Week 4—Lamentations 4

We had a shorter immigrant story this week: a brief introduction to author Kao Kalia Yang, who came to US from a refugee camp in Thailand when she was six years old. Her story describes the isolating experience of language learning for new immigrants. She writes, “We were soft voices in our language, struggling to be understood in the loud landscape of English.”

       Next week we’ll read the children’s story she wrote about her experience. The book includes lines in Hmong that are intentionally not translated. This choice helps the reader experience “a weakness of the English-dominant landscape that has silenced the multiplicity of languages that have lived, and continue to live, here in this country.”

Materialism, then and now

       Turning to Lam. 4, we again find the focus on communal lament. It addresses first the stronghold materialism had on them, so that even in the depth of suffering, Jerusalem is longing for the wealth they had before, and the security it afforded them.

       How the gold has grown dim;

              how the pure gold is changed!

       The sacred stones lie scattered

              at the head of every street.

—Lam. 4:1

       This is true of us as well. Like Israel, we often see wealth and comfort as a source of security. Consumerism and materialism are so deeply embedded in our culture, even our church culture, that it is difficult even to notice it.

“Much like Jerusalem prior to the exile, the American church craves luxury and security. When difficult situations arise and we enter into places of suffering, we revert to base forms of desire and security. In our culture, security is defined by material possessions. The absence of possessions creates great insecurity. But instead of confronting these improper desires, we revert to these dysfunctional desires” Rah, (p. 149).

       In another book, Rah critiques the Church Growth movement that gave rise to mega churches like Saddleback and Willow Creek with influential celebrity pastors. The centerpiece of the Church Growth movement was a principle that came from missiology: Homogenous Unit Principle—the notion that people are most comfortable with and attracted to people who are like them. This sociological dynamic was useful on the mission field in planting churches for minority populations that were ostracized by majority culture. But in the 80s and 90s the principle was used within the US, favoring the majority culture. We saw a rise of white, suburban churches focused on gaining numbers by prioritizing white comfort.

       Rah was part of those who rebuked this practice. And yet, in some ways, he suggests it just rebranded as even justice ministries became a “hot commodity” with celebrity pastors drawing young people. He urges new practices centered around lament to help us escape the lure of consumerism.

Speaking aloud even the most horrible truth (Lam. 4:2-10)

       The worst of the lament emerges as the prophet describes the impact of the siege on the children of Jerusalem, in terms almost too horrible to speak aloud. But lament is always about not turning away from even the most horrible truth.

         The tongue of the infant sticks

              to the roof of its mouth for thirst;

       the children beg for food,

              but there is nothing for them.

       The hands of compassionate women

              have boiled their own children;

       they became their food

              in the destruction of my people.

—Lam. 4:4, 10

       Rah reminds us that “Innocent children suffer the most in a broken world” (p. 156). He remembers Tamir Rice, a 12 year old boy gunned down by police in 2014. We think now of Liam Ramos—a 5 year old in bunny ears, used as bait and detained. We think of Juan Nicolas, a 2 month old baby who developed bronchitis in ICE detention, and then was simply dumped at the border with no medical care. And the thousands of other children in detention, not receiving care or comfort or adequate nutrition. An estimated 400,000 children died from starvation or disease through the loss of USAID, expected to reach 4.5 million by 2030.

Deconstructing power

Another key focus in Lam. 4 is the dismantling of power, as the wealthy, religious leaders, civil leaders, and powerful enemies, are all brought low.

       Those who feasted on delicacies

              perish in the streets;

       those who were brought up in purple

              cling to ash heaps.

—Lam. 4:5

       American Christians can all too often fall into the lure of chasing success and power as the answer to the world’s problems. The New Apostolic Reformation is a small but influential group that teaches a form of Christian nationalism that pursues power and sees a “seven mountain mandate” to take over places of power. Many of our national leaders are a part of this movement.

       But Scripture shows a steady witness to those who stood up against the powers and principalities of their time, including Moses and the Old Testament prophets. In the wilderness, Jesus rejects the temptation of secular power. Ephesians 6 portrays powers and principalities as demonic forces.

       Rah goes on to show how his rebuke of “celebrity pastors” relates to vs. 7-8:

       Her princes were purer than snow,

              whiter than milk;

       their bodies were more ruddy than coral,

              their form cut like sapphire.

         Now their visage is blacker than soot;

              they are not recognized in the streets.

       Their skin has shriveled on their bones;

              it has become as dry as wood.

—Lam. 4:7–8

       A better translation is not “princes” but rather “Nazarites.” Nazarites were those who took a special vow, set aside for special status in Israel. They were visible because they refused to cut their hair and abstained from wine (e.g. Samson). They were given high status as “holy.” And yet they were just as complicit in communal sin as everyone else.

       Rah connects this with the way the Church will often place clergy in a special or exalted status. The Nazarites were presumed holy because of their appearance, because of what they gave up. Similarly, white urban church planters might appear holy because of what they “gave up” to live in the city, yet pastors from those urban communities who stay and serve there are not similarly honored, because they didn’t “give something up.”

       He points out the subtle colonialism in white church planters moving into poor urban, often black, communities without honoring the rich spiritual resources already present there. The subtle implication is that those black resources aren’t “enough”. It is ironic that even Lam. 4:7-8 frames good/bad in terms of white/black.

