lament is Curative
Beloved, there is the LAMENT.
The Lament is God’s gift to his beloved. It has been said to cry is human, to lament is faithful.
Through Holy Scripture in both the first and second testaments, people of God have raised their voices in anguish and frustration, irritation and grief.
They’ve poured out the truth of their hearts which includes their anger and confusion. They’ve railed to God, Where are you? Why oh God, why? When will this end? How could you? When will you come back to me? Jonah, Job, the Book of Psalms, Jesus in his way in the Garden of Gethsemane, Thomas in the upper room: all experienced the power and healing effects of Lament.
The Lament is curative in two parts.
Part 1: Acknowledge the pain is real
It begins by asserting that pain is real. Trauma is real. Our reactions are legitimate. We are sane to feel overwhelmed.
The Lament asserts God is real. God is present. God is strong enough to hold our discomfort and not be bowed under it.
God is also gracious enough to not begrudge our rant, and more importantly our inability to handle the hardships that sometimes befall us.
Part 2: Trust that God hears our plea
The Lament then moves on to the acknowledgement that God has heard our distress and is attentive to our plea. There is a breath, a pause, a settling.
In that space, we rest. We come to ourselves once again. We reconnect with our truth, our faith.
God has us.
Even in this, God is somehow, somewhere working good and we shall not be abandoned.
The Lament is holy crying.
Holy crying that washes our souls clean from doubt and burden and sets us right again, ready to see the signs of God’s grace in our lives and circumstance.
In the coming weeks when the flowering world signals one message but your soul feels another, remember God’s gift of the Lament and let your holy tears join the rain of the season.
Both bring welcomed growth.
We are grateful for the wisdom of our mentors at Backstory Preaching.
Wondering if the Mentorship is for you? Would you benefit from the insight and support of a mentor who “gets it” as you work through your personal and preaching challenges? What would shift if you had individualized feedback and support for a year?
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