“You are going to feel like hell if you never write the stuff that is tugging on the sleeves of your heart — your stories, visions, memories, visions and songs. Your truth, your version of things, your own voice. That is really all you have to offer us. And that’s also why you were born.”
Anne Lamott
“You are going to feel like hell if you never write the stuff that is tugging on the sleeves of your heart — your stories, visions, memories, visions and songs. Your truth, your version of things, your own voice. That is really all you have to offer us. And that’s also why you were born.”
Anne Lamott
The problem with mirror images is they don’t lie. Fortunately the image in the mirror is not how I perceive myself. For us self-deluded people, Looking in a mirror is not a pleasant experience. Ironically looking in a mirror may be the most neglected spiritual discipline. Seeing ourself truthfully is a prerequisite to transformation. Being exposed to truth does not transform us, it an opportunity to choose between what is true and what is not. My inclination is to ignore the mirror image.
The pandemic is proving to be a mirror, reflecting images that don’t match up with my self-perceptions. When confronted with ugly truths about myself, my thought is “That damned pandemic!”. How silly it is to blame the mirror, she has no agenda except the truth. As famously said, “You can’t handle the truth!”
Last evening, I looked in the mirror, saw ugly truth, and thought “That damned pandemic!”. That is a lie. It was me. Choosing truth is really hard.
Richard Beck‘s bog post today was reassuring, at least I am not alone.
It seems to be a mathematical law that the more words you say the more likely you’re going to say something stupid or hurtful. It’s just a matter of volume. The more words the more risk. It’s a direct correlation.
Consequently, I spend a lot of my day feeling regret for something I’ve said. I’m always kicking myself with, “I wish I hadn’t said that.” To be clear, I’m not a mean, abusive person. But very often, my opinions get too strong, my jokes too cutting, my judgments too dismissive. And sometimes it’s just the problem that I need to stop talking and listen more. Richard Beck
While theological study continues to be an immense gift to the world, one can easily get trapped inside of endless discussions about abstract ideas with little emphasis on experience or practice. In contrast, mystics honor the experience of the essential mystery and unknowability of God and invite us to do the same. The more you know, the more you know you don’t know!
The above quote from Richard Rohr’s daily email, prompted me in a couple of ways. First, it reminded me of a post I wrote in 2006. In that post I reflected on my ambition to become a mystic. Mystic…one who recognizes the presence of God in the mundane. A person who can sense the power and presence of God at work; who has the ability to see the real hand and power and presence of God. Someone who is so connected to the spiritual world that it changes how they live in the physical world. (Josh Graves)
An ambition fueled by Brother Lawrence, with his dramatic expressions of seeking and living in the presence of God were almost overwhelming. I walk before God simply, in faith, with humility, and with love. I apply myself diligently to do nothing and think nothing which may displease Him. (Brother Lawrence) Hidden in the crevasses of my mind, that ambition has run in the background of my life over the years. Rohr’s words opened a forgotten storage box of faded notes.
I though about disenchantment. As I have written before: Living in a disenchanted age is the most significant challenge we face in seeking a relationship with God In our disenchanted age, reliance on human ability, reason and scientific laws for purpose and meaning and answers to the problems of modernity rejects the transcendent as irrelevant. Accordingly mystics are persona non grata.
Pandemic, social and political upheaval have exposed our our arrogant self-sufficiency. Faced with inexplicable and uncontrollable forces, Superman has encountered kryptonite. In desperation, we cry out to Moloch and prepare appeasing sacrifices. Christianity, assimilated and subjugated into irrelevance fails to provide transcendent hope.
In the vacuum of our disenchanted, secular despair, the mystic’s voice is most needed to remind us of the power and presence of God at work; and open our eyes to see the real hand and power and presence of God.
Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
The title of this post is borrowed from Walter Brueggemann’s essay “The Costly Loss of Lament” (1986). If you are interested in reading it you can download it HERE. (ALERT, it is not a tweet!) Lament has been and continues to be a subject of deep interest to me. You can read my previous posts on lament HERE.
Experiencing a pandemic which has spawned financial and political crises, followed by social upheaval has not lessen my interest in lament, in fact, it has increased it. Hopefully, this post will make clear why that is so. Motivation for this post also comes via Christian responses to those events. There are three parts to this post, 1) Citations from Brueggemann’s essay, 2) A story from our foster parenting days, and 3) Thoughts on loss of lament
The Costly Loss of Lament
As implied, Brueggemann’s premise is that lament has been lost. He asserts that loss is because lament Psalms are no longer a part of life and liturgy in the faith community. His comments are worthy of serious study. For the purposes of this posts, I accept his premise, and will share some quotes regarding losses incurred when lament is absent.
Lament occurs when the dysfunction reaches an unacceptable level, when the injustice is intolerable and change is insisted upon.
What happens when the speech forms [lament] …have been silenced and eliminated? The answer, I believe, is that a theological monopoly is re-enforced, docility and submissiveness are engendered, and the outcome is to re-enforce and consolidate the political- economic monopoly of the status quo. That is, the removal of lament from life and liturgy is not disinterested and, I suggest, only partly unintentional.
One loss that results from the absence of lament is the loss of genuine covenant interaction because the second party to the covenant (the petitioner) has become voiceless or has a voice that is permitted to speak only praise and doxology. Where lament is absent, covenant comes into being only as a celebration of joy and well-being.
The absence of lament makes a religion of coercive obedience the only possibility.
Where the lament is absent, the normal mode of the theodicy question is forfeited. When the lament form is censured, justice questions cannot be asked and eventually become invisible and illegitimate. Instead we learn to settle for questions of ‘meaning?, and we reduce the issues to resolutions of love. But the categories of meaning and love do not touch the public systemic questions about which biblical faith is relentlessly concerned. A community of faith which negates laments soon concludes that the hard issues of justice are improper questions to pose at the throne, because the throne seems to be only a place of praise.
…it thus follows that if justice questions are improper questions at the throne (which is a conclusion drawn through liturgie use), they soon appear to be improper questions in public places, in schools, in hospitals, with the government, and eventually even in the courts. Justice questions disappear into civility and docility. The order of the day comes to seem absolute, beyond question, and we are left with only grim obedience and eventually despair. The point of access for serious change has been forfeited when the propriety of this speech form is denied.
Psalm (39) characteristically brings to speech the cry of a troubled earth (v. 12). Where the cry is not voiced, heaven is not moved and history is not initiated. And then the end is hopelessness. Where the cry is seriously voiced, heaven may answer and earth may have a new chance. The new resolve in heaven and the new possibility on earth depend on the initiation of protest. It makes one wonder about the price of our civility, that this chance in our faith has largely been lost because the lament Psalms have been dropped out of the functioning canon.
David
This is David (not his real name), one of several children we fostered in the late ’70’s and early 80’s. David lived with us the longest of any of our foster children. He came to us after being removed from his family by CPS. The picture is how I remember David when he came to our home. He was always smiling and seemed to be a happy child. Not long after he arrived, he fell and bumped his head. It was a nasty bump and we immediately reacted to comfort and console him, expecting hm to wail and cry. We were shocked when David showed no reaction, looked at us and smiled. Perplexed, we had no understanding or experience to call on. We later learned David’s parents did not permit him to cry and punished him when he did so, whether hungry, injured or otherwise. He learned that smiling was good and crying was bad. Living with a “normal” family gradually conditioned him to react in a more normal fashion. He never became a normal spontaneous kind of child. I will never forget the time he returned from a family visit. His demeanor has markedly different than when left for the visit. Trying to connect with him and reassure him, he remained stoic. Finally, a light flickered in his eyes and he looked at me and said, ” I love you”. I’ll never forget that moment. Eventually adopted by a family at church, we have been able to see him grow into an adult. There is much more to his story. His life has been extremely difficult but he just keeps smiling, never forgetting the lessons his parents taught him.
Thoughts on the loss of Lament
Brueggemann’s essay written in 1986 asserts lament has been lost as apart of Christian faith and worship. He attributes that loss to a failure to use the lament psalms as they were intended. I trust his assessment of faith and worship at the time he wrote. In 20+ years since, I believe lament, as a part of faith and worship, continued to diminished and been lost in some spheres of western Christianity. While there are some segments where lament remains an integral part of faith and worship, the locus of loss appears to be Evangelical Christianity and related groups on the margin of evangelicalism.
While not diminishing the the role of lament Psalms, or lack there of, in the loss of lament, I believe loss of lament has been accelerated by a proliferation of..
“churches [that] have been turned into celebration centers so that prayers of anguish, lament, and anger are not given space. Without realizing it, we bottle up our anger and fears, put on a happy face, and try to clap our hands like those around us.” (JD Walt)
No matter why lament has been lost, Brueggemann’s analysis of the cost of that loss rings true today.
Despite Brueggemann’s states “Lament occurs when the dysfunction reaches an unacceptable level, when the injustice is intolerable and change is insisted upon.”
