The Blessing

"The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace."

I no longer lift my hands to receive that blessing with even the slightest bit of indifference.   Having experienced the loss and extended absence of each of those blessings, the restoration of them is dear and precious.  To have them spoken over me each Sunday is powerful.

Music Monday: Dynamic Duos

Luke Winslow King & Esther Rose

Corey Chisel & Adriel Danae

Over the Rhine - Linford Detweiler & Karen Bergquist

Whitehorse - Luke Doucet & Melissa McClelland

Jay Ungar & Molly Mason

Civil Wars: Joy Williams & John Paul White

Shovels & Rope

Jason Isbell & Amanda Shires

Music Monday: A Communion Hymn

LOST, ALL LOST IN WONDER

Thomas Aquinas

 Godhead here in hiding, whom I do adore,
Masked by these bare shadows, shape and nothing more,
See, Lord, at thy service low lies here a heart
Lost, all lost in wonder at the God thou art.

Seeing, touching, tasting are in thee deceived:
How says trusty hearing? that shall be believed;
What God's Son has told me, take for truth I do;
Truth himself speaks truly or there's nothing true.

On the cross thy godhead made no sign to men,
Here thy very manhood steals from human ken:
 Both are my confession, both are my belief,
And I pray the prayer of the dying thief.

I am not like Thomas, wounds I cannot see,
But can plainly call thee Lord and God as he;
Let me to a deeper faith daily nearer move,
Daily make me harder hope and dearer love.

O thou our reminder of Christ crucified,
Living Bread, the life of us for whom he died,
Lend this life to me then: feed and feast my mind,
There be thou the sweetness man was meant to find.

Bring the tender tale true of the Pelican;
Bathe me, Jesu Lord, in what thy bosom ran---
Blood whereof a single drop has power to win
All the world forgiveness of its world of sin.

Jesu, whom I look at shrouded here below,
I beseech thee send me what I thirst for so,
Some day to gaze on thee face to face in light
And be blest for ever with thy glory's sight. Amen.

(translation of Gerard Manley Hopkins, S.J.)

The Idol of Obedience

"All the way...right away...with a good attitude...every day."

What an absolutely wretched paradigm for parenting.

Unless, of course, our aim is to create either perfectionistic, self-righteous little Pharisees, or defeated, self-loathing little prodigals.

This is NOT Christian parenting!  This is gospel-denying, moralistic striving that engenders smug self-satisfaction in those inclined toward obedience and cynical disregard in those inclined toward rebellion.  Neither of these are fruits of righteousness.  Both are antithetical to living in the Good News that Jesus has rescued ALL of us from ourselves...the obedient and disobedient alike.  BOTH need him because neither can save himself!!

I regret parenting under this paradigm.  Even though I thought it was *right* at the time, I now see that underneath it was my own moralistic striving to prove myself worthy of the appellation "Christian parent."  Make that GOOD...or better yet..."EXCEPTIONAL Christian parent."  Obedient, moral children would prove that my own faith and life were genuine.  What a burdensome way of life, not only for me, but for my sons.

In reality, this is simple proof that I am in as much need of the gracious gospel of Jesus as my sons were/are.  Because of the mercy of God in Christ, I don't have to despair of my parenting failures.  I have confessed my sins and errors to my sons and though I hope they have heard and responded, my hope for them does not lie in my ability to adequately confess or right my wrongs.  My confidence is that HE is fully capable of bringing them to himself and healing any hurt, damage, or distorted beliefs they have as a result of my parenting, whether through or apart from my acknowledgement.

Bottom line: even if I had parented as perfectly as humanly possible...even if I had more accurately taught and displayed the Good News, in the end, the ONLY thing that will save them...or ME...is the work of Jesus Christ, who loves us and delivers us and draws us near even when we don't obey all the way...right away...with a good attitude...every day. 

Our father is forever faithful, he knows our frame, he gives us eyes to see ourselves when we're ready, and he grants us repentance and life.  And we can trust him to do the same for our children.  Thanks be to God.

