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“I held my peace to no avail; my distress grew worse, my heart became hot within me.” (Psalm 29:2-3) I love the psalms because they put into words everything I’ve ever felt, but better. These Israelites knew pain, and they knew devastation, and they didn’t try to toxic positivity their way out of it.
Lately, that’s what Advent and Christmas have felt like to me: a glaring, grating, tinsel-covered spotlight turned on what I’ve lost. I know I’m not the only one with no holly jolly in them, and in the up-and-down of these psalms, I hear the psalmist cycling through the stages of bargaining, denial, and grief right alongside me.
These psalms offered to us today (Psalm 26, 28, 36, 39) are traditionally known as psalms of lament, and I feel so grateful God allows us a moment to cry out to God even as we wait for God. There are so many people in the world and in our community who are hurting badly today. There are so many who are holding pain they feel cannot be spoken of or who are walking the long road of suffering that lasts.
The Israelites walked that road, but as they walked, they cried out these songs of lament, not even knowing that today calling your neighbors “the bloodthirsty” would be seen as a little rude. No, the psalms are honest supplication to God—honest, meaning they’ll never be pretty and proper.
Maybe there’s someone you know whose story is not pretty or proper; maybe that person is you. If so, sift these psalms through your spirit and let them be a soothing balm to the wounds you see in this season. Lament is part of the path toward justice and redemption, not a detour and not a sin. Let these psalms carry you one more step along the path we walk together in this season, toward the One who will “be [our] shepherd and carry [us] forever.” (Psalm 28:9b)
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