Out of the Depths

This summer Ellen and I had plans to visit one of my best friends in Atlanta for his wedding. We should have been flying out in just a few days, actually! Later this summer, a friend since I was four or five years old with whom I attended school through high school, is going to be married in Kansas City. I have been looking forward to this summer for so, so long. As this pandemic extends its life, I am worried that our 3 year old’s grandparents won’t seem him for a long time. Each week I become aware of just how much I miss being in church with the gathered faithful to sing, to pray, to laugh and cry. I miss looking out from the pulpit, knowing the stories of so many sitting in the pews, and finding myself profoundly aware of the love of God that sustains us all. Our cathedral family has been unable to say goodbyes to staff members, beloved community members, to share in grief at the death of a beloved parishioner, and more.

My friends, I am lamenting so much in these days. Some days I feel it in my bones. I know you are, too, wherever you are and whatever your life circumstance is.

To have these laments also means I feel profound gratitude for those whose work—seen and unseen, known and unknown—sustains my life and all of ours. It means I also feel profound sadness that so many have to lament deaths, untold illness, and more during this time. And, all of that, does not diminish that the lament I feel and the lament you feel is real.

Lament is the primary way human beings profess that things just aren’t right. To our detriment as a society, we have lost lament. Preferring to make it appear as if everything is OK, under control, and going just fine, we miss out on chances to lament. Preferring the false comfort that comes from felling “fine” or “good”, our world prefers we never acknowledge that that may not be the case.

And yet, this feeling has been part of the human experience for thousands of years. The psalms tell that story. Psalm 130 captures the height and depth of lament. The psalmist begins in Psalm 130, “Out of the depths have I cried to you, O Lord” and ends the psalm by saying “With God there is plenteous redemption…” Each time lament wells up, the cries appeal to an ever-present God. The psalmist knows that within lament, God is near. And, that God’s steadfast love will always endure. The psalms of praise and the psalms of lament always send in this same way—with a reassured trust in God’s steadfast love. Indeed so do our laments, so does our praise.

Lament is not about complaining or whining but a faithful recognition that God is near, that God’s love endures and sustains, and that even in our sorrow, we are grateful. We will soon turn toward to hope, toward our next steps but for now I hope you will make space to lament with me. My prayer is that you will know God to be near to you in a way that passes all understanding and to be sustaining you in a love that never ends.

- Fr. Steven King