Practicing Lament in the Time of the Corona Virus

Rediscovering Essential

We are relearning what is essential in these strange times. Going to work, school, and gathering with friends remain important but they aren’t as nonnegotiable as they seemed two months ago. We have a chance to reclaim the indispensable practice of lament from previous generations in this season. It’s a forgotten language for many of us that’s begun resurfacing in a fresh way through the global upheaval related to Covid-19.  

Lament has been showing up in my feed in the past weeks (including on this blog). This is very good news because the way through loss and fear is not gritting our teeth and getting through them. Pain, that of living through a pandemic or otherwise, can’t be ignored out of existence. Grief simply doesn’t work that way. One of the most important things we can do right now is to make space to lament.[1]

Lament Matters

Lament is more than acknowledging loss. It’s letting ourselves experience and express pain, so it doesn’t turn into violence directed at us or others. Lament is not about solutions, at least in the short run. Rather, it is a way of giving voice and action to grief so that it keeps moving through us instead of getting stuck. It’s a practice to return to as needed as we mourn losses from the small and relatively simple to more complex and significant ones (including the loss of normal on a global scale).

Lament is bringing our questions and complaints before God. This is sometimes framed as weak or misguided faith. But lament is a courageous and paradoxically hopeful act of faith, daring to believe we can face pain and survive, and trusting the Spirit welcomes us as we are. And when we’re not stuck suppressing or spiraling in grief, we’re freer to act for goodness and freedom and justice. 

We are in good company when we engage in lament. David and Tamar and Job and the prophets lamented. The psalmists often ask God where he is; why suffering is happening; how long pain will last; and when wholeness or justice will be restored. During his earthly ministry, Jesus practiced it, including quoting an ancient song of lament from the cross. Their examples invite us to trust that God can handle our grief.

Practicing Lament

One simple lament practice is tearing cloth or paper. Tearing clothing and shaving hair were common acts of lament in the ancient world. It is a way of representing what has been lost or undone either for now or permanently.

To try this practice, grab an old kitchen towel or t-shirt or a catalog or other junk mail. Tear the material into strips, as many or as few as you want. Listen to the sound it makes. Run your fingers along the frayed edges. Notice how it all reflects the brokenness you’re lamenting. Allow this to turn into a prayer. Invite the Spirit’s comfort and healing for yourself and any others for whom you mourn.

If you want to continue processing both the lament and the healing, you can braid or twist the strips together and tie them on your wrist or carry them in your pocket before you release them. You can throw the frayed strips in a trash or compost bin or even bury them to embody releasing the pain. You could create a collage or other work of art to honor the loss you’re processing and express the hope of beauty for ashes.

Another practice is pouring salt to signify (or accompany) tears shed. It enacts a release of what can’t be controlled and what is to be mourned. This echoes Psalm 56:8 which speaks of God preserving our tears, keeping them in a bottle. All you need is a clear glass container and salt to engage this practice. Allow what you are grieving to surface. Release more grains of salt for each aspect of what you’re mourning. Watch them drift the bottom of the jar. Notice the stillness and seeming finality. Consider that God notices and remembers every tear.  

You can use the same jar over a number of days, adding more salt as you tune into more moments of sadness over time. Notice how the grains of salt dissolve, changing form over time. Reflect on how your experience of grief shifts as you bring it into the light. You can also use salt to paint your lament. Here is a brief tutorial on using salt with watercolors and here are some options that might work well with the children in your life.  

Tread Gently 

I want to acknowledge that it can be scary to open up to lament because it can seem as though it will be overwhelming. The reality is that lament is hard work even as it’s simultaneously a relief to face what’s true. If you’re new to lament, start small. Try these practices in sips, dipping your toes into them. Be gentle with yourself. And don’t stay in darkness. Ask for help if you need it.

And know that while lament is essential, it’s only one aspect of a prayer toolbox. It’s best to engage it as part of a rhythm that includes other healthy spiritual and emotional practices that ground and foster peace. Ways to tune into the encouraging and hopeful and good in the midst of the hard are also crucial. These can be taking a moment to watch birds or new leaves rustling in the wind. It might be coloring. It could be taking walks in your neighborhood or having a living room dance party or calling a friend to catch up.

All of these things can happen in small bursts of a few minutes each in the spaces between work and zoom meetings and laundry and real life. They can be engaged individually or with your partner or children or roommate and, when we’re on the other side of this, incorporated into worship and community gatherings. My prayer is that we come out on the other side of this with more of us knowing how to lament and having experienced its life-affirming fruit. May you find creative ways to make space for lament (and joy and play and rest) in this season.

[1] This is not to minimize the vital roles of gratitude and hope as Becky wrote last week, but it is to say that facing pain is also essential.