As adoptees, trauma and injustice is built into our stories. While each adoption builds one family, it simultaneously breaks another apart, and we must face the question of how to process the tangled mix of emotions that accompanies this reality. The Biblical concept of lament is extremely helpful for adoptees because it highlights the unique way in which our faith intersects with grief.
What is lament, and what does it have to offer adoptees? Lament is the recognition of injustice in the world, it’s a profound sadness that comes with seeing the impact of sin in both big and little ways. In a book titled Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy, Mark Vroegop writes that, “Lament can be defined as a loