I think it’s about time we all admitted it: We suck at lament.
As a culture, we’re just really bad at it.
We live in an age ruled by the power of positivity and silver linings. We’re looking for the bright side and chasing our bliss. We don’t sit still, we distract. We don’t allow things to sink in, we stay at the surface.
But we can’t. Not all the time. At least not forever.
And I think it’s during the holidays that we feel the tension of that. And I think this year more than ever, we’re all tired of pretending the tension isn’t there.
Can I just say that it’s okay that you feel tired. It’s okay that you feel sad, or hurt, or angry, dismissed, disenfranchised, unincluded, forgotten, or unloved. It’s okay to acknowledge your pain. Because if it didn’t matter, then it wouldn’t hurt.
Our world groans. In our own neighborhoods, across the globe. And we ache for a wholeness that we feel was supposed to be ours.
We feel that loss when someone hurts us, or we destroy something that was good. That hole gapes at us in the darkness and we have an innate sense that this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
I mourn that with you, friend. We mourn it side by side and we need to. We can’t hold that much pain on our own and we were never meant to.
So why say this at Christmas?
Because this is the season where we carry the already and not quite yet. We carry the knowledge that things may be bad, but they will not always be. We hold the burden of waiting together.
The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness,
on them has light shone.
I lament beside so many of you and I’m grateful for those of you who mourn beside me. And we look at our brokenness and the darkness that surrounds. We don’t pretend it’s not there. But we also hold it up to the light.
For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon[d] his shoulder,
and his name shall be called[e]
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.