NOTE: This is not about self-flagellation, nor am I seeking accolades for my parenting, nor is it an indictment of my sons!  I dearly loved my boys and tried - in the best way I knew how at the time - to shower them with love, to train their hearts to love God, and to allow them joy in the process.  I did some things right along the way.  BUT...as I grow and change and experience The Good News in new ways in my own life, my perspective changes and I see my parenting differently.   I hope to challenge/encourage young parents or to-be parents (such as my own sons...) to formulate their expectations for obedience from a more gracious stance and with a view to their children's AND THEIR OWN ongoing need for Jesus.

Win-Win

I drove nearly 1000 miles this weekend to watch my boy play basketball.  

No...he isn't spoiled.  And no...I am not an obsessed, overly-involved mother who can't let go.  But this is kind of a big deal.

This Man-Child of mine arrived at this place by a long, circuitous route.  He wanted to attend Covenant College since he was about 13, but for various reasons, it was never an option until this year, and he had to overcome some fairly large obstacles.  It's true that some very caring souls stuck out their necks to assist him, but ultimately the risk and the work to shed the burdens that haunted him, required commitment and perseverance on his part. 

Every mile was worth it because it allowed me to participate in the joy of a son who has cast off his past and is pursuing his passions.  His dreams are simple: Teach.  Coach.  Love kids.  He is on the path to fulfilling those dreams and for me to be on the sideline cheering him on, is the fulfillment of mine. 

Music Monday: Norah

Gender & Grace

I finally finished VanLeeuwen's book.  She asks all of the questions I have been asking for years regarding Christian assumptions  and conclusions about gender and sexuality, and she attempts to answer them according to her knowledge of science and consistent hermeneutical principles applied to Scripture.   I believe she succeeds, offering Christians a solid biblical approach to a host of questions that plague us.  For those of you who panic at the very thought of placing our gender views under the microscope, perhaps (*perhaps*) the closing paragraph of the book might put you at ease:

"When all is said and done, the struggle for Christian freedom is not between men and women, nor even between feminists and traditionalists.  The struggle is within each one of us, male and female, between the old person and the new person, between the flesh and the Spirit, between the impulse to be first among all and the call to become the servant of many.  Debates about sex and gender will be around for a long time to come, both in the community of the church and the community of social science.  But long after our current questions have been settled or forgotten, the radical words of Jesus to his followers, both women and men, will ring down through history from the Gospel of John: 'Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it cannot bear fruit.'  And this is a saying which will rightly continue to offend us all." 

STL: The Best Baseball Town

I know many unknowingly accuse St. Louis of naming THEMSELVES as the Best Fans in Baseball, but I can assure you that isn't the case.  St. Louis is a relatively humble town.  We LOVE our baseball team and are proud of their history and proven performance year after year, and we enjoy some of the names that have been applied to us, but trust me when I say, they are NOT self-assignations!   Imported players and TV commentators are the primary source for the "high-praise" that comes to Cardinals' fans, and now we can officially add The Commissioner to that list of those who recognize something special about the relationship between St. Louis and baseball.  

Maybe one day I'll write about that connection, but for now, I'll leave you with Mr. Selig's contribution to the conversation: 

"With world championships, perennial contention, a pipeline of homegrown players, [a] beautiful ballpark [and] continuity on and off the field, the Redbirds embody the blueprint for every team, not only in baseball, but in sports. I commend [owner Bill DeWitt Jr.] and his entire organization for building an era of Cardinal baseball that is a fair reward for the St. Louis fans, whose unwavering support continues to amaze. I really -- I wanna say this. I go to all 30 cities, obviously there’s supposed to be a neutrality, but I’ve said this many times and I’ll say it again: You are the best baseball town in America, and there is no doubt about it."  

--Bud Selig, January 2015

When We Two Parted

WHEN WE TWO PARTED

by: George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met--
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

I'm Fine -- How Are You?

At the end of recent visit with my Grandma Waggoner, she gave me this piece of paper and had me read it out loud to her.  She gave me the copy, which I treasure because it is in her handwriting!

I'm Fine -- How Are You?

There's nothing the matter with me,

I'm just as healthy as can be.

I have arthritis in both knees,

and when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.

My pulse is weak, my blood is thin,

but I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.

My memory's failing, my head's in a spin,

But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.

Old age is golden -- I've heard it said,

But I sometimes wonder as I go to bed.  

With my ears in a  drawer, my teeth in a cup,

and my glasses on a shelf until I get up.