Pandemic, economic and racial strife have combined to create “dysfunction and injustice at an unacceptable level.” Tragically, lament has been absent in much of Evangelical Christianity.
I perceive lament to be a leading indicator of churches who lean into social justice. Conversely, churches who are silent or reluctant to speak out against injustice have little or no room for lament.
I believe there are many “David’s” in churches today. People disabused of any notion lament is a part a healthy relationship with God. No matter what happens, they just keep smiling.
Brueggemann’s statement: “The absence of lament makes a religion of coercive obedience the only possibility”. deserves critical examination.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22) …It is no part of the Christian vocation, then, to be able to explain what’s happening and why. In fact, it is part of the Christian vocation not to be able to explain—and to lament instead. As the Spirit laments within us, so we become, even in our self-isolation, small shrines where the presence and healing love of God can dwell. And out of that there can emerge new possibilities, new acts of kindness, new scientific understanding, new hope… N. T. Wright
It would be hard to imagine someone who has not heard “Black Lives Matter”. BLM has become a trigger. Some hear a clarion call for justice. For others is is a mantra calling for revolution and anarchy. It is difficult to distinguish who is saying what in the chaos of protests.
Black Lives Matter, but I am reluctant to publicly proclaim it for fear of being misunderstood. Certainly I wouldn’t say “Black Lives Don’t Matter”, I don’t believe that. Struggling with that dilemma, my reflexive response is “All Lives Matter”(ALM).
By all indications, I’m in good company, ALM seems to be the overwhelming rebuttal to BLM. My perception is that ALM is mostly a “Christian” response. There is ample justification for Christians declaring ALM. After all, God is love and cares about every person. As Christians we’re commanded to love our neighbors, even our enemies. All lives matter is an unequivocal truth for Christians.
So, why are there visceral reactions to “All Lives Matter”by some Black Lives Matter” proponents’? Shouldn’t there be an appreciation for my love and compassion for everyone, which, of course, includes black people? Because I am who I am, It would be presumptuous to answer for BLM proponents.
In the course of wrestling with this dilemma, I thought of times in our previous church when a member would come to the front for prayer, in response to an invitation song. Often in deep distress because of tragic and/or unjust circumstances, baring their soul in despair. Standard protocol called for an elder to receive their lament and then share their story with the congregation, followed by a prayer on their behalf.
I painfully remember that on some occasions, their story being shared by an elder, followed by well intentioned words of encouragement that went something like: “God loves us all and I want you know to how much you are loved by everyone here today. These are difficult times for you, but let me tell you, we’ve all had troubles and we survived and so will you. Let us pray.”
Thinking back to that scene, I now see her desperate need to know she mattered to God. Often in the midst of distress we perceive God to be absent, despite “don’t worry He will be with you” assurances.
“When he passes me, I cannot see him; when he goes by, I cannot perceive him.” Job 9:11 NIV
We believe God loves everyone but still struggle to believe He loves us. To paraphrase, our answer to “Do I matter to God?” , we said “All Lives Matter to God”. Hearing all lives matter was like a mother of five telling one injured child, “Don’t worry, you know how much I love all you kids”.
I doubt anyone believes the shepherd in Jesus’ parable of the lost sheep, did not love the nine-nine he left to find the one lost sheep. Each of us need to know we matter, to know if we wander off, the shepard will come for us. The parable records celebration in heaven on the return of one lost sheep. I imagine a joyous celebration by the ninety-nine, not so much for the stupid sheep who got lost and was found, but for the shepherd, they knew would come for them if they were lost.
Declaring all lives matter to God, discounted her as God’s daughter and His particular concern for her. Her pain and circumstances were minimized as ordinary.
Hear my cry, O God; listen to my prayer. Psalm 61:1
It is true “All lives matter to God’, but in the cacophony of grief, fear and doubt we are unable to hear.
“When everything is important, nothing is important”.
Thinking about that story is helpful in my struggle with BLM vis-a-vis ALM. It prompted me to hear “Black Lives Matter” as a plea to be heard, not an indictment to be refuted. Not a demand, but a plea to listen.
Listening that produces understanding and shared humanity. Listening which restrains the impulse to answer in protection and defense of my rightness. Listening that refuses to minimize and diminish others’ pain. Listening that affirms “All Lives Matter”
I am keenly aware of the risk that comes with suggesting listening as a response to “BLM”. It seems naive and simplistic. For my social justice friends, it sounds patronizing, “please tell us your story”, another way to void the hard work of addressing systemic injustice. My “All Lives Matter” friends will sigh with relief from angst about “What can I do?”, suddenly relieved by the novel idea of listening. Wrong on both counts.
