We both walked in the room—hearts heavy with unspoken words, problems with no answers. We tried to lighten the load by revisiting past hurts and talking about solutions. The weight remained. Emotions stirred. We were fragile.

Finally, she rested her forehead on the windowsill. Quiet tears streamed down her cheeks. She looked up, “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!” In that moment, we gave lament permission. We named our grief and allowed ourselves to feel the emotion present with the loss and hurt.

Our problem-solving strategies quietly left the room as lament held the weight of our heartache. There was an instant release to be present to the pain. Naming what was lost gave us permission to seek our hearts’ deepest desires. The longing for tenderness and understanding in a difficult relationship needed to find a voice. Lament translated this unfulfilled desire.

As I reflect on this moment with my daughter…

I’m struck by the permission lament gave us—the space to pause and receive an invitation from God. Freedom came as we leaned into the sorrow. Our tears became a balm of healing.

In recent years, God has completely reshaped my understanding of lament. Bible story images of ashen faces, ripped clothes, wailing, weeping, and mourning had framed the picture in my mind. Although true representations of the practice of lament in some cultures today and throughout history, I was curious to widen my view. Could lament be an authentic expression of grief—a language often hidden inside every human heart?

It wasn’t until my son was diagnosed with a life-altering disease that I discovered a deeper and more expansive meaning to Biblical lament. One that gave me language for my heartache and permission to name my raw emotions.

In his book, SACRED SORROW…

Michael Card describes Jesus as our best hope of translating this mysterious language. He spoke the “language of lament” fluently. Card suggests that within us lies a hidden “holy of holies”. In ancient Jewish traditions, only the High Priest could access this most sacred space. Jesus, a Man of Sorrows, is our High Priest. He can tenderly enter this heart space and hold our deepest cries—our laments.

A deep cry is present somewhere in the sacred space of every human heart. What is yours? Would you consider exploring the lost language of lament today? If so, find a quiet space and reflect on one or more of the below questions. (Tip: Be kind to yourself and as transparent as you can.)

1. When you hear “lament” what words, pictures, or feelings come to your mind?
2. Reflect on your knowing of lament. Do you sense invitation, questions, curiosity, anxiety, safety, or another feeling? Take a few moments of silence. Invite Jesus to speak into that space. What do you hear? Do you have a question for him—a desire, a hope, a renaming you would like to explore?
3. Consider a moment of heartache that is a part of your story. What do you imagine it would feel like to explore your raw emotion and give it a voice? What would it look like? What would it sound like?
4. Read Psalm 42. Do you resonate with, or do you feel disconnected from the author’s knowing of God against the backdrop of their lament? How would you describe your personal “knowing of God” within the context of lament?

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