The Other Half of the Psalms
The Book of Psalms is the essential prayer book for those of Jewish faith, and mostly central for those of Christian faith too. I say “mostly” central because, in my experience, the other half of the Psalms have rarely been talked about. Those being the Psalms that are referred to as "laments."
During this Lenten Season at Denver Community Church we have been focusing our attention on the Psalms of Lament. We have focused our attention on the God who is intimate with grief and our denial of pain. We discussed the realities of anger, doubt, sorrow, and asked the question, “What do we do when God has left the building?”
These Psalms are filled with questions, doubts, anger, vengeful language, accusations, pain, sorrow, and grief. Is it any wonder we don’t spend much time talking about these? Talking about these psalms sound as depressing as listening to Depeche Mode. However, as we have learned over the last several weeks – we desperately need to study these Psalms.
A few Sundays ago we invited people to voice their doubts as we participated together in the Eucharist. The response was overwhelming.
“God I just don’t believe you love me because of my mistakes.”
“All of this prayer and he still decided to leave? Why?”
“His dad lived through cancer and you let my dad die.”
“Why did my baby have to die?”
And there were hundreds like this.
Pain, heartache, sorrow, and significant questions are lying in the hearts of those who gather together every Sunday in churches across the country.
This reality struck me in a deep way yesterday, the final Sunday of Lent, when Crossroads Bible Church (a church that I and many others planted together in 2004) gathered together. However, it was not their typical gathering. This is because on Thursday night their youth pastor, Derek Taatjes, and his infant son, Dylan, died in a house fire leaving behind a wife and two daughters. This awful, seemingly senseless tragedy has caused deep pain in the life of this local church.
If you knew Derek you knew that he had a heart the size of his head in his chest. To hear of his and Dylan’s death just does not make any sense. Why them? Why now? This raises all sorts of questions and difficult emotions.
I have spent a lot of time mourning with, reflecting on, and praying for the Taatjes family and the Crossroads family in these days. Much of my reflection has come out of the time we at Denver Community Church have spent in the psalms. In reading these Psalms I have begun to see that in moments like this, there is no right way to feel.
The emotions expressed in the Psalms are all over the map. One Psalm even concludes with the words, “… darkness is my closest friend.”
The questions asked of God in a posture of doubt and confusion sounds more like accusations than questions. The psalmist asks, “Why are you so far from my cries of anguish?” The question assumes that God is, in fact, far from his cries. The psalmist does not write, “It seems like you are far away …” He simply states it unapologetically, and in this accuses God.
We should not shy away from this kind of praying; rather we should embrace it. For in these prayers there is profound faith and deep intimacy. The psalmists know that the best place to go with the most difficult questions, the greatest wounds, the most violent anger, and with agonizing sorrow is to God. Why? Because they believe that God can handle it.
God can handle the questions, he can take the punches, and he can heal the pain. He can take all of this, because he has gone through it all himself. He is not detached from us, nor is he an unmoved mover somewhere out there.
He is the God who hung on the cross, and took the words of the Psalmist onto his lips, when he asked his dad, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
He is the God who took our pain and carried our suffering. He is the God who was beaten, bruised, pierced, and punished so that we can experience peace and healing.
God can take whatever we lay on him because he, like us, is a God who asked questions, received wounds, and went through agony too. He sits with us in this pain. He weeps alongside us.
Yesterday when Crossroads gathered together they opened up space to mourn, grieve, and weep. And what better place to do this than when you are with your brothers and sisters? They showed us what it means to gather together to weep with the God who weeps.
So, may you, the Taatjes family, and my brothers and sisters who are a part of the Crossroads community, lean into the God who is intimate with grief and pain knowing he weeps with you. And in your moments of doubt, may you reach out like Thomas and touch Jesus' wounds, knowing that by them you can be healed.