I don’t dog-ear pages. I highlight, underline, write in the margins, but I don’t dog-ear pages. It’s a bit irrational, but folded down pages make me cringe.

But I do own one book that has a dog-eared page. On my shelf sits Christopher J. H. Wright’s How to Preach and Teach the Old Testament for All Its Worth (a book I highly recommend for both laity, clergy, and laity training to become clergy) with one dog-eared page. I found myself frequently pulling the book off my shelf, shuffling through the pages, and muttering to myself, “Where is that page?!”

So I did it. I finally dog-eared a page, making it much easier to find the gem of a quote I had stumbled upon and changed the way I viewed praise to God.

What is this quote worthy of my first-and-only dog-ear? It’s long, but worth its length in gold.

“We usually think of ‘praise’ only as something we do when we feel happy or joyful. But for Israel, praise was something far deeper than that. Praise could happen even in the darkest moments — in fact, especially in those darkest moments. For Israel, praising God meant recognizing God’s reality and presence… But more than that, praise meant bringing the whole of life into the presence of God… So when life was painful, unbearable, or simply beyond understanding, [the psalmists] threw all that up to God and cried out to him… I think we have lost something in Christian worship because we hardly ever allow ourselves or others to do this… And instead, we try to pretend that everybody is, or should be, happy… [The psalmists] let God know all about their troubles in no uncertain terms. They cry and scream and complain and protest and get angry and struggle — but they do so in God’s presence and with trust in God’s faithfulness and power.”

Christopher J. H. Wright; How to Preach and Teach the Old Testament for All Its Worth

---

What was so impactful about that quote? What compelled me to do the unthinkable: bend a corner of a page?

I grew up in amazing Christian environments that formed within me a theology I am still grateful to have today. But this quote exposed something from those environments that was lacking: an understanding of the importance of lament in our relationship with God.

Nobody ever said to me, “Don’t bring your problems to God.” But I do remember worship services where the first words out of the worship leaders’ mouth were, “Let’s leave all of our problems at the door and worship God.” Additionally, many of the songs that shaped my theology were played by a radio station that branded itself as “positive and encouraging.”

Subtly and consistently, I developed this idea that my most acceptable praise to God was thankfulness and happiness. Anything that didn’t fit in those categories felt like it needed to be a private prayer, at best, or was completely unacceptable to God, at worst.

I’ve noticed that I’m not alone. Many Westerners that grew up in the church have expressed the same sentiment. It is unsurprising then that many of us can’t relate to the largest book in the Bible (Psalms… meaning “praises”), of which roughly two-thirds of its songs are songs of lament.

This idea is so deeply rooted in our minds that, according to Merriam Webster, the first dictionary definition of the noun “praise” is “an expression of approval.” We even respond to good news via texts that say “PTL” (Praise the Lord). And yet, I think we miss something when praise is restricted to happiness and joy.

I began to realize this first when a wonderful saint and active church member suddenly stopped attending church after a close family member died, rather unexpectedly. Did she stop attending because she was mad at God? Was she losing her faith? Was she questioning everything she knew about life. No. Rather, she felt that the church wasn’t a safe place where her pain, her grief… her laments… were welcomed.

The effect this misunderstanding of praise has occurs in small ways too. I’ve had conversations with friends burdened by all of life’s griefs who, when asked if they’ve brought their laments before God, sheepishly admit that they haven’t. Nearly all of them say something to this effect: “How can I be a faithful Christian and lament to God?”

Viewed as what it is—an act of praise—lament becomes significantly easier to bring before God. So what holds us back from lamenting to God? Let’s explore four reasons.

1. We don’t think God can handle it.

You know those people in your life that you can share some pretty deep stuff with? I mean those people that you share your fears, inadequacies, and pains with. What makes you share such vulnerable things with them?

I don’t know about you, but for me, it’s because I know that they can handle such depths of my soul. When I share those things with them, they don’t gasp or get in a panic. They just listen. I know they can handle it.

I think many Western Christians don’t feel like God can handle their laments. They think they need to hide those pains from God. After all, what if He thinks they are being an ungrateful child? Or that He thinks they doubt Him?

Dr. Glenn Packiam points out that the act of lament is actually proof of your relationship with God. I share vulnerabilities with my closest circle of friends because I have a relationship with them.

