It lies deep within us. It’s been with us for ages and ages. But over time lament has become muffled. Silenced. Forgotten. Repressed. It was acknowledged in the days of Sarah and Rachel, by the voice of the Psalmist, by the women at the foot of the cross.
A great number of the people followed him, and among them were women who were beating their breasts and wailing for him.
We live in a culture that tries to hide the uncomfortable and anguished dimensions of our lives. But this is a necessary part of our lives. The book “Circle of Stones” asks questions such as these:
“How might your life have been different, if, as a young woman, there had been a place for you…when you had feelings of darkness? to be with you in your darkness, until you spoke out your pain and anger and sorrow? …you learned to no longer fear your darkness, but to trust it?”
To sit with such questions one has to first give darkness permission and voice. To acknowledge its rightful place in our lives and our souls. That can be darn scary.
Last night at the Maundy Thursday Service there was simple, beautiful, deeply moving song. Her voice filled the room in a hauntingly beautiful way that reached in our soul. Touched us deeply. Moved us to tears. Reminded us that lament is part of our story and the Story. Offered a safe place to enter our darkness as we remembered the One who has gone before us and entered the darkest of dark.
What language shall I borrow To thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
Back Road Journey 