Every Sunday, people walk through the doors of churches carrying deep pain—pain they have never been able to verbalise for fear of judgement and rejection. They wear masks to hide their anguish, singing the songs, praying the prayers, and politely listening to the pastor. But they leave still carrying the weight of unresolved trauma.
I think of the sex workers I interviewed on the streets of Suva. Many would still attend church, their pastor unaware of the childhood struggles that led them to the streets—suffering in silence, imprisoned by their past.
Just this past week, a woman wrote to me, sharing her story of abuse. She told me that the church became a place of hiding, not help. She learnt to conceal her pain and suffering because there was never space to speak of the atrocities she was living through.
So much of our church services centre around praise, joy, and the assurance that “God works all things together for good.” We speak often about sin, but rarely about suffering.
Is there space in our services to acknowledge and lament suffering?
To offer honest prayers that complain, release anger, and even question God?
These prayers are found all throughout the Psalms, yet they seem strikingly absent from our Christian gatherings.
Theologian Walter Brueggemann writes:
“If Christian communities are to be authentic, they must incorporate lament within their worship services.”
Biblical lament expressed in corporate worship is uniquely suited to provide therapeutic benefit for trauma survivors.
As Nathanial Carlson explains in Lament: The Biblical Language of Trauma :
“Biblical laments, with all their painful rhetoric, are in reality acts of bold faith in God. The church, which has never been immune to trauma, is in great need of such bold acts. By including lament in the regular rhythms of corporate worship—especially in readings, prayers, and songs—victims of trauma are given the opportunity to express pain, anger, isolation, and the sense of divine abandonment within a chorus of voices that provide support, validation, and the hope of the gospel.”
Lament teaches the trauma survivor that spiritual alienation and disorientation are not healed by “singing ’til you mean it,” or by reciting religious platitudes like “God is in control” or “Glory to God.”
Our greatest example is Jesus himself. As he was dying on the cross, in the presence of loved ones, he didn’t shout:
“God is great! He will be victorious! Praise him!”
No.
He cried out:
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Thank you, Jesus, for your example.
May we be communities who follow it—creating space for honesty, lament, and healing in the presence of God and one another.