Doubting God is saying, “I don’t think He can handle it, so I’m going to take it to someone else.” Trusting God would be to say, “I do think He can handle it, so I’m going to take it to Him.”

2. We have been taught Christianity is “positive and encouraging.”

I’ve briefly mentioned this already, but in my experience, many Western Christians have been taught that the Christian faith—particularly Christian worship—is all about being “positive and encouraging.” I think we’ve missed the mark.

If our Christian faith is Bob Ross-esque in nature, where we must constantly paint “happy little prayers” onto the canvas of our lives, then it becomes really challenging to live out the greatest commandment: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.

How do I love God with sadness in my heart if Christianity is about positivity and encouragement? How can I praise Him when we walk through stages of grief? And, relevant for us today, how can we paint happy little prayers when innocent people are fleeing for their lives in war-torn areas?

If Christianity is about positivity and encouragement, then somebody better tell the psalmists that they need to change up most of their psalms. Or the prophets that they need to apologize for their words. Heck, get Jesus on the phone and tell Him to take back His tears. The people of Scripture faithfully praise God through their laments as much as their joys.

Lest we swing the pendulum too far the other way, don’t hear me say that the way of Jesus doesn’t involve joy and hope and victory. Go to an Easter service and you’ll see all of that. But if we limit Christianity to just those feelings, then we’re not bringing the whole of our lives to God. That’s Christian worship: bringing all of ourselves before the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

3. We don’t like to admit our own helplessness.

In addition to all of the other things it is, lament is an admission. It’s an admission that we are not in control of everything in our lives. We face problems for which we don’t have answers and pains for which we don’t have comfort. We do not control our destiny. We are not the masters of our own fate. We are not the captains of our own souls.

It makes sense that we don’t like to admit our own helplessness. To admit our helplessness is to submit to someone or something else as more competent than us. Adam and Eve couldn’t admit that God knew best in the Garden He created. Abraham couldn’t admit that God knew what He was saying when He promised he and Sarah would produce a child. Pilate couldn’t admit that there was One greater than he.

To admit our own helplessness is akin to heresy in America where we are catechesized into believing that we are limitless beings who can achieve anything, do everything, and be who we want to be. That admittance is what shakes the very gates of hell when we remove ourselves from the throne and look for the only One who is not helpless.

In our most carnal nature, we want to think we are anything but helpless. Anything that stands against that is a threat. Lamenting is a consistent practice that removes us from the throne of our own lives and looks for the only One who can competently rule on that throne.

4. We don’t like to take the time to lament.

In the Bible, Job’s friends get a bad rap and, honestly, they probably should. But there’s a verse about them that surprises me: “When [Job’s friends] saw him from a distance, they did not recognize him, and they raised their voices and wept aloud; they tore their robes and threw dust in the air upon their heads. They sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.” (Job 2:12-13)

For seven days, Job’s friends got it right. They know that lament, pain, and grief take time and they were willing to let it take its time.

The more I read Scripture and the more I live life, the more I realize that the way of Jesus is slower than the way of Western consumerism. We struggle to wait a few seconds for a YouTube video to load; how much more impatient are we when we have to wait for the world to be made right, or for the pain of difficult situations to go away?

We are a hurried people. Hurried people don’t lament well. And we pay for it.

I’m appreciative that prominent American Christians are beginning to speak to this. Rich Villodas aptly states in his incredible book The Deeply Formed Life, “Limited reflection usually leads to dangerous reaction. When there’s no space to process our inner worlds, we find ourselves mindlessly and instinctively reacting to the world around us.”

Lament isn’t a reaction; it’s a discipline. We’ve filled our lives with so many things that, when faced with the things deserving of lament, the only thing we can do is smile and pretend that everything is alright.

---

You know those moments when you go through something really challenging and it feels like your guard is constantly up? Then you get together with a close friend—one of those people you can be open with—and it feels like you can drop your guard and open up. There’s a strong feeling of freedom in that moment.

I see lament as that moment of dropping your guard with God. It’s a moment of freedom as you realize that bringing the whole of life—the good, the bad, and the ugly—is being a faithful worshiper of God. Pretending to be something you’re not—whether that’s happy, in control, or simply alright—even in the name of “praise,” is less than God’s good life for you.

So, especially in this season of Lent, let’s PTL. Truly PTL.