Lament

by Marilyn Moore 

I had so wanted to grace these pages this month with something other than mayhem…some joy, some light, some hope, some anticipation of the new year, some stories of friends and family and faith, the Mystery of the approaching winter solstice…but I’m not quite there.  While I’m fully grateful for all of the above, which are present in my life to a degree far greater than I have in any way earned, I find myself often landing on unsettling disappointment.  I believe the word that fits best is “lament,” defined as an expression of grief, often born of regret or mourning.  

First used as “lament” in the sixteenth century, it’s a concept that is evident for thousands of years of human history.  I suspect it’s one of the universal emotions, expressed in every culture and in every language.  According to Wikipedia, laments constitute some of the oldest forms of writing, and many of the most memorable poems are laments.  In many oral traditions, both ancient and modern, the lament has been a genre usually performed (said, sung, exclaimed) by women. Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.

This time of year, at least in this culture, is a time that seems to heighten all emotions, and to do so in the context of nearly impossible expectations that we set for ourselves.  Joyful times are more so, as are sad times.  It is in recognition of those sad times, when it’s hard to be sad in the face of seeming overwhelming jolliness all about, that gives rise to such events as Blue Christmas services, especially designed to acknowledge and affirm sadness and loss. This year seems…even more so.  Regret, and mourning….

I have found myself thinking many times in the past few weeks, “I wish it could be different.”  I regret that as a society, as a people, we have not taken the steps we could have taken to bring this pandemic to a manageable level, to something that doesn’t drive so much of our daily lives.  I mourn for the nearly 3000 Nebraskans who have died from this disease, and for their families and friends and colleagues.  And I especially mourn that their deaths in so many cases could not be marked with the gatherings and rituals and community that gives some sense of comfort to those who loved them.  I mourn for those vulnerable elderly persons who went for months without seeing family members, who communicated through windows and on electronic tablet screens…. better than nothing, but no human touch, no hugs.  I mourn that loss of connectedness.  I mourn for Cherrie’s sister, who died without Cherrie’s touch, and for a colleague’s husband, whose death could not be marked with his full professional and church community gathering to celebrate his life and to literally put their arms around her.  I mourn that that same story played out over and over again…. that more than 770,000 persons in the US have died from this disease…and we don’t seem to be able to behave our way into an end.  And I regret that this whole saga has become a divisive political issue, when it could be a time of commitment and care for one another.

And speaking of divisive political issues, I regret that civil rights and voting rights have become litmus test issues for so many.  These are bedrock constitutional rights, and yet we seem to be taking steps backward, rather than forward, in assuring access and opportunity for all.  “States’ rights” was code word for discriminatory laws passed in the one hundred years following the Civil War…and those laws are being proposed and adopted again.  But it’s not the policy differences that are at the heart of this lament, it’s the way people are treated, the language that is used about “the other.”  The harshness of comments, the name-calling…I mourn the message that sends to children who watch us.  

In a traditional lament, a call is made for divine intervention in a time of crisis.   I would say that is not inappropriate at this time.  I would also say that I think divine intervention frequently comes in the intentional and thoughtful acts of good will by people of good will.  No letting myself off the hook here.  Whether words of comfort to those who are mourning, or political actions that support decisions that advance the cause of human health and human equity, I recognize they must become a part of my own life.  But I also honor the lament…mine, and yours, and that of the earth itself.  There is deep grief, and we affirm the lives of all by acknowledging it.

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