Lamentations 3:1-16: a reflection

1I am the man who has seen affliction by the rod of his wrath. 2He has led me and caused me to walk in darkness, and not in light. 3Surely he turns his hand against me again and again all day long. 4He has made my flesh and my skin old. He has broken my bones. 5He has built against me, and surrounded me with bitterness and hardship. 6He has made me dwell in dark places, as those who have been long dead. 7He has walled me about, so that I can’t go out. He has made my chain heavy. 8Yes, when I cry, and call for help, he shuts out my prayer. 9He has walled up my ways with cut stone. He has made my paths crooked. 10He is to me as a bear lying in wait, as a lion in hiding. 11He has turned away my path, and pulled me in pieces. He has made me desolate. 12He has bent his bow, and set me as a mark for the arrow. 13He has caused the shafts of his quiver to enter into my kidneys. 14I have become a derision to all my people, and their song all day long. 15He has filled me with bitterness. He has stuffed me with wormwood. 16He has also broken my teeth with gravel. He has covered me with ashes.

This is some of the rawest grief in all of Scripture, and it does not resolve. I am the man who has seen affliction, it begins, and then verse after verse of anguish: he has led me into darkness, worn out my flesh, broken my bones, walled me in, shut out my prayer, made me desolate. The sufferer names God as the source of it all, and there is no comfort yet, no bright turn, only the weight.

Notice that God put this in his book. He did not require the sufferer to tidy it up, to add a hopeful ending, to take back the complaint that his own prayer felt shut out. The lament is allowed to be exactly what it is: honest, dark, unresolved. Scripture makes room for anguish that has not yet found its answer, and even for the complaint that God himself seems against you.

There is permission here for your own grief. You do not have to arrive at hope before you are allowed to speak, or wrap your sorrow in a bow before you bring it to God. Later in this same chapter the light will break, steadfast love, new mercies, but not yet, not in these verses. Sometimes faith means sitting honestly in the dark middle and saying so to God, trusting that the God who recorded this lament can hold yours too. Bring him the darkness, even before the dawn.

Lord, you made room in your own word for grief that has not yet found its answer. Let me bring you my darkness honestly, without pretending or tidying it, and trust that you can hold my lament until the dawn breaks.