Do I Have the Right to Lament?
I wrote several attempts to outline the role of mourning events in the world and my life before I grew frustrated at their inauthenticity.
And I finally told my wife: “I don’t feel like I should lament. My problems aren’t so bad.”
Which brought me to the question: “What things is it right to lament?”
A bad day for a bike ride isn’t the biggest problem, for instance…
Small Problems?
Sure, I never got my dream job, and my German degrees are currently being used in ways I never expected: as a catalyst for discussing the histories of civilizations worldwide, rather than the specifically German ones in history. But, it’s still engaging.
I am a stay-at-home dad alongside my adjunct instructor career.
My kids are dear to me, but also give me the trouble that all primary authority figures are subject to: rebellion, boundary-pushing, and backtalk. Sometimes, this stings and is disheartening, but it’s not unusual to see.
I don’t have any creative talents that led to fame and fortune. But, out of seven billion people, how many really do?
We lost our first pregnancy at nine weeks, and cried for our child who never was born. But, we were blessed with two other children, who are thriving.
With the exception of the last experience, none of these things strike me as REALLY BIG PROBLEMS.
History and Sadness
As a teacher of history, I think of time periods where six of every ten children died before age five. Yet, I have two quite healthy, biological children–while several of my friends can’t have any.
Plus, my wife survived our children’s births, which has not been something, historically, I could have relied on.
Aside from childhood or maternal mortality, other eras saw a 50-90% mortality rate from diseases introduced by outsiders. Think of 90% of your city dead from disease and starvation. This happened only a few hundred years ago in the Americas.
Some of the really bad things that can happen are outlined in this book.
Wars, violence, famines, natural disasters–these are the stuff of barely plausible nightmares, such that we make movies and TV shows about them for entertainment. Yet, they are real for many worldwide.
I can only think of four times in decades of living when my life was truly endangered. Instead of living in constant fear, I worry about whether I’ll be bored tonight.
So, can I justify lamenting, when I have never known hunger or thirst? Disease or crushing poverty? When I have lived in relative safety and relative plenty for my life, and will likely die surrounded by the greatest degree of comfort and palliative care available, having lived among the longest lives of anyone in history, perhaps only shortened by overindulgence in food or lack of exercise (barring an unforeseen accident)?
Lamenting a Time of Plenty
I think the answer is “yes, but.”
Yes, but I should lament in a particular way.
If we look at the book of Lamentations as a blueprint for lamenting, the lament starts out as a lament for a social and political entity, a community.
Consider the following: “How lonely sits the city that was full of people! How like a widow has she become, she who was great among the nations! She who was a princess among the provinces has become a slave.” (Lamentations 1:1)
The city and its people are mourned, as they have suffered the judgment of God.
The book continues with general lament, before arriving at the personal. In Chapter 3:1, the lament begins anew: “I am the man who has seen affliction under the rod of his wrath[.]”
After acknowledging and lamenting the larger context of the ruined state of Jerusalem due to sin, the author reflects on a personal experience.
Perhaps, in my case, the lament would begin by acknowledging the general mercy of God in my environment before moving to my personal sorrows. But, it would end in hope.
Finally, in Lamentations, the author acknowledges restoration (Lamentations 3:22): “The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end[.]”
Some things are constant, and come around again, as the author of Lamentations believes the mercy of God will do.
Using this blueprint for lamenting is a useful way to avoid the pitfall of self-pity or self-absorption by acknowledging the context, and that suffering isn’t permanent, though it is hard.
And that’s what I have learned about how to lament.
Lament in Practice
So, when my child told me she didn’t love me, I was sad, but realized a broader context for the sadness, after my initial self-focused despondency.
My kid explained that she said those words because she missed her mom, who was at work, and we talked through that emotion. I tried to say that we could be there for each other, instead of lashing out in sadness.
The sadness didn’t go away, but was framed as an intense, communal (within our family), and temporary phenomenon. And that was easier to bear.
Lament in a broader context allows me to feel justified in lamenting the personal, while acknowledging the universal goodness of God. For, me that makes all the difference.
