By Dawn Taloyo, Associate Superintendent, PacNWC
Why, my soul, are you downcast?
…Oh, let me count the ways! Those were my first thoughts when Grace Shim, Covenant missionary and counselor, invited pastors and leaders to meditate on Psalm 42 today. Dr. Shim was a keynote speaker in the ECC’s “Covenant Connect: a day of hope and healing” – a virtual conference for pastors and ministry leaders in lieu of the annual ECC Midwinter pastors’ conference.
As I read through the familiar Psalm 42, I felt drawn to the words like never before. I entered Lent with no power or internet thanks to an epic storm that brought 1.5 inches of ice to Salem Oregon over the Valentine’s/President’s Day weekend. The cold, the inconvenience of no power, the throwing away of a refrigerator and freezer worth of food, the trying-to-keep-everyone’s-spirits-up really felt like a last straw in what has been the endless onslaught of 2020-21. Really God?
I won’t bore you with my counting, because I know we all have our lists. Nevertheless, that was the invitation from Dr. Shim: count them! Name them. When the Psalmist asks “Why, my soul, are you downcast?” she offered this as very real question that deserves answering. For, in the naming we can truly grieve. Putting words to our pain is lament, an authentic form of prayer. And, if we don’t lament and grieve, we run the risk of the pain releasing (or “oozing out”, as my husband and I like to say) in other, potentially unhealthy, ways.
The Psalmist names many grievances, some of which sound eerily familiar today:
- When can I go meet with God?
- I remember…how I used to go to the house of God
- All your waves and breakers have swept over me
- Why have you forgotten me?
- My bones suffer mortal agony
- Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?
Due to the storm, for the first time in I don’t know how long, I missed receiving the imposition of ashes on Ash Wednesday. Honestly, this is one of my favorite days in the Christian calendar. This year, I missed that important marker and passage into this season of acknowledging limits, brokenness and lament. So, I’ve been doing some catch up these past few days. Tears have come. As have words of exhaustion and prayers of forgottenness. I’m still sitting in the sacred chasm between the first part of Psalm 42 verse 5 and the second half: Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. Not that I don’t believe it. I just don’t want to shut down or shut out the honest, real, hard-to-admit feelings that have finally crept to the surface of my consciousness and are finding articulation.
Are you feeling that same need? The season of Lent gives us permission, if you need it like I do sometimes, to wallow in the dust and dirt of our humanity and even our inhumanity. From dust you have come and to dust you will return. But, the wallowing is not where we stay. Maybe think of it as “purposeful wallowing.” Our lament is active and directed to our primary Source of help. We wallow in the mud bath (see the dictionary definition of “wallow”) long enough to discover and put words to the pain, hurt, anger, frustration, grief. Then, while covered in the dirt and muck, we also discover our thirst, our need, and our longing: My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. I’m appreciating that desire rising up in a renewed way too.
I’m tempted now to try and turn this reflection to the hopeful, promise-filled ending. Hmm. That wouldn’t be true to where I am, nor the spirit of the season of Lent. But, I will offer this thought, one that I am finding helpful: as you find those words, share your lament with others. Know that you are not alone. So many of us are feeling the weight, the emotional exhaustion of this past year. It’s easy to compare mine and yours. Don’t compare, just share. Just as the Psalmist did when this prayer became public record and part of corporate worship for the ages. No shame; just honest and purposeful wallowing.