lament and the heart of Christmas
“O come o come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel…”
This song has been my mother’s favorite Christmas carol for as long as I can remember. I’m not sure if it became mine just because of that or if somewhere along the way my soul also connected to it. It’s so lovely, but also (when sung with a deep yearning that matches the lyrics) so different than other bright and cheery carols we hear more often during this season. It reminds me that advent and waiting is such a key part of this season. I think some part of me deeply resonates with the truth in it: we are still waiting to be fully “ransomed”. The Kingdom of God has indeed come, yet it is also not fully here.
Over the last few years, I have found myself more and more drawn to the many laments throughout the scriptures. The structure of a lament is very specific: it is addressed to God, a complaint is named, there is an expression of trust in God, then a request for deliverance and a statement of assurance that God will deliver, and finally praise to God for the things he has and will do. The main purpose of this expression is to bring the speaker into the presence of God and allow them to feel what that are feeling fully and then, once they have expressed themselves, provide a clear step towards some form of hope. I find that the relational piece (the coming close to God) offers me the most relief, being able to express my pain and longing while still being close to the Father. Most of the time it is this connection that helps me, not any answer God actually speaks to me.
Many laments are found in the Psalms, but Jesus himself was also known to utter some. As strange as it seems, I often find myself thinking about Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane at this time of year. Specifically, the moment shortly before he is taken away for the trial and eventual crucifixion. Matthew 26: 38-39 says, “Then he [Jesus] said to them, ‘My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.’ Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, ‘My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.’” This moment between Jesus and God plays out a couple times, Jesus asking for God to take away the hard thing and then saying it’s not his will. It seems like a very short but deeply felt lament. Somehow Jesus knew that he needed to be with his father at the moment, to speak the longing he felt to avoid all the pain of what was to come, while also accepting that he would indeed face it. The relational connection was the relief, not God saying Jesus didn’t have to do it anymore.
You might be wondering how this all connects back to a Christmas carol. I feel like when I hold this moment between Jesus and God in my mind, along with the reminder that a closeness to God is what offers relief to me, I can more honestly face the longing I feel at this time of year and the truth that will come on Christmas day when yet again I don’t unwrap Heaven. I find I can more fully celebrate the joy and promise of what this season brings when I also have space to name the grief of what it is like to wait for the Messiah to return and make all things new. For he is coming, and he will indeed ransom us.
Noelle joined the Barnabas Center in May of 2018. She has a Bachelors of Arts in Psychology from Berry College in Rome, GA and a Master of Science in Counseling from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. Previously she has worked with college age individuals and adults dealing with anxiety, depression, self-harm, identity issues, relationship concerns, and challenges related to life transitions. She is passionate about walking with individuals as they face the struggles of life and the questions that come from living in a broken world.
