This year the reality of our brokenness is evident. Everywhere we turn there is suffering. Violence, oppression, poverty and injustice surround us. We are overwhelmed by a global pandemic, devastating fires and hurricanes, political unrest, institutional racism and discrimination. Add to these our individual experiences of sickness, depression, loss, anger, isolation and broken relationships, and our need for help is undeniable.
As followers of Jesus, how do we remain faithful in suffering? The temptation for many is to seek comfort, to find a way to move past the pain rather than confront it honestly. We might even think that expressing our pain is an affront to God. But Scripture shows that the faithful response to grief, pain, confusion, frustration, anger and remorse is to enter into a practice of lament. Our broken world yearns for healing (Rom 8:22-23), and much of the lament needed now should take the form of confession and repentance. Within the church are people who are oppressed and those who are oppressors; those who benefit from and those who suffer under the injustices of racism, discrimination and inequality. Lament is an appropriate response for both.
It is right to praise God, and indeed nearly all of the psalms of lament end in praise. But first we see an honest, questioning cry — “I am wearied with sighing; all night long I drench my bed with tears; I soak my couch with weeping” (Ps 6:7). Then confusion by the silence of God — “Why, LORD, do you stand afar and pay no heed in times of trouble?” (Ps 10:1) and “How long, O Lord?” (Ps 13:2) and by the meaninglessness of suffering as the psalmist pleads for help — “God, be not far from me; my God, hasten to help me” (Ps 71:12).
On the cross Jesus expressed his grief honestly when he cried out, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mk 15:34). Far from being in opposition to faith, lament is an act of faith. God’s people call out to him in their pain because they believe that he hears them — “But I trust in your mercy” (Ps 13:6).
The freedom of the faithful to question God in our suffering is the subject of my sculpture, “Job:Questioning.” Drawn from one of the most well-known examples of suffering in Scripture, the figure of Job is perched on a small platform, isolated and precarious. He is haggard and nearly naked, weary and vulnerable. Yet his face is turned upward, boldly demanding a reason for his suffering. His right hand is raised and open because he expects God to answer. He does not cover his face and, as his wife advises, “Curse God and die;” neither does he accept his fate without question. Rather, he says, “My own utterance I will not restrain; I will speak in the anguish of my spirit; I will complain in the bitterness of my soul” (Job 7:11).
What do we, as a community and as individuals, have to grieve? What do we have to confess? It is important that we take the time to name our grief. Rather than disguising or denying our suffering or sin, bring it before God. Plead for justice, healing and forgiveness. Like Job, we must turn our face to God who promises to listen — “When you call me, and come and pray to me, I will listen to you” (Jer 29:12-13) and reach out open hands to God who promises justice — “He will faithfully bring forth justice” (Is 42:4).