The Language of Lament

Lament was a new word for me when I went to Rwanda in 2018 to begin my Master of Arts in Global Development and Justice. It wasn't a completely foreign concept, but not one I'd thought much about. All that changed as my knees hit the red dirt of a genocide memorial after looking at the horrors of the genocide deeply. 

It wasn't that I was unaware of the horrors of the 1994 genocide. It wasn't that I had no exposure to the brutal realities of those wretched 100 days. It was that, really for the first time, I was looking at the horrors of the genocide not as an academic experience, but through the eyes of a mother. The information that drove me to my knees that day almost exactly three years ago was hearing about the murders of children and seeing the evidence of their murders covering the walls and floor of a Sunday school room. It was looking at the carefully preserved clothes and toys and treasures of the men, women, and children who died because their humanity had been dismissed and their value reduced to that of cockroaches. 

Cockroaches are actually what some Rwandans were called. It was a convenient way to dismiss their humanity. It based human value on arbitrary factors like nose width, height, and family heritage. The reality is, though, the "ethnic" differences that were exploited during the genocide were very arbitrary. It isn't worth exploring now. Rather, the important takeaway is to recognize that we diminish the humanity of other people, with great consequences. 

One year ago, I found myself again on my knees, overwhelmed by grief and despair as I watched coverage of George Floyd's demise. Hearing him cry out for his mother as he slowly suffocated was more than my mama's heart could stand. As I've thought about today, and all the events in the year since Floyd's murder, my heart is heavy. 

While George Floyd wasn't actually described as a "cockroach," his value was diminished. Explanations range from his behavior (resisting arrest, according to some) to his size and being under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol. In the end, it doesn't really matter what the explanation is, the bottom line is, what happened to George Floyd happened because his value as a human being was diminished. 

Again, I can go into great detail about a variety of topics, but the key reason for writing this piece was to lean into the issue of lament. Lament is not a well-known concept. In fact, recent conversations addressing the issue of lament revealed a deep confusion and misunderstanding about what lament is and how it fits into the larger narrative of faith practice. 

Perhaps the best way for me to dig into the language of lament is to borrow from the Scriptures. The complexities of what I'm sharing make it difficult to unpack all the beauty and nuance of these passages, but one thing is consistent; these men are weeping and repenting for acts that weren't theirs. They are expressing grief for actions they had no part in and could not control. Yet, in their brokenness and humility, they cry out to God for forgiveness. 

First is Daniel (it's a long section, but so important for context). It says in Daniel 9, starting with verse two, 

"...I, Daniel, perceived in the books the number of years that, according to the word of the Lord to Jeremiah the prophet, must pass before the end of the desolations of Jerusalem, namely, seventy years. Then I turned my face to the Lord God, seeking Him by prayers and pleas for mercy with fasting and sackcloth and ashes. I prayed to the Lord my God and made confessions, saying, 'O Lord, the great and awesome God, who keeps covenant and steadfast love with those who love him and keep his commandments, we have sinned and done wrong and acted wickedly and rebelled, turning aside from your commandments and rules. We have not listened to your servants and the prophets who spoke in your name to our kings, our princes, and our fathers, and to all the people of the land.To you, O Lord, belongs righteousness, but to us open shame, as at this day... To us, O Lord, belongs open shame, to our kings, to our princes, and to our fathers, because wehave sinned against you" (Jeremiah 9:2b-10a, ESV, italics added).

 The thing about Daniel is, he was a righteous man (Ezekiel 14:12-23)! He was not the one responsible for the people of Judah being taken into captivity. In fact, based on his choices throughout the course of his life, it is easy to conclude that his parents were actually faithful, not guilty of the idolatry that led God's chosen people into captivity. Yet, as he recognized that the time for Judah's captivity was coming to an end, he "turned to the Lord" and "made confessions" that "we have sinned and done wrong and acted wickedly and rebelled..." (vs 5). He acknowledged and repented for sins he was technically not responsible for. Though the word lament isn't technically used here, I think this qualifies as lament. 

Next is Nehemiah. He lived decades after Daniel, and while much of the emphasis on his life is understandably on his leadership skills (rebuilding the wall around Jerusalem in 52 days), the opening chapters of the book that bears his name highlight something else entirely. Nehemiah's family had remained in Babylon after Jews were allowed to return to Judah, meaning more than 100 (closer to 150 years) had passed since God kept His word to judge the Judeans for their rebellion. He was not a party to any of the behavior or activities that led to the captivity. Yet, when he heard the situation in Jerusalem, he wept. Again, in Nehemiah's own words,

"As soon as I heard these words I sat down and wept and mourned for days, and I continued fasting and praying before the God of heaven... I said, 'O LORD God of heaven, the great and awesome God who keeps covenant and steadfast love with those who love him and keep his commandments, let your ear be attentive and your eyes open, to hear the prayer of your servant that I now pray before you day and night for the people of Israel your servants, confessing the sins of the peole of Israel, which we have sinned against you. Even I and my father's house have sinned. We have acted very corruptly against you and have not kept the commandments, the statutes, and the rules that you commanded your servant Moses..." (Nehemiah 1:4b-7, ESV, italics added). 

Again, Nehemiah was not even remotely connected to the behavior that led to the Babylonian captivity! He was, though not to the degree of Daniel, a righteous and God-fearing man. How else would he even have been aware of God's commands to Moses? Yet, over the course of months (at least four, based on the biblical account) Nehemiah wept, fasted, and prayed. It got to the point, actually, that the king noticed, which (based on Nehemiah's statements) was potentially life-threatening! Though these words aren't expressly about lament, they are, based on everything I understand about lament, prayers of lament! 

Both of these examples reflect my own heart on that steamy day in Rwanda, and one year ago today. I didn't slaughter any of the babies in that dirt-brick Sunday school room. I didn't kneel on George Floyd's neck until he literally suffocated to death. Yet, I recognize that I can, like Daniel and Nehemiah (as referenced above) or Jeremiah, weep before the Lord and confess, on behalf of my fellow image bearers, our failure to recognize and value the men and women God has literally knit together. I can confess my own failure, and the failure of my fellow believers, to love God with our whole hearts and to love our neighbors as ourselves. 

So, on this day that has been the source of so much heartache, disappointment, frustration, confusion, and protest, recognizing that George Floyd's name isn't the only one being grieved, I lament for the racial injustice in the country I love. I confess that we, God's people, don't love God with our whole hearts. We don't treat our neighbors as we want to be treated. I know it doesn't fix the problems. It doesn't undo the damage that has been done. It doesn't change the reality for those experiencing racial injustice, but it is what I can do. Will you join me?