Observation: Traditionally the book of Lamentations is attributed to the prophet Jeremiah. It is what it says: poems of lamentation, all related to the conquest and destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonian army in the 6th century BC. What really catches my eye here are the harsh words the poet uses, that Judah's prophets have told "false and deceptive visions," that God "demolishes without pity" and has "made the enemy rejoice over you." But at the same time there are glimmers of hope toward the beginning of the passage: The poet (using God's voice) asks "to what shall I liken you, that I may comfort you?" "Who can heal you?" It's clear that if comfort and healing is going to come, it will come only from God.
Application: This text is from the Daily Lectionary. I didn't pick it. And truthfully, I probably wouldn't pick it for less than two days after another awful mass shooting, this time in a church during a worship service. It's too harsh, and it hits too close to home. But if our ears are open, maybe it's exactly what we need to hear.
As a parent, I always have a dual impulse when one of our children hurts themselves doing something I've told them a hundred times not to do, or that I thought they had enough sense not to do without my telling them. Once I've established that they're basically okay, part of me wants to say, "See? That's why I tell you not to do that!" and part of me wants to just wash the scrapes or bruises, get a band-aid, and just sit with them and comfort them until the pain subsides.
The thing is, they need both. Not at the same time, mind you, but eventually. It's like the Lutheran balance between Law and Gospel. We need to know where and how we messed up, but we also need to know that in God's arms we can still find healing.
Obviously, something like the destruction of Jerusalem, or the latest in a rash of horrific mass shootings, is a much more extreme situation than a child falling and scraping a knee. But in this situation, where we are hurting and confused, and not knowing where to turn, we absolutely need to be talking to God. But God will offer both Gospel and Law: both healing and challenge.
I have seen a lot of Facebook friends recently react with complete disrespect and derision when folks (particularly policy-makers) share "thoughts and prayers" for the victims of a tragedy. This troubles me for two reasons: first, of course, it puts me on the defensive as someone who prays every day, and believes that it does in fact make a difference, even if that difference is not always what we want or what we can see. But secondly it troubles me because it's clear that so many people of faith fundamentally misunderstand what prayer actually is.
If I can paraphrase a friend of mine, prayer is not just positive inner thoughts, it's a conversation with God. So if you are really and truly praying, that means you are really open to hearing what God has to say, both by way of comfort, but also by way of challenge. If we really are praying, then it's entirely appropriate at a time like this to ask God, "what do you think about this?" and "what do you want me to do about it?" Maybe we can even be brave enough to ask "what does loving my neighbor as myself look like in this situation?"
God, like any good parent, is going to have plenty to say to us when we are hurting. The real question is, how much of it are we ready to hear?
Prayer: God, speak to us. Heal us. Challenge us. Comfort us. Give us compassion for our neighbors who are grieving this most recent shooting, and those who are grieving so very many others. Give us compassion, too, for those who may be grieving soon, whose tragedy is still preventable, and give us the moral courage to come together across all divisions and prevent it. Amen.
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