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This season is an opportunity for practicing lament. In the gospel today, Jesus laments what is happening in his world when he says, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!”
I have had a lot of lament on my heart lately. For example, last Sunday, as I was preparing for the Come As You Are service, members of Holy Trinity, the Ukrainian Orthodox congregation, were finishing cleaning up after their service. I ended up sitting and talking with a woman for quite a while as her young child played nearby. She told me about her family still in Ukraine and her cousin in Canada with young children while her husband is fighting on the front lines. She told me stories of mothers killed in this war lying in the street beside their children who have also died. Her lament was clear when she said, “I don’t know who is going to help us.”
Theologian N. T. Wright says, “tears are the lens through which we see things clearly.” When it comes to war, oppression, and hate, this quote helps me feel as if my tears are not in vain. Our tears are the lens through which we see things clearly.
This Lent, I have added time for lamentation in my daily prayers. Lament is complaining to God about loss that is uncontrollable. Lament is complaining to God about loss that is out of our control.
I promise you can practice lament too! You probably already are… Do you ever read the headlines in the morning and think to yourself, “Looooord, have mercy!” Then, you’ve got it! You are practicing lament!
Lament helps us sort through stuff, finding ourselves in a situation and figuring out where God should be. Sometimes I do this in contemplative prayer, letting my fears and worries run wild in silence and sometimes by writing in a prayer journal or lighting a candle and staring into the flame.
Admittedly, sometimes my lamentation feels a lot like complaining or whining. But I would argue that sometimes complaining can be part of the process of working things out. Plain old complaining, however, is usually not about suffering, it is about power and loss of control. As Susan Pitchford said the other day, “Complaining is when entitlement gets frustrated.”
Complaining is the finger pointing around who didn’t deal with their dirty dishes or who dumped a load of wet, but clean laundry on the floor, or whining that things aren’t fair. We’ve all experienced this. A loved one starts in on a litany of grievances and our choice is to respond, support, or listen. Next time you encounter this kind of complaining, the kind that is about power, ask the person if they need to be “heard, hugged, or helped.” But, recognize that this is not lament.
Lamentation allows us to see that the world is not as it should be. Lament has to do with systemic injustice, or frustration with a medical diagnosis, fear of instability, or anger towards intolerance.
Practicing lament is a skill that helps us see the New Creation of God’s Kingdom. It helps us see that this world is not as it should be. When we lament, our tears are the lens through which we see things clearly. Jesus tearfully laments too. He laments that God’s people will once again refuse God’s love. Jesus grieves because the people in Jerusalem, the holy city, can’t hear the message of love, not even from the Son of God.
Immediately following Jesus’ lament about Jerusalem the holy city, the gospel gives us an image of God as a mother hen. Jesus says, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem! You kill the prophets and stone the people sent to you! How many times did I want to collect your children, like a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you would have none of it!”
Compared to other metaphors of God in the Bible, this one is quite different. One of my favorite eucharistic prayers references this image saying, “As a mother tenderly gathers her children, you embraced a people as your own.” The metaphor of God as a mother hen is so ordinary and yet, profound. Mother hens, like mothers of most species, shift their focus from themselves to their babies as soon as the eggs hatch.
Mother hens, like many other mothers, can be quite fierce if their babies are in danger. I imagine we have parents, godparents, aunts, uncles, guardians, and grandparents in this room who can relate. When our children are in danger, we are swiftly motivated to protect.
My lament today is that we too often move to protect our loved ones who are right in front of us, but neglect to care for those who are far away or are different than we are. But God as the mother hen cares for all of God’s beloved and that can be an inspiration for us.
Just as our hearts are broken watching atrocities play out beyond our control, God’s heart breaks with us. God mourns when God’s children suffer. And this is why we lament, crying out to God because of suffering.
The image of God as mother hen is in direct response to death threats from King Herod. Jesus uses the metaphor of a hen gathering her brood under her wings to express his desire to protect Jerusalem, despite the danger posed by Herod.
This imagery highlights Jesus’ nurturing and protective nature, contrasting with Herod’s threatening behavior. This metaphor is part of the broader theme of Jesus’ lament over Jerusalem and his desire to gather and protect its people.
As Episcopal priest Janelle Hiroshige writes, “As violence begets violence, it would be easy to counter Herod with an image or metaphor that is violent. Or even one that is overly masculine. Yet, God does not do that. The response to acts of violence and abuse? A mother hen gathering her children. Protecting them and keeping them safe. That is the desire of our God.”
When the woman from the Ukrainian congregation lamented saying, “I don’t know who is going to help us,” my heart broke. How are we to respond to that? Where is God in this atrocity?
Jesus teaches us that God is the mother hen eagerly collecting Her children under her wings. At Epiphany, we are going to do this the best we can. We are partnering with Holy Trinity Ukrainian Church and finding ways to come alongside them in relationship and support. The Service & Outreach Committee is leading the way.
Next month, we will share a meal and RELATA-style conversation together, as a way of building relationships between our congregations. In a way, this is practicing lament too. We are coming alongside them in their suffering and acknowledging that the world is not as it should be.
As we prepare our hearts for the mystery of Easter and practice lament, I invite you to discern carefully what it is you lament. What choices have led us to a place where we fear for the lives of our loved ones, or we fear for the lives of God’s beloved?
As Kate Bowler writes in her Lenten guide this year, “Lament invites us into a place of truth-telling, love, and belonging.”
May our lamentations bring us closer to love, closer to truth, and into belonging. May our tears be the lens through which we see things clearly.