I call us to to respond to “Back Lives Matter” with listening shaped by Jesus:
“Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion.” Philippians? ?2:5-8? ?MSG??
Our listening posture is to be like Jesus …not thinking of ourselves, giving up any status or privilege, being human, selflessly accepting a humbling experience.
Bonhoeffer wrote concerning listening: “Just as love for God begins with listening to his Word, so the beginning of love for the brethren is learning to listen to them. It is God’s love for us that he not only gives us his Word but also lends us his ear. “Many people are looking for an ear that will listen. They do not find it among Christians, because these Christians are talking when they should be listening. But he who can n o longer listen to his brother will no longer be able to listen to God either; he will be doing nothing but prattle in the presence of God too. This is the beginning of the death of the spiritual life, and in the end there is nothing left but spiritual chatter and clerical condescension arrayed in pious words.”
If Jesus isn’t enough here are some words from secular friends:
A recent study published in the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology … studied the tension between Palestinians and Israelis, as well as Mexican immigrants and white Arizonians.
What they found was that when individuals were given a chance to share their stories and experiences with people from the other side, it helped improve their attitude about the “opposing group.” This effect was even stronger when it was a member of the “disempowered group” being heard by someone from the “dominant group.”
Disempowered groups often feel like their voice isn’t being heard. They think their values and needs aren’t being considered, and this can fuel resentment toward the more dominant group, who often has more of a stronghold over public debate.
However, when the dominant group makes an effort to hear things from another point-of-view, the disempowered group begins to feel that their values and needs are being listened to. This can be a great starting point for easing conflict and tension.
Learning to Listen It can be stated, with practically no qualification, that people in general do not know how to listen. They have ears that hear very well, but seldom have they acquired the necessary aural skills which would allow those ears to be used effectively for what is called listening. https://hbr.org/1957/09/listening-to-people
There is no absence of resources to learn how to listen. The state of our society should create an urgency to learn to listen. I believe Bonhoeffer gave the best reason to listen:
“…he who can n o longer listen to his brother will no longer be able to listen to God…”
I am in the process of reading “Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope” by Joan Chittister. In chapter 8 writing about “When Life is Interrupted”, I found her thoughts particularly relevant and helpful. Perhaps you will also.
When life is interrupted
The great interruptions of life leave us completely disoriented. We become lost. The map of life changes overnight and our sense of direction and purpose goes with it. Life comes to a halt, takes on a new and indiscernible shape. Promise fails us and it is the loss of promise that dries in our throats. What was is no more and what is to come, if anything, is unclear. All the things we depended on to keep us safe, to show us the way, to give us a reason for going on, disappear.
I understand only two things in my helpless rage: that there must be enemies somewhere and that they have managed to destroy me though see them I can’t and know them I don’t.
I am left plunged in black loneliness, the life behind me a little thinner now, the life before me a little less welcoming. Through it all, I find myself blindfolded and spinning somewhere in an inner space I have never known before.
We find ourselves on a wet, grey slope of sliding clay, being towed under, being swallowed up and taken down, no towline to save us. Who has not known this helpless, sinking feeling? Who has not known the God of Absence? Who has not felt abandoned by God?
It is the moment of personal crucifixion in which we finally say out loud what we most fear: that there is no God, at least not here, not now. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” becomes a personal cry. In the depths of pain, we suddenly find that this universe is, at base, a gross and teasing thing, purposeless, unguided, unwanted, uncared for. We doubt the God of losses. We doubt the notion of any God at all. We certainly doubt that God has anything real to do with us. If there is a God, it is a God who laughs at butterflies impaled on a board.
Sure of the absence of God, we actually become aware of the presence of God. It is the paradox of faith. It is the fortunate misadventure of life. By losing everything, we come to the realization that everything is far less than we think it is and far more than we ever dreamed it could be. In the end, everything is what cannot be taken away, what cannot be lost, what will not fail us in our hope. Everything is the nagging awareness that always there is more and that I already have it. I am reduced by misery to stop and look through the darkness to the light on the horizon that never changes.
Struggle is what forces us to attend to the greater things in life, to begin again when life is at its barest for us, to take the seeds of the past and give them new growth.
We fear darkness and we avoid it. Nothing chills the soul more than lightlessness. It threatens our confidence. It jeopardizes our sense of self-sufficiency. To be in new space, to be where we do not know the contours of the place, cannot see the exit sign, cannot control the environment shakes us to our roots. We become pawns in the hands of the great unknown. And then, just then, we begin to believe in God in a whole new way. Darkness is the call to faith.