And when sleep dims my eyes, I say to myself,

Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?

The reason I know my youth has been spent,

Is my get-up-and-go has got-up-and-went!

But really I don't mind, when I think with a grin,

Of all the places my get-up has been.

The moral of this as the tale unfolds,

Is that for you and me who are growing old,

It is better to say, "I"m fine" with a grin,

Than to let people know the shape we are in!

From the Sea

From the Sea

by Sara Teasdale

All beauty calls you to me, and you seem,
Past twice a thousand miles of shifting sea
To reach me.  You are as the wind I breathe
Here on the ship's sun-smitten topmost deck,
With only light between the heavens and me.
I feel your spirit and I close my eyes,
Knowing the bright hair blowing in the sun,
The eager whisper and the searching eyes.

Listen, I love you.  Do not turn your face
Nor touch me.  Only stand and watch a while 
The blue unbroken circle of the sea.
Look far away and let me ease my heart
Of words that beat in it with broken wing.
Look far away, and if I say too much,
Forget that I am speaking.  Only watch,
how like a gull that sparkling sinks to rest,
The foam-crest drifts along a happy wave
Toward the bright verge, the boundary of the world.

I am so weak a thing, praise me for this,
That in some strange way I was strong enough
To keep my love unuttered and to stand
Altho' I longed to kneel to you that night
You looked at me with ever-calling eyes.
Was I not calm?  And if you guessed my love
You thought it something delicate and free,
Soft as the sound of fir-trees in the wind
Fleeting as the phosphorescent stars in foam.
Yet in my heart there was a beating storm
Bending my thoughts before it, and I strove
To say too little lest I say too much,
And from my eyes to drive love's happy shame.
It seemed like other names to me, and I
Was all unconscious, as a dreaming river
That nears at last its long predestined sea;
And when you spoke to me, I did not know
That to my life's high altar came its priest.
But now I know between my God and me 
You stand forever, nearer God than I,
And in your hand with faith and utter joy
I would that I could lay my woman's soul.

Oh, my love
To whom I cannot come with any gift 
Of body or of soul, I pass and go.
But sometimes when you hear blown back to you
My wistful, far-off singing touched with tears,
Know that I sang for you alone to hear,
And that I wondered if the wind would bring
To him who tuned my heart its distant song.
So might a woman who in loneliness
Had borne a child, dreaming of days to come,
Wonder if it would please its father's eyes.
But long before I ever heard your name,
Always the undertone's unchanging note
In all my singing had prefigured you,
Foretold you as a spark foretells a flame.
Yet I was free as an untethered cloud
In the great space between the sky and sea,
And might have blown before the wind of joy
Like a bright banner woven by the sun.
I did not know the longing in the night--
You who have waked me cannot give me sleep.
All things in the world can rest, but I,
Even the smooth brief respite of a wave
When it gives up its broken crown of foam,
Even that little rest I may not have.
And yet all quiet loves of friends, all joy
In all the piercing beauty of the world
I would give up--go blind forevermore,
Rather than have God blot out from my soul
Remembrance of your voice that said my name.

For us no starlight stilled the April fields,
No birds awoke in darkling trees for us,
Yet where we walked the city's street that night
Felt in our feet the singing fire of spring,
And in our path we left a trail of light
Soft as the phosphorescence of the sea
When night submerges in the vessel's wake
A heaven of unborn evanescent stars.

Happy New Year Y'all

A grand celebratory performance from the usually thoughtful and artistic Mumford & Sons, the rowdy bluegrass crew from Old Crow Medicine Show, and the absolutely out-of-their-minds band Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros:

Music Monday: Over the Rhine

A new-to-me husband and wife duo: Over the Rhine  

HT: Ryan Laughlin - thanks for the intro.

Gender & Grace

I was first introduced to Mary Stewart VanLeeuwen in the early 1990's through a Presbyterian journal. Although I wasn't quite ready for her ideas, I was impressed with her attitude of humility and her gracious tone.  

The distinguishing marks of prominent feminists at that time, were anger and denigration of men, NOT humility and grace!  I found Ms. VanLeeuwen antithetical to my views of feminism.  I also found her theological views antithetical to mine…or at least too much of a stretch for me to assimilate at that time.  But her attitude and tone struck a basic chord in me and caused me to remember her.  

