Lamenting

“We most encounter wholeness when we recognize our poverty and not our capacity.”

This is a quote from Belden Lane in his book The Solace of Fierce Landscapes. In this book released in 1998, he is calling us back to what the ancient mother’s and father’s would say to us today if we would only listen. 

Our plan for wholeness is typically one of a self-wrought silver platter of perfection with a side of comfort and a dash each of smooth and quick. This is a western, power-driven mindset. In spite of the extreme discomfort, our desert parents fled cities for the barrenness of the desert for this very reason. They weren’t okay with this pseudo-wholeness. 

I think lamenting is an invitation to true wholeness. 

Recently at a Soul Care Institute retreat, I experienced people grieving horrible losses of children and spouses, dreams and relationships, health and jobs, and this is what I noticed. They were invited to drop pinches of salt into a bowl of water representing the tears they have cried in the past or will cry in the future. Some people took little pinches. Some larger. One kept repeatedly taking salt and putting it into the water. Over and over she emptied herself as she cried, naming each lament, each grief.

These dear friends were recognizing their poverty. Admitting their losses and vulnerably welcoming their emptiness. Such a difficult place to be. Such a surprising relief too.

Several people commented afterward about just how freeing it felt to enter into lament in that way. One person said it was a release.

It’s as if beginning to empty our bodies of grief through lamenting, makes way for rivers of deep compassion to flow. Compassion for ourselves and compassion that comes from God. It’s a washing. We know that the grief is still there. The loss hasn’t gone away, but we’re now being held in a new space where we don’t feel so alone.

We all have grief. We’ve loved and lost. It’s not just the obvious losses. We all carry something around with us. Maybe someone is physically there, but emotionally they’re not accessible to you because of addiction or mental health issues? Maybe you’ve had a miscarriage or you were adopted and wonder about your birth parents? This is called ambiguous loss.

Disenfranchised grief is also possible. Loss of a client or patient, loss of one’s right or independence, or of a future opportunity. 

I sat with a friend a few nights ago who has been diagnosed with cancer. We shared a drink, toasting what we have right now and lamenting a difficult walk into the future. Lamenting helps my friend be able to move forward into treatment, seven weeks of radiation and chemo together. It helps him have perspective.

We all walk with broken pieces that leave holes in us. 

Lament is a gift then, to invite us back to wholeness. Taking those broken pieces and offering them to God through a veil of tears and anger and discovering that God is weeping with you.

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