The Good Lament

Of all the days of Holy Week—between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday—Good Friday (today) is the darkest. So why is it called “Good?” According to etymologists, it comes from the obsolete sense of using that word to mean “pious” or “holy,” such as calling the Holy Bible, the “Good Book.”

But the actual events of that day, experienced by Christ and his followers were anything but good. The horrific sequence of Jesus’ betrayal, fake trial, mocking, torture, and crucifixion, so graphically portrayed in Mel Gibson’s film The Passion of Christ, help us today get a glimpse of just how opposite of “good” that day was.

The moment of that Friday, two thousand years ago that interests me, however, is when it was all over—when Jesus was still hanging on the cross, now just a dead human corpse and the farthest possible thing from the conquering king the crowds of Palm Sunday had imagined. Scripture doesn’t dwell very much on that moment. Matthew and Mark simply let us know that there were some women still watching from afar. John moves right on to assure readers all he had recorded up to that point was true. Only Luke gives us a hint about the emotion felt by some of the people at the crucifixion event: all the crowds that had assembled for this spectacle, when they saw what had taken place, returned home beating their breasts (Lk 23:48.) My study Bible notes tell me that’s another way of saying they were experiencing anguish and grief.

It is anguish and grief that are exactly what interest me this particular Good Friday. As I write this, (on April 10, 2020) the United States is just about to reach a peak death rate statistic thanks to the devastating impact of the coronavirus. Personally, I don’t have the capacity to grasp the anguish of some 2000 families in my country who this very day will experience the loss of a loved one—let alone the other 3000 who will experience the same thing around the world. Then there is the grief associated with loss of jobs, diminished savings accounts, missed graduation experiences, or of depressing isolation. How are we to grapple with the immensity of such incredible global pandemic impact such as this?

One of the things that strikes me about the events of Holy Week, is that for some reason, God decided that the resurrection should not occur until the Sunday after Good Friday. How come? Why not the very next morning? What was the point of having to go through all of Saturday and Saturday night carrying all that anguish, grief, and hopelessness when the whole point was to “conquer death” anyway?

I think the answer to that question has something to do with the importance of lament. This is a word that I have never really understood before. Of course, I’ve been aware that many of the Psalms are expressions of lament and that the Old Testament has the entire book of Lamentations. But why does the biblical account feature this aspect of lament so much and what does it have to say to us today?

Example of Kintsugi art piece

This past week, I heard an online discussion on the Veritas Forum (http://www.veritas.org/) that helped me learn for the first time why lament might be so important—why lament might actually be GOOD. During the forum, the well-known artist, Mako Fujimura used the Japanese art form called Kintsugi to illustrate how people might need to process what we are currently experiencing with COVID19. Kintsugi is the art form of taking a broken piece of pottery and reassembling it using gold or silver lacquer in the cracks to cement the pieces back together. The result is actually something that can be more beautiful and valuable than the original unbroken piece. But the key, says Mako, is to differentiate between simply fixing something as opposed to crafting and transforming it with new beauty and purpose. In the Kintsugi tradition, in order to make something new that is truly a new work of art, you literally must hold on to the broken pieces for a significant amount of time to study them and get to know their shapes well before proceeding. Making the link with real life, Mako went on to suggest that is exactly what lament is—a period of time to embrace and fully grasp the brokenness that exists.

I have to admit this idea is very foreign to me. I’m a fixer. I like to repair things in the fastest and most efficient way possible. Just ask my wife about the countless times in our 43 years of marriage when she shared a hurt or an emotional wound and instead of identifying with her and trying to feel her pain, all I wanted to do was fix the situation as quickly as possible. That’s why the idea of taking time for lament is not natural for me. Nor do I think it is natural for our modern society in general. Most of what I hear in response to this pandemic (besides who to blame for it) is how to “fix” things as quickly as possible so as to get back to “normal” again.

However, just like at the first Good Friday, there may not ever again be a “normal” the same way we thought there should be. And maybe the “new normal” that will result is going to force a totally new way of thinking about ourselves and our world in order to carry on.

It’s easy for us with our historical hindsight to quickly pass over the anguish, grief, and lament that Jesus’ followers experienced during the hours that immediately followed the crucifixion. We love to shout out that phrase, “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming!” because we love to focus on the glorious image of Easter morning with the empty tomb and the victory over death it represents. After all, why wallow in despair and darkness when we know the joy and brightness of the “end of the story?”

But is it possible that experiencing a season of true lament is actually needed in order to more fully appreciate and embrace whatever “new normal” the future may hold? Just like the longer a Kintsugi artist holds the broken pieces of his pottery, the more beautiful he or she will be able to transform it into new work of art, so should we fully grasp the brokenness of this coronavirus moment in order to consider how we could emerge more sensitive, caring, and more fully human than ever before.

So, if there is anything that the story of Good Friday has to say to us on this particular April 10, 2020, it’s that lament can be GOOD after all!