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| #228 by David Sweeney |
by JaneAnn
Kenney
“…it is good to wait quietly for the
salvation of the Lord.”
–Lamentations 3:26
I grew up in
churches that had little use for the Christian calendar. My understanding of
Lent has been largely trial-and-error, without the guidance of church practice.
For years, I would give something up from Ash Wednesday to Easter (pizza,
alcohol, certain dorky computer games…), and I felt the pain of an extended
fast. This year, however, I’ve added a
discipline to my life rather than taking away a luxury, and I’m finding the
experience profoundly enlightening.
My
fascination with Lamentations began long ago, as a sophomore in college,
writing for my Old Testament class. Jeremiah’s brief hope in chapter three
shone like a beacon across the dark sea of my life, caught at age 19 in the
despair of the stark reality of mortality and how easily life is taken away,
how quickly those who survive are forever changed, so deeply as to be unrecognizable
even to themselves.
Jeremiah’s despair
in the other four chapters mirrored my own despondency, giving words to the
abandonment I felt deep within my soul. I wish I had understood then that the
despair which returned to him after his moment of hope would come to me as
well. I wish I’d known that the brevity
of that hopeful interlude didn’t mean I was broken or faithless, as though it
should have lasted forever, but rather that I was granted a respite in order to
gain strength for what was to come.
Enough
abstractions! You deserve some concrete insight. Three days before leaving my
brand new house in Kentucky for my brand new college in Texas, I saw a man die
in my front yard—unnatural causes. It’s far too much for a blog post, all of my
feelings and the repercussions, but the feeling that engulfed me as I came to
know he was really and truly dead in front of me… it was like an eclipse that
goes on too long, leaving the world cold, even in the sunshine of a
mid-afternoon in August. Chaos swirled
around me as though displaced by demons’ feet.
I didn’t
shake that feeling before my freshman orientation, or even during my
(seemingly) endless freshman year. I felt alone among my peers; who could
understand how the death of a stranger had destroyed the world as I knew it and,
therefore, myself as I knew me? Sophomore year was that shaft of sunlight, when
I thought I was good, when I felt hopeful and like myself again, and then.
Well, and then life went on, and despair returned, and I could no longer say
that Pete’s death was the sole cause of my darkness.
With these
things in mind, I decided to focus on Lamentations for my Lenten observance. What
can I learn on the other side of that pain? Leading up to Good Friday, can I learn to wait quietly?
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| #33 by David Sweeney |
And so, I am
reading one chapter of Lamentations a day, Monday through Friday. By the time
Lent is over, I will have read the book through about six times. Each week, I
read a new translation which allows both for new insights and dwelling on
persistent themes which recur, without respect to translation. So far, I’ve
covered the NIV, NRSV, ESV, and part of the Message.
What I’ve
seen:
“Her uncleanness was in her skirts; she
took no thought of her future; therefore her fall is terrible; she has no
comforter. ‘O Lord, behold my
affliction, for the enemy has triumphed!’” (1:9, ESV)
I know you
didn’t sign up for my biography, so I’m not going to give you any more now.
Suffice to say, if this verse resonates with you, it sure as hell resonates
with me. I took no thought of my future, the fall was terrible, and I’ve been
years learning to stand again. I just pray to God I’ve learned as much as I
think I have from that second darkness.
(and I thought, is any suffering like my
suffering?)
“And you passersby, look at me! Have you
ever seen anything like this? Ever seen pain like my pain, seen what he did to
me, what God
did to me in his rage?” (1:12, the Message)
She sounds angry—“Can you believe this was God?” How often do I sound like this—can
you believe what God is doing to me
now? It’s dangerous without a prophet around to assign cause and effect to our
suffering or to anyone else’s, so don’t hear me saying that the bad that
happens to me or anyone else is punishment. Maybe it is, maybe it ain’t. The
real question is, am I comfortable being angry at God? Does he deserve it?
Surely I’m not alone in saying, “Well, maybe…” And not being alone is enough.
(my people have become heartless)
“See,
O Lord, how distressed I am; my
stomach churns, my heart is wrung within me, because I have been very
rebellious” (1:20, NRSV)
“My stomach
drops and my guts churn.” You know that song? I resisted writing what came to
mind when I read this verse, but Amy Winehouse and lament go well in a sentence
together, I think. What wasted talent, what a hard life, and how quickly ended.
Next time you read Lamentations, picture Amy as the woman Jerusalem, crying out
to God, stunningly ignorant about why she suffers. Both deserve our tears.
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| #454 by David Sweeney |
(she weeps bitterly in the night)
“Look
at us, God. Think it over. Have
you ever treated anyone like this?”
(2:20, the Message)
In context,
this isn’t terribly hopeful. Being out of context doesn’t help either,
really—“You don’t even treat our enemies so badly!” And yet, perhaps the woman,
Jerusalem (Amy), finds solace in a community of suffering. This is no longer
her battle alone. She will not be exiled alone. And what of us? Are we in
exile? How would we know if we’re in exile? Shall we assume we’re in exile
until we hear otherwise, being aliens in the land?
(He will regard them no more)
“For
the Lord will not cast off forever, but, though he cause grief, he will have
compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love; for he does not afflict from his heart
or grieve the children of men” (3:31-33, ESV)
His heart’s
not in it. Against this angry God we think we learned from the Old Testament,
against a God defined by vengeance, I love to see his heart’s not in it.
(there may yet be hope)
“Those who once feasted on delicacies
perish in the streets; those who were brought up in purple embrace ash heaps;
[people like me who were well-educated found it meant nothing]” (4:5, ESV)
Sometimes when
reading the laments, parallels to today present themselves. I’ve seen more of
them the longer I’ve been reading these words, over and over. It seems an
appropriate, middle-class American emendation to the text.
(there may yet be hope)
Redactions
for today (from lament 5, NRSV):
With a yoke
on our necks we work long hours;
we are so tired, but there’s no
time to rest.
Our
forebears sinned; they are no more,
but we continue in their sins,
learning nothing.
The joy of
our hearts has ceased;
our dancing has been turned to
mourning.
Are we now
in exile and forgotten
in a land deceptively accepting
of you?
Will you not
restore us after so long?
Please do.
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| - Lamentations 3:29 |
JaneAnn
tries to rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn, and her
favorite people are those who try to do the same. Follow her on Twitter @JAKof3Ts.
Special thanks to David Sweeney for putting his work online so I could happen upon it at the right time. Check out his stuff at http://www.davidsweeneyart.
You can also follow On
Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology
or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.
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