language of lament

In the past few weeks, I have been thinking a lot about lament. I'm finding I don't speak that language very well.

My experience has been that we don't share our laments with just anyone. We typically don't throw our lament to the wind, that is too weak. (I know there are people who wear their lament as a show, a draw for attention. But, in those cases, I don't think lament is really the language being spoken.)

But, when it is an authentic language of lament, we ypically don't share them with everyone, in part because it is too transparent, too vulnerable, too personal. Lament exposes us.


And, I've not really thought about it in this way, but is there a greater indicator of trust and friendship than the sharing of our lament with another? Sharing our most vulnerable moment?


And if that is true, is there any greater loneliness or hurt than to hand someone your lament, only to have it handed back to you? To have no one willing to carry your lament? No one would share in our suffering?

I can't imagine a more isolated or painful moment - to suffer and look around, and find no one who cared enough to listen, or if they did, walked away unaffected.

Nor, can I think of many greater honors than to be entrusted with someone's sorrows.

I wonder if I love deep enough to be entrusted with someone's lament?

Rob Bell spoke on lament recently and posed the question this way, "What happens when a lament goes unheard? It turns to anger."

I wonder if that is this is the apologetic language of our age, the language of lament.