Some of the most challenging and beautiful moments in my life have been the times when God has allowed me the honor and privilege of sitting with one of His children who walking through a valley season. These moments are beautiful because I believe that when we are invited into the pain and brokenness of a fellow human being, we are invited into a sacred space. But these moments are also challenging, because to sit compassionately with a hurting person is not to simply allow space for them to express their pain, but to enter into their pain with them.

But I think that sitting with those who are suffering—and similarly, dealing with the pain in our own lives—is challenging for another reason. A while back I was sitting with a dear friend who was walking through a difficult and painful season, and as I spoke with her a tension began to build in my spirit. I was struggling to comprehend why God hadn’t intervened, why He hadn’t healed and restored the life of this sweet friend like I know is in His character to do.

It’s in those moments that I am confronted with what has come to be referred to as “the problem of pain,” or, “the problem of evil.” The problem goes something like this: If God is GOOD and LOVING and ALL POWERFUL, then why does He allow pain and evil to wreak havoc on His creation?

As a seminary student in a counseling program, I’ve spent hours and hours trying to formulate the perfect philosophical answer for this problem. However, at some point I came to realize that while carefully thought-out philosophical responses are important, those responses will always fall short of truly ministering to hurting hearts. The problem of pain is not merely a theoretical issue that we can simply choose to ignore or leave to the philosophers and theologians. No, it is a tragically practical issue that each and every Christian must wrestle with as they are confronted with the pain in their own lives and in the lives of those around them.

Lets be honest, it’s far easier to gloss over that tension and the depth of our pain—and the pain of those around us—with pithy sayings and Christian clichés… to hide behind our faith and ignore or minimize the very real problem that pain presents. Last fall we had a chapel speaker who got right to the heart of what we are often so hesitant to acknowledge:

When pain enters our stories, it challenges every ounce of our belief that God is good. – Cari Jenkins

Our belief in the goodness and the love of our God is foundational to our faith. So when our experience does not match up with what we know to be true of the character and heart of our God, it can shake our faith to the core. 

Just a few months ago, I experienced one of the darkest nights of the soul that I have ever encountered. In the midst of that time, I remember sitting on the floor of my living room with one of my roommates and telling her, “this is either going to kill my faith, or it’s going to make it stronger. There’s simply no way that it stays the same.” It was an experience that challenged every ounce of my belief in the goodness of my God, and it absolutely shook my faith to the core in a way that I didn’t think was possible.

During that time, I experienced an inability to pray in the same way that I was accustomed to: I was far too afraid and in too much pain to approach God in the way that I usually did. Yet in my heart I knew that it was crucial that I remain in some form of connection and relationship with Him, so I found myself drawn to the Psalms. For about 2 weeks, my primary form of communication with God came from Psalm 13, a psalm of lament:

“How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
and my enemy will say, ‘I have overcome him,’
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.”

The first time that I prayed this psalm, I felt uneasy; am I really allowed to talk to God like that? This doesn’t sound anything like the faith-filled prayers that a Christian should be praying… I mean, I’m in seminary for crying out loud, my faith should be stronger than this!

The language of lament has (unfortunately) been largely lost within our churches today. Far too often the Christian culture is marked by a strong commitment to maintain an upbeat and positive environment, leaving little to no room for the safe expression of the inherent doubts, pains, and burdens of the Christian life. I don’t know about you, but I came to believe that to utter words of such raw honesty to God in the midst of my pain betrayed a lack of faith and was certainly not accepted by Him, much less invited!

And yet, lament is found all throughout Scripture; just read through the Psalms and time and time again you’ll encounter the heart wrenching cries of desperation that were penned by individuals in the midst of their pain.

During the darkest years of my life, I didn’t have a framework for expressing my pain to God. I didn’t understand that I could bring my anger, pain, and doubts to Him—and I certainly couldn’t stomach pretending that everything was fine—so my only remaining option was to shut Him out. I withdrew and didn’t talk to Him, and I grew further and further away from the very One that I so desperately needed.

I’ve since learned that lament offers us another way; it is the pathway by which we can bring our wounds to the only One who can truly heal them. Lament is the means by which we can express ourselves authentically to our God in the midst of our pain. It is the means by which we maintain communication and communion with God, even when everything is falling apart and our faith is being shaken to the core.

Whether we’re hurt, frustrated, confused, betrayed, overwhelmed, sad, or disappointed, lament is the language God has given us to talk to Him right in the middle of life’s messes … God does not just want our happy; He also really wants our sad. Everything is not fine, and God wants to hear about it. He is drawn to us when we’re mourning and blesses us in a special way. – Esther Fleece, No More Faking Fine

Near the end of that difficult 2-week stretch, I was tasked with the assignment of writing a paper on lament for my Old Testament class. The perfectly irritating timing of that assignment further convinced me of the sovereignty of God, who knew that I would need a significant motivator to convince me to dive into what His Word really teaches us about lament. One of the most impactful things that I learned in that process is that biblical lament is not based in despair, but in profound hope.

There’s a part of Psalm 13 that I left out before, and while it was the part that I often wanted to leave out of my prayers during those 2 weeks, it was also the part that kept me holding on when all I wanted to do was give up:

“But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing the Lord’s praise,
for he has been good to me.”

When reading the psalms of lament, it can sometimes seem like the psalmist is going through a series of massive mood swings… one minute he’s convinced that God has abandoned him, and the very next line he’s proclaiming that God has been good to him. And in some biblical laments, the pendulum swings back to despair just as quickly (Jeremiah 20:7-18).

These are not spiritual mood swings, nor are they disingenuous “Christianese” phrases used to gloss over the very real pain. They are profound statements of faith and hope. They are the voice of faith and hope when our experience doesn’t seem to match up with the character of our God—faith in the goodness of God, despite the darkness we are experiencing.

When we bring our pain to God in lament, we express in faith that the goodness of our God is greater than the pain that we are experiencing. We declare in faith that while the darkness is real, it will not have the last word and that God’s goodness and mercy will prevail.

In looking back, I did not come to the other side of that agonizing (and graciously brief) chapter of my life with with the enlightenment to articulate a response or explanation for the pain in the world. But I did come to the other side of it with a deep conviction of the GOODNESS  and LOVE of God in the midst of pain; a conviction that goes far beyond my ability to articulate. As difficult and painful as that brief chapter was, I now consider that experience to have been a wonderful gift. Because while it challenged my belief and shook my faith, it was also the crucible that God used to refine my faith, to reveal Himself to me in a new way.

So as we walk through the valley seasons of our lives, may we be freed up to express our pain and distress to the God who walks with us—whether we feel Him or not—and who is greater than any darkness that we may encounter. And may we be a people of HOPE who are willing to wrestle with the tension of our pain and the pain of those around us, as we cling to the GOODNESS and LOVE of our Heavenly Father.

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