For Crying Out Loud

Some years ago, a catchy book title bounced around in my mind for a few months. For Crying Out Loud: Laments of an Aching Heart. I imagined connecting it with the Old Testament book of Lamentations, which largely goes unnoticed in Christian audiences. The material necessary to accompany the book title never arrived so I set it aside, but I’ve never forgotten the idea.

Where I was raised, the phrase “for crying out loud” was a code signaling exasperation – something like “I’ve had all I can take!” When someone finally stomped on your last good nerve or that proverbial final straw broke your back, “for crying out loud” was an appropriate response. It could also signal incredulity on occasions when someone simply couldn’t believe their eyes. Like when the family member who insisted on bringing the turkey to the holiday dinner arrived an hour and a half late without explanation or apology. In that case it was akin to a gasp with words of wonder – “are you kidding me?!” Combine those two usages and you have yourself one fed up, frustrated human being who just can’t take any more and is near their breaking point. It is what happens when life takes a turn for the worse, usually unexpected.

Although it is small comfort in the midst of it all, it is interesting how lament-worthy moments can leave behind inspirational remains. Not immediately, and certainly not always. But sometimes they do, and often for someone other than the one experiencing the frustration. Just before the pandemic handcuffed international travel, after years of waiting I finally had the opportunity to walk through the streets of the ancient city of Petra, Jordan. It was inspiring for me, but earlier residents or visitors might have had a different experience.

Petra is a city of breathtaking tombs, monuments, and other structures carved into sandstone cliffs. Founded perhaps as early as 7,000 B.C.E., it later served as a capital for the Nabataean kingdom that ruled much of what is now modern day Jordan. That lasted until the Romans did, well, what the Romans were prone to do – politely put, they annexed it. As the Romans ruled the area and trade routes shifted, the city’s importance waned. An earthquake added to Petra’s declining influence, and with time it was largely abandoned.

I’m guessing there was more frustration than inspiration for those who called Petra their home. Imagine the sense of loss they would have known. Reduced from an international trading hub to a near ghost town. Downgraded from an independent capital to a conquered province. Security rattled by the shaking of the very ground under their feet. “For crying out loud, how did we get here?” they might have wondered.

Does anyone live through changes such as those without grief and scars? Centuries later Petra thrives, but more as a museum-like marvel for people who want to witness this member of the Seven New Wonders of the World. Walking through the ¾ mile gorge into an ancient city so brilliantly carved into the cliffs creates the kind of inspiration that sends chills down your spine and threatens to steal your breath. I know nothing of their pain, but appreciate their ingenuity, craftsmanship, and the architectural feats that remain.

That brings to mind a similar experience standing on the shores at Normandy a few years ago. I had heard the stories. I had seen the movies about the World War II battle. I’d even witnessed my uncle’s refusal multiple times to ever speak of what he experienced during his tour, having twice been the sole survivor in his unit. Standing there, able to see craters formed when bombs blasted the terrain helped reinforce the horror and turmoil of war. That many are now lush green with grass reduced the sense of total loss. But further inland stands a bustling town reborn. For me, the area stood as a symbol of hope and resilience – a reminder that rebirth can rise from rubble. In no way does that mitigate the suffering, but it reminds us that loss and lamentation can be part of life’s cycle, but it isn’t necessarily the entire cycle. That can be important to remember, especially in the darkest moments.

Understandably, in times deserving of lamentation we may prefer to gravitate toward hope. That is what the fervently faithful are taught to do. But it’s important not to overlook the usefulness of lamentation. I have been reminded of this while re-reading chapters of Lamentations in recent weeks. Here are a few jewels that may resonate with us:

How deserted lies the city, once so full of people!  (Lam 1:1 NIV) More than once I’ve noted mostly vacant parking lots and unoccupied sidewalks as people observed travel restrictions during the pandemic. It had a slightly eerie feel! Though I’m not a fan of huge crowds, this emptiness was a bit much even for me.

The roads to Zion mourn, for no one comes to her appointed festivals (Lam 1:4 NIV) Professional sports are delaying or cancelling their seasons. A major college football conference has decided not to suit up this fall. Tourism has mostly shut down. Here in east central Indiana, nearly every little town has a festival to liven the summer days in hopes of attracting people and dollars to their little communities. Not this summer!

In the days of her affliction and wandering Jerusalem remembers all the treasures that were hers in days of old (Lam 1:7 NIV) Remember when we dined indoors at nice restaurants and never gave a thought to personal safety? Or when we sank down into a cushy seat with our spouse or best friend and enjoyed stale popcorn in front of the big screen? Or could visit an arena or auditorium for a concert? How often have you heard people express a wish for things to be the way they used to be? How many times have you yourself had similar thoughts?

We submitted to Egypt and Assyria to get enough bread. (Lam 5:6 NIV) Over time we have made our own deals—commitments to social practices and economic networks. They seemed good at the time, but some of them contributed to our vulnerability. Have they now compromised our future?

You (God) have covered yourself with a cloud so that no prayer can get through (Lam 3:44 NIV) Prayers for relief during times like these seem to never reach their destination. Or even worse, perhaps for a while God chooses not to listen. Whatever the case, how much worse is all of this if the foundation of our faith seems ineffective?

            Restore us to yourself, LORD, that we may return; renew our days as of old

unless you have utterly rejected us and are angry with us beyond measure. (Lam 5:21-22 NIV)

While hope remains, the final verse of the book ends with an “unless,” which is almost like ending with a question – perhaps there is no return to the stability we once knew. That can be a difficult sentiment to face.

Others have lived through (and died in) times like these. As I contemplate current reality, travel moments, and sacred texts, I am aware there are multiple layers to this reflection. There is the immediate moment which typically has the narrowest of views; and there is the vantage of looking back decades (Normandy) and centuries (Petra) later. There is my own experience which can seem like the totality of truth; and there is the value of listening to others who have known lament of their own. With those various contributing voices, lamentation may be seen as the offspring of frustration, fear, and anger. It may convey the inner sense of being beaten down, even defeated and thus something to avoid if at all possible. But understand that lament is more than complaint. It also has a cathartic aspect. It contributes to relief enroute to healing or recovery, making a return to wholeness a possibility. That in itself is of tremendous value as we cope with “for crying out loud moments.” Let’s face it. Sometimes we need a moment to let out the hurt in order to regain our composure. In moments like those, lament is good for the soul.

Lament can be more than mere catharsis. That is part of what I take away from those biblical passages, especially. Lament can also be utilized as prayer. Not the pretty, pious kind that worries about appearance. This is the prayer of raw emotion, honest expression of pain and fear. It attempts to hide nothing from the Divine, and can even be adamant about wanting answers. It is the way prayer should always be, even when we aren’t crying out loud. As prayer, one of lament’s greatest gifts to the one lamenting is that helps keep us in search of and in conversation with the Divine. It won’t likely resolve things immediately, but for crying out loud, there is no better place to be in times like these.

As I worked on this blog, I noticed the words of the hymn Be Still My Soul playing continuously in my mind. Perhaps it is useful as a song of accompaniment when traveling through periods of lament.

Be still, my soul, The Lord is on thy side.
Bear patiently, the cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God, to order and provide.
In every change, He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul, thy best thy heavenly friend
Through thorny ways, leads to a joyful end.

If that initially seems too uplifting in the depth of the moment, you can always start out with “It’s My Party, I’ll Cry if I Want To” and work your way up from there!