In particular, her call to women to wait patiently and humbly for the Spirit of God to do a work in his people that would lead to greater respect for and incorporation into the "important" aspects of civic and church life, was powerful.  Though she sincerely believed that things were askew in the church, she also sincerely believed that being assertive, angry, and demanding were not Christian avenues to fomenting biblical change. 

I am just now…nearly 25 years later…getting around to reading her books.  My respect continues to increase based on her scholarship and her honesty.  She holds tightly to the foundational truths of the Scriptures, holding them in higher regard than American cultural norms…something MANY of us are hard-pressed to do.  We perceive the interpretations of our own time and place as representative of The Truth, and sometimes refuse to see the distorting effects of the Fall on our own application of God's creative and redemptive work.  She assigns responsibility to both men and women for the current state of gender perception and roles.  She considers multiple anthropological studies, philosophy of culture, created design, nature, nurture, biology, psychology, etc. as influences on our perceptions of gender in the narrative of creation, fall, redemption, and restoration.  

Because of her wide-reaching approach and her reverence for God's Truth and creative design, I commend her writing to you as worthy of consideration. 

Happy Christmas Eve

Beloved, be it this Christmas Eve our care and delight to prepare ourselves to hear again the message of the angels; let us read and mark in Holy Scripture the tale of the loving purposes of God from the first days of our disobedience unto the glorious Redemption brought us by this Holy Child:

Thus we were heirs to endless woes

Til God the Lord did interpose

For so a promise soon did run 

That He would redeem us by his Son.

Once Upon a Time...

This is no fairytale.  Except it kind-of-sort-of does involve dragons and warfare and rescue, so maybe in a subtle way, it actually IS.

Once upon a time, I was proud.  

- that I subscribed to the most accurate confessions

- that I knew and recited the definitive creeds of Christendom

- that I had chosen a superior denomination

- that I had chosen a superior church within that superior denomination

- that I read the most astute theologians, both modern and ancient

- that my faith wasn't blind, but well-reasoned and intellectual

- that my church sang the *best* hymns - after all, we used the BLUE Trinity hymnal rather than the compromised RED version

That final admission nauseates me.  But it's true.  Secretly, in my heart of hearts, I believed we were "better than" based on this absurd criteria.  When I attended other churches, my first-line response was one of judgement…every single time.  No grace.  No love.  I didn't care about their hearts…and apparently, I didn't care about MINE either.

Tightly-pursed lips in vain conceal

What supercilious brow 

And heav'n-raised promontory

Willingly flaunt.

I wrote that little ditty about someone else, but I might as well have been describing myself sitting in any "other" church.  

And all of this came AFTER leaving the pride-filled life of a legalist!  I had abandoned the burden of a performance based life.  I no longer carried the weight of DO's and DON'Ts as my primary measuring stick.  And yet…I once again found myself in the same place.  Different issues.  Same heart.

I didn't *know* I was proud.  I thought I was *thankful*.  Thankful to have learned and grown and understood enough to get out of that place of oppression and deceit.  But I was still under a yoke…a yoke of SHOULD's and OUGHT's.  A yoke of comparison.  A yoke, not of earning salvation, but of proving myself worthy of maintaining that gift…a perpetual pursuit on that hamster wheel of sanctification, chasing the ever-elusive "good enough."

Every pursuit…every yoke other than Christ's will eventually exhaust us and bring us to our knees. 

God is more resolute than we are and he has ways of delivering us from the burdens we place ourselves under.  Those ways may not always shout MERCY and RESCUE, but that's exactly what they are.  He certainly knew what I needed…and he brought me low.  Sure…my humiliation came at my own hand and as a result of my own choices...yet it was clearly the design of God to humble me.  To root out the foolish pride that I didn't even recognize.  So much of what I loved and clung to - things that masqueraded as good and right and spiritual - didn't matter a whit, but I couldn't SEE that as long as I was standing on my own two feet with the eyes of the elder brother.

Helpless, weak, needy, blind, faint, broken without remedy...THIS is what I needed to be, feel, experience.  He knew that and, in his mercy, he brought it to pass.  All of my idols lay shattered around me.  I labored to reassemble them, only to see them topple again…and again…and again, until I was too weary to even try.    

