My life feels like one giant blob of ugh right now. My emotions are running here, there and everywhere, and I can't seem to pluck up the energy to get anything done. (This is especially unhelpful for the last three weeks of the semester, I might add.)
There are many things in my life that are simply not appropriate to describe in such a public forum, but suffice it to say that it feels like everything I've ever run from has caught up with me in a very sudden and very overwhelming fashion.
But what do I do with all of this lament, this fear, this insecurity--this brokenness? A therapist would be nice right about now, but those are expensive and I'm a graduate student.
So instead, I try to write poetry. I fail, but I try. I find solace in good music, and some less-than-inspired music. I pray. Sometimes, I scream at God. Sometimes, I really want to scream at people. Sometimes, I cry at my peer group at 8 am. I bake. I sleep far too much. I curl up in a ball on the floor for a while.
I know I'm not alone in any of this. I know this for a fact, because I've watched lots of people try to make the pain go away in not-so-healthy ways. Some of them have died, emotionally or physically, in the process.
My question, then, is where does the Church fit in to all of this? How does the Church deal with lament, and real brokenness in its midst?
Too often, we simply ignore it. I've been guilty of showing up to church on the verge of a complete emotional breakdown, but still smiling and saying things like "my week was great! How was yours?" We lie for one of two reasons: we don't want anyone to know that we're not okay, or we think that we should be able to handle this on our own. And that assumes that we show up in the first place.
If we do bring it up at church, we do so quickly and then move on. It might be a short prayer offered during the Prayers of the People, or the congregational prayer. It might take the form of a bulletin announcement. But how often on Sunday morning is there prolonged attention paid to this brokenness?
This is one thing that I find interesting in my life. Many of my friends are outright atheists, and not afraid to say so. Some have never entered a church building in their lives. But to be completely honest, they are so much better at listening than many of my super-devout Christian friends. They don't feel the need to fix things right away, be it through prayer or some other means. Many times, they are content to sit and listen to me complain, empathize with me, and perhaps offer some advice. But more often than not, they just sit with me in whatever I'm feeling.
And let me tell you, I appreciate that more than anything else in the world.
Prayer is great, don't get me wrong. Paul tells us to pray about everything. Do that.
But the buck can't stop at praying. I say that it's time that Christians focused a little more on being the answer to prayer. And so often, that means sitting with our friends, our brothers and sisters in Christ, and yes--even our enemies, in their laments. Don't fix. Don't give advice. We don't hear you anyway over the sound of our own internal panic.
I'm not sure what a true service of lament would look like, to be honest. Maybe it would just be a silent vigil, a show of support, with hugs and prayer and a shoulder to cry on at the ready. Maybe it would involve writing out messages to groups or individuals that we know. Maybe it would be a service of prayer, with all of the laying on hands and hugs that we can imagine.
It's nights like these that I miss the simplicity of InterVarsity. I miss having such free reign over worship gatherings. In seminary, there are all sorts of rules that apply to this or that, and you can't mix those two things, and you can't do this, this, or this. I fully realize that we're all simply trying to be faithful to what God has entrusted us with, but really, guys? Just let the people worship God in the best way that they know how.
Sometimes, there are tears involved--and those are the best worship gatherings ever.
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