When Faith Fails: 10 Days Of Finding God In The Shadow Of DoubtChikamu

Lament is the cry of a heart that is shattered, raw, and largely unhealed. It gazes into suffering, is bruised by its ragged edges, staggers, weeps, and cries out for justice. Lament resists shallow, packaged, simplistic answers. It demands fierce authenticity and is unafraid of unanswerable questions. 

Lament is the song of the doubting soul.

We live in an age, however, when lament has fallen on hard times. We don’t know how to handle grief. We prefer denial. We are the most medicated nation ever. Images and stories of suffering unsettle us. We’re numbed by entertainment and digitized distractions. We’re intoxicated by comfort. And then, when anguish opens up violent questions about God and life, we repress and conceal it. But that can only work for so long. Like a river cresting its banks, we can deny or strive to contain the impending flood or learn how to live in deeper water.

Scripture is dripping with the stories of men and women who did just that. They saw what was happening around them, named the injustice, and cried out for God to explain himself. David screamed, “How long, Lord?” (Psalm 13:1). Jeremiah, overwhelmed by the oppression he witnessed, implored God to intervene. Job despaired. Jacob wrestled. Moses challenged. Abraham doubted. Mary questioned. Jesus wept.

Lament is not the antithesis of faith; it is what faith looks like when it draws near to grief. The more passionately we believe in the goodness of God, the more passionately we protest when his goodness is obscured.

That is why Jesus wept at his friend’s tomb.

It’s okay to give voice to our loneliness. It’s okay to shout our complaints. It’s okay to be angry.

It’s okay not to have all the answers.

God still runs to us, embraces us, and weeps with us there. And then, through our tears, we notice that the weeping one has scarred hands. His body is broken. His faced disfigured.

We realize he has suffered too.