Psalm 30
Verse 5: “Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”
Verse 11: “You have turned my mourning into dancing.”
This Psalm is very special to me for many reasons, some so personal I cannot share with anyone else. But its specific examples and overall themes are vivid and powerful reminders of God’s love in my life, and I am certain to many others as well.
What I find most meaningful in the Psalm, and other places in scripture and theology, is the honest understanding that there will be difficult challenges in our lives – sometimes very difficult challenges – and that these challenges come to those who are faithful as well as to those who do not ascribe to any faith. Faith is not a protection against the troubles of the world. In biblical language, this expresses itself in lament, the kind of prayer to God that cries out from the depths of our souls, that reflects the profound hurt we have experienced physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Our churches and faith communities are at their very best when we allow time and space for such honest lamentation, without judgment, without pity, and certainly without trying to “fix” people or their problems.
Perhaps every era in history feels to those living in it as the most challenging time ever, but our world at this moment seems daunting to me. From wars and the ancient conflicts they represent, to diseases that seem to persist despite our best medical efforts or spread globally so quickly, to the divisiveness of our political world and the extremism and violence that results, 2024 feels like an especially perilous time in history. I am trying to find ways in my personal life – in prayer and in conversation with trusted friends and colleagues – to lament what is happening around us. My deep hope is to be able to express my fears and anger without exacerbating the anxiety of others or pitting people against each other. A risky proposition? Absolutely, but my faith calls me to such a goal.
Likewise, I pray our churches and communities of faith are finding ways to nurture a culture of authentic and unrestrained lament, but in a way that doesn’t deepen our political and cultural divides, intensify fears, or stoke toxic violence. Again, this is a delicate balance, but as people of The Covenant we must try.
It would be enough for this Psalm to allow open and heartfelt lamentation. But it offers yet another gift to those who read it: hope for the future. “Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” We should not be so literalistic as to assume the Psalmist is prophesying a 24-hour turn around for all of life’s problems. But I do believe the writer is calling us to understand the bigger picture, the longer arc of history as well as of human possibility. Many of the spiritual practices we lift up during Lent, such as prayer, confession, almsgiving, fasting, silence, hospitality, and Bible study, help us in this process of putting into perspective the trials of life to become more aware of the hopefulness and opportunity inherent in life. And certainly, those of us who follow the Christ, understand the purpose of Lent is to prepare us for the great “weeping at night and joy in the morning” movement with the betrayal, death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus that is the Maundy Thursday to Easter remembrance.
One of my very favorite camp songs from my youth was “Lord of the Dance,” which epitomizes for me the line from Psalm 30, “You have turned my mourning into dancing.” Written in 1963 by Sydney Carter, one verse reads:
“I danced on a Friday when the sky turned black – it’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.
They buried my body and they thought I’d gone; but I am the Dance and I still live on.”
This song remains one of my spiritual anthems, especially as it reminds me of the persistent and pervasive love of God that is able to turn the worst life has to offer around to the very best life can give us.1
And just as we need to provide safe and nonjudgmental places for people to lament, so we need to provide time and space for ourselves and others to celebrate the good things of life and when hard times turn around to good times. Part of this is nurturing a culture of gratitude in ourselves, our families, our communities, our churches, our neighborhoods, and our world. Do we invite people to share their “Praise Reports” as much as we do to share their struggles? Does our prayer time truly encourage us to share our “joys” as well as our “concerns?” In the world around us can we notice and celebrate when the economy actually does improve, when friends or neighbors really do overcome hurts and resolve grievances, when someone actually recovers from addiction or a formerly incarcerated person turns their life around? Can we simply allow goodness to simply be and good things to really happen?
This Lent I invite us to nurture within our own souls as well as in our communities safe places for both lament and joy, tears and dancing, fears and possibilities. In doing so, I believe we will embrace the Love of God in its divine fullness.
Prayer:
O great and gracious God, thank you for being a God for us in good times as well as bad times. Help us to feel confident with you that you can receive all our prayers, whether they come from the deepest pain or the greatest joy – or all those places in-between. And in doing so may we know your love in ever more wonderful ways. Amen
Rev. Allen V. Harris, member at Heights Christian Church, Shaker Heights