It was then - as he has promised - that he gave me rest.  He removed the heavy yoke I had submitted to.  He sent rescuers to carry me, to help me stand, and to walk beside me.  

Somehow I doubt that this is my last experience of this kind.  I expect that in another year or two or twelve, I'll look back and recognize the new ways that pride has taken root and the surgical precision that my wise Father has used to extract it.  But every "procedure" increases my reliance on him and my confidence that he knows exactly what he is doing and that he is, once again, manifesting his commitment to rescue me from sin and self. 

He is committed to remaking me - transforming me from glory to glory - until my face shines with the radiance of his reflection.   This is why he came.  And I rejoice in his coming! This redemption is what makes Christmas glorious for all of us.  Thanks be to God.

Advent People: Waiting for The God Who Heals

Jeremiah 8

My sorrow is beyond healing,

My heart is faint within me!

Is there no balm in Gilead?

Isaiah 30

The light of the moon will be as the light of the sun

and the light of the sun will be seven times brighter, 

like the light of seven days 

on the day the Lord binds up the fracture of his people

and heals the bruises he has inflicted.

Advent People: Waiting for Peace

One of many troubles we endure while waiting for Christ to come, is conflict.  Personal, family, corporate, community, national, and international conflicts affect each of our lives to varying degrees.  Conflict is inescapable and is troublesome at any level of relationship, producing anxiety, fear, uncertainty, sorrow, even hatred.  In full flower, it births destruction - of individuals, families, churches - and finds its most grotesque expression  in warfare, which makes us undeniably aware of just how far we are from that Peace on Earth that Christ came to bring!

The following commercial has made the internet rounds already and the emotion of it either draws us in or alienates us, depending on our disposition.  But even if we initially resist its sentimentality, it speaks to a desire deep within each of us to experience a pervasive and permanent peace among humanity.  

The commercial is based on a historical moment in World War I, referred to as The Christmas Truce of 1914: a series of widespread but unofficial ceasefires in the week leading up to the holiday.  Soldiers crossed trenches to exchange seasons greetings and talk. In some areas, men from both the German and allied armies ventured into "no-man's-land" on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to mingle and exchange food and souvenirs. There were joint burial ceremonies and prisoner swaps, while several meetings ended in carol-singing. Men played games of football with one another, providing one of the most enduring images of the truce.  (Wikipedia)   
 

From The Illustrated London News of January 9, 1915:

"British and German Soldiers Arm-in-Arm Exchanging Headgear:

A Christmas Truce between Opposing Trenches"

The profound beauty of this story resides in the unstated premise that it is the Coming of Christ alone that holds the power to unite enemies in triumphant songs of common joy.  While we wait for this full and final resolution, incidents like this one grant us a tiny taste of what that moment might feel like, and we draw courage and hope to sustain us while we wait for that day. 

Come quickly, Lord Jesus, and make all things new!

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Additional information and artistic interpretations of The Christmas Truce: 

An educational article: Christmas Truce at the World War I Front     

                                                    

A NYTimes article: The Truce of Christmas, 1914

The movie (w/ subtitles): Joyeaux Noel 

Fontbonne University's stage version: All is Calm

The newly-released picture book from STL's John Hendrix: Shooting at the Stars. 

A folk song by John McCutcheon:



Advent People: Waiting for Rest

Come unto him all ye that labor

Come unto him that are heavy laden

And he will give you rest.

Take his yoke upon you and learn of him,

For he is meek and lowly of heart,

And ye shall find rest unto your souls.

Advent People: Blessed Are Those Who Mourn

Dan Allender, author of The Cry of the Soul (one of several of his books which has made a profound impact on my life), has written a poignant article about the role of lament in the Christian's life.  As we navigate this life, waiting for Christ to come and to make all things new, we often find ourselves in a place of mourning.  Allender powerfully suggests that applying a positive attitude and glossing over the struggle are neither fully human or fully Christian responses.  

Below are some highlights from a rather lengthy article of his titled, The Hidden Hope in Lament.  I commend to you the full version, and hope to merely whet your appetite by providing these excerpts.

A lament uses the language of pain, anger, and confusion and moves toward God.

