Three years ago
I’m a self-diagnosed dates person. I remember dates as they are a way of thinking about what I’ve learnt about life and what progress I’ve made over time.
A date that is etched into my mind is February 28th, 2020. I remember that day well as it was a Friday, the day before my son’s wedding. That particular Friday became a little more memorable as it was the day that New Zealand recorded it’s very first case of COVID-19, a returned traveller who lived in our neighbourhood. So, it felt, close.
At the wedding the next day we joked about whether we should hug or not, and everyone treated coronavirus (as it was called in those halcyon days) as something that will probably pass by in a few weeks. Nothing to see here, we all thought.
Three years that were all go
We recently celebrated the three-year anniversary of my sons, and now daughters-in-law’s, wedding. It was a wonderful day and since then they’ve added a beautiful daughter of their own to our family. It’s a special time of life.
I wish I could reflect upon the last three years as being all wonderful, but I can’t do that. It’s quite the contrary. The three years of leading a local church through COVID-19 don’t have many happy memories. The increasing division caused by the hugely diverging views on our government’s response to the global pandemic and seeking to find a middle-ground through such difficult times as vaccine mandates bring me no joy. The pain of the depth of the division and the effect on personal relationships still carries a sting in its tail.
Floods
The last weekend of January will also now go down in my memory of dates. Just as we were looking at returning to some of the rhythms we hadn’t experienced for three years, Auckland was hit by devastating floods. Our church buildings were 75% inundated with water, forcing us to find alternative premises for many months.
They say that things come in three, so I’m waiting for a plague of locusts now.
Lament
It had been taxing trying to lead through these years. There is no playbook for a global pandemic and in the 72-year history of our church we’ve never been forced out of our buildings by a flood.
Three years down since a lot changed, I find myself closely associating with the many prayers of lament we see in the Bible; they’ve become more relevant to me. Prayer of lament are what we say when nothing seems to be going well.
Prayers of lament
Prayers of lament, or prayers for help coming out of pain, are very common in the Bible. Over one third (50 or so) of the psalms are laments. Lament frequently occurs in the Book of Job, for example in Job Chapter 3, Verse 11, Job asks, ‘Why did I not perish at birth, come forth from the womb and expire?’ The prophets likewise cry out to God, such as Jeremiah in Chapter 15, Verse 18, ‘Why is my pain continuous, my wound incurable…?’ One whole book, Lamentations, expresses the confusion and suffering felt after the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians.
We find similar prayers in the New Testament. People who are afflicted cry out to Jesus for help. Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, shouts out in Mark Chapter 10, Verse 47, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!’ Jesus himself laments to the Father in the Garden of Gethsemane in Mark Chapter 14, Verse 26, ‘Abba, Father, all things are possible to you. Take this cup away from me…’ In his agony on the cross, Jesus makes his own the words of Psalm Chapter 22, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’
Lament as an act of faith
On the flipside, the Bible would show us that prayers of lament are not only acceptable, they are in fact acts of faith, because faith is not simply an intellectual assent to some statement about God, faith is the trusting of our entire selves to God even when we experience God’s absence, or when we feel alone and confused, and when we doubt.
Doubt is not opposed to faith, even the Apostle Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians Chapter 4, Verse 8 that he was ‘perplexed, but not driven to despair.’ In despair we give up on our relationship with God. Doubt, on the other hand, is a sign that our faith is alive and kicking; it is part of the rhythm of faith itself.
So it’s fair to say that lament is not a failure of faith, but an act of faith. We cry out directly to God because deep down we know that our relationship with God counts; it counts to us, and it counts to God. Even if we do not experience the closeness, we believe that God does care. Even if God seems not to hear, we believe that God is always within shouting distance. In the Bible, God does not say, ‘Do not fear, I will take away all the pain and struggle,’ but rather, we hear, ‘You have no need to fear, because I am with you.’
Applying lament
In this season of lament that doesn’t seem to be over yet, I’ve learnt to value acts of faith which are prayers of lament. God has broad shoulders and He seems to be able to handle my lament, which ultimately ends up in praise, because at least I’m talking to Him about my complaints!
I’m looking forward to remembering these dates of lament, and I’m sure the growth in my character will be worth it … probably as I emerge from the locust plague.