Hope in lament

A few weeks ago during our conversation series on Hope in Unexpected Places, we read a portion of Lamentations 3. Lamentations, found in the Old Testament, is a five-part lament poem, most likely written by Jeremiah, that recounts the horrors of the Fall of Jerusalem to Babylon in the 6th century BCE. The imagery in Lamentations is pretty horrific, and it is one of those texts that we would rather skip over when we crack open our Bibles for a message of hope. However, in order to truly experience hope, we must first acknowledge and embrace the despair that evokes a need for hope.

Lament is a cry to be seen. In Lamentations, we hear Daughter Zion (the symbolic embodiment of Jerusalem) cry out, “Is it nothing to you, all who pass by? Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow,” (Lamentations 1:12). Lament is a cry to be seen by those privileged enough to continue their lives in ignorance of the horrors that are happening to someone or to some community of which they are not a part.

In our world, there are abject horrors happening right now—in Gaza, in Ukraine, in Yemen, and in other places we don’t even hear about. We have the luxury of turning off the news when we don’t want to be exposed to such suffering; but those who live in these places do not, and they deserve to be seen. In January of 2024, the BBC ran a story about The University of Exeter’s attempts to bring the lament poems of Ukraine to an English-speaking audience. The leader of the project, Professor Hugh Roberts is quoted in the article: “The trauma that the people of Ukraine are enduring is beyond comprehension, but these poems make it tangible and visceral in a way that is scarcely metaphorical.” The poems make a demand for suffering to be seen because through witness, comes empathy and change.

In Lamentations, we see this change in the Narrator when he finally stops observing Daughter Zion from some remote place and actually enters into her space of horror. In so doing, he changes his tune from one of blaming her to one of accusation against all who had a part in the violence inflicted upon her. He accuses the religious leaders, the prophets, the passerby, the enemies, and even God. His heart was changed when he truly saw Daughter Zion’s suffering. This is what art does—it helps us see. Art is the tool of the prophets to give voice to God. Art breaks through our logic and our excuses and places us directly into the trenches of another. And who, in this visceral experience, can ignore the suffering and not wish to do something about it? This is where hope emerges. 

Lament is an art form that builds a relationship between the suffering poet and her witness, without the two ever needing to personally meet. Christian ethicist Ellen Ott Marshall points to relationality as the impetus towards transformation and hope. Marshall argues that being in relationship with those who suffer causes us to be transformed by their suffering and moved to act. I think this is why Mission trips are often less about what volunteers can accomplish in one week, and more about how the experience changes them and inspires them to do more for the people they encounter—more to bring hope. 

And so, Lament is both for the sufferer to metabolize their own pain as well as for the hearer to inspire them to change. In Scripture, often Lament is directed at God, and there is a plea for God to see the poet’s suffering and do something about it. It is a plea for God, who feels so far away, to come near. There is nothing blasphemous about crying out to God, about voicing our anger and frustrations, about asking God to see us and do something about it. We are actually in good company when we lament, joining with so many scripture writers like David, Jeremiah, Job, Moses, Mary and Martha, and even Jesus. Lamenting is a trust in the relationship we have with a God who wants to see and hold us through all that we experience, and perhaps especially in the darkness.