“In American society, our perception of the consecrated ones gravitates toward the beautiful, the wealthy and the powerful... We value our celebrity pastors because our cultural captivity would consider those who have the appearance of success in our culture (the bestselling authors, the masculine culture warrior, or the urban hipster church planter) as the consecrated.... American culture tends to elevate the status of the powerful, whether they are famous athletes, musicians, entertainers or the politically and economically powerful” —Rah, (p. 163).

What lament says about God's character

       Lament calls us to examine what we believe about God’s character. It draws us to look at theodicy, at the problem of suffering, and ask the hard questions of God. Any time we face suffering, we are going to be challenged to put together the notion that God is omnipotent—can do anything—with the notion that God is loving. How can both these things be true?

       Last week we looked at prosperity gospel, which answers the question by suggesting that suffering is a punishment for sin. But that doesn’t fit with our observation of the world—that often the most faithful people suffer the most.

       Augustine answers the question of God's silence in the face of evil with mystery. He says the world with all its suffering is like a painted mosaic where we can’t see the big picture. There's an appealing humility to this answer­. But the problem with this answer is what it does to our view of God. It tends to leave us with a very distant, aloof God. A God who doesn't care much about the petty little details of our lives. Which is why theologian Greg Boyd responds to Augustine's analogy by saying "humans beings are not just chips of paint." We worship a God who wants to be known, who is revealed in Scripture and in Jesus.

       Another perspective is found in Open Theism. A key text for Open Theists is Phil. 2:5-11:

       Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:

       Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.

       And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death— even death on a cross!

–Phil. 2:5-11 NIV

       These verses are an ancient hymn celebrating the incarnation– in Jesus, God takes on human flesh. Paul describes this as Jesus "emptying himself,” using the Greek word kenosis.

       There is an interesting variation in the ways the little conjunction in vs 6 is translated, all viable in the Greek. In the NRSV translation it reads "though he was in the form of God… Jesus emptied himself.” This is the way most of us think of the incarnation– as something Jesus did though or "even though,” he was God. We tend to think of the incarnation as a momentary pause in Jesus' divinity, which is later resumed in the second half of the hymn, when Jesus is exalted and given the name above all names.

              But the NIV translates it differently– "being God… Jesus emptied himself." This is an equally valid translation. Gerald Hawthorne in the Word commentary goes even further: "precisely because he was God… Jesus emptied himself."

       Hawthorne and the NIV are highlighting the belief that the incarnation was not a momentary exception to divinity. They are suggesting the incarnation is the precise fulfillment— the ultimate expression—of what it means to be God. Jesus doesn't empty himself in spite of being God. He empties himself precisely because he is God.

       Open theologians associate this emptying with voluntarily setting aside the "omnis"– omniscience and omnipotence— God as all-knowing and all-powerful. That might seem odd to us at first. We’ve been trained to think of the "omnis" as the very definition of divinity. But that notion comes from Greco-Roman philosophy more than biblical revelation. The notion that Jesus is setting aside the omnis makes sense. It is consistent with what we see in Gospels, where Jesus appears to be bound by space and time, often not knowing future.

       In John 14:9 Jesus says if you see him, you’ve seen God. Jesus is the clearest picture we have of God. If Hawthorne and the NIV are correct, Phil. 2 changes not only the way we understand incarnation. It changes our whole understanding of divinity—what it means to be God.

       We begin to see God not as the biggest, strongest dog on the block, but rather as defined by self-giving, sacrificial love and presence.

This is what makes lament possible. It is precisely because of what we believe about God—about divine mercy, goodness and unending love—that we can complain, we can ask the Lord to account for what we're experiencing. We can do that assured of God’s active loving presence.

       NT Wright writes: "The point of lament, woven thus into the fabric of the biblical tradition, is not just that it's an outlet for our frustration, sorrow, loneliness and sheer inability to understand what is happening or why. The mystery of the biblical story is that God also laments. Some Christians like to think of God as above all that, knowing everything, in charge of everything, calm and unaffected by the troubles in his world. That's not the picture we get in the Bible."

       When we suffer, God suffers. God is not far off. God hears us, suffers with us.

       Next week we will discuss Lam. 5 and Rah ch 13, 14, and the conclusion.

       We closed our time with Prayer for the Tired, Angry Ones by Laura Jean Truman, from the book A Rhythm of Prayer, Sarah Bessey, ed.

       God, we’re so tired. We want to do justice, but the work feels endless, and the results look so small in our exhausted hands. We want to love mercy, but our enemies are relentless, and it feels like foolishness to prioritize gentleness in this unbelievably cruel world. We want to walk humbly, but self-promotion is seductive, and we are afraid that if we don’t look after ourselves, no one else will. We want to be kind, but our anger feels insatiable.

       Jesus, in this never-ending wilderness, come to us and grant grace. Grant us the courage to keep showing up to impossible battles, trusting that it is our commitment to faithfulness, and not our obsession with results, that will bring your shalom.

       Grant us the vulnerability to risk loving our difficult and complicated neighbor, rejecting the lie that some people are made more in the image of God than others.

       As we continue to take the single step that is in front of us, Jesus, keep us from becoming what we are called to transform.... Keep our anger from becoming meanness. Keep our sorrow from collapsing into self-pity. Keep our hearts soft enough to keep breaking. Keep our outrage turned towards justice, not cruelty.

       Remind us that all of this, every bit of it, is for love. Keep us fiercely kind. Amen.