The cry of pain is our deepest acknowledgment - we are not home. We are divided from our own body; our own deepest desires; our dearest relationships. We are separated and long for utter restoration. It is the cry of pain that initiates the search to ask God, What are you doing? The cry of pain also reveals our heart of anger.

This kind of anger is not merely a brash assault - an adolescent swagger that enjoys taking on the big guy. It is far more serious. It is a cry that ease, even relief, is not enough - far more, it is the cry of the soul that says: "I must have a new perspective, or I will die. I would rather face your wrath than exist in this agony with no more perspective than I have now." Anger in lament reveals the utter seriousness of the cry. Not all anger at God is good, but an anger that moves the heart to confusion, to feeling trapped between our belief in him and our movement away from him, opens the heart to redemption.

Confusion experienced in the middle of asking tough questions opens the door to a new perspective. And the perspective is glimpsed in recalling God's way of redemption.

If one wants redemption, it will not be in comfort, nor ease - it will be in the darkest moments of disaster. He does not offer redemption to those who are well or to those who live in light. Redemption comes when nothing else will do.

Lament is a search - a declaration of desire that will neither rest with a pious refusal to ache, nor an arrogant self-reliance that is a hardened refusal to search.

The language of lament is oddly the shadow side of faith. To whom do you vocalize the most intense, irrational-meaning inchoate, inarticulate anger? Would you do so with someone who could fire you or cast you out of a cherished position or relationship? Not likely. You don't trust them - you don't believe they would endure the depths of your disappointment, confusion. And so the lament is never sung together, nor the anger ever addressed for fear that consequences would occur that are more devastating than the potential joy of reconciliation.

The person who hears your lament and bears your lament against them, paradoxically, is someone you deeply, wildly trust. It is the paradox that opens the heart to unfathomable rest.  Lament cuts through insincerity, strips pretense, and reveals the raw nerve of trust that angrily approaches the throne of grace and then kneels in awed, robust wonder.

Allender then argues eloquently and at-length for the public, corporate expression of lament.  He concludes:

Why is it so important that lament be a rich part of the worship of the people of God? I suspect there are two primary reasons: universality and accountability.

Pain separates. To have a terrible headache is to experience one's body as an enemy. To suffer the loss of a spouse is to feel separated from a world of couples. Pain, anger, and confusion deepen our loneliness. If 200 people in a congregation sing - "Will the Lord reject forever? Will he never show his favor again?" (Psalm 77:7), only a minority will enter those words in the present, but the majority will know that pain from the past and anticipate it in the future. To sing in sorrow is to befriend one another and to authenticate we are not ultimately alone, even if no one can fully comprehend our pain now. The awareness we are not alone increases our courage to honestly look at the pain and to struggle to know God. It gives us less excuse to withdraw from fellowship assuming either no one understands me, or everyone else has his or her life in order. Those assumptions destroy the integrity of true Christian community.

Second, to sing sorrow in congregation opens the door to accountability. Pain not only separates, but it also numbs the heart. Nothing is more common than for a person who has been deeply hurt, disappointed to make an internal oath: "I will not be hurt again." The oath leaves the heart calloused and blind to the heartache of others and the passion of God.

After years of therapeutic endeavor, I would claim it is one of the prime strategies of Satan. If the heart is shut-down to desire and disappointment, then something profoundly human is lost and repentance at best will be mere behavioral change, and at worst, a pious charade.

But to sing together - to allow your sorrow and joy to be mine, and mine to be yours, requires me to stay alive to sorrow and to the struggle of my pain, anger, and confusion with God. And this will be the case even if I am currently fairing well.

If I am alive to God, then I am more apt to note your deadness and more gentle and courageous in calling forth the lament in you. To sing a lament together will enable me to more readily ask the question: How are you? What are you doing with God in the midst of your "presumed" and not unusual song of sorrow?

It seems inconceivable, but to lament together is to hold one another accountable to continue the pursuit of truth until joy dawns. It will.

Lament is not an end in itself. There should be no question that God does not want us to sing lament as the staple of our worship, nor should it be our internal hymn of choice. But lament opens the heart to wrestle with a God who knows that sorrow leads to comfort and lament moves to praise as sure as the crucifixion gave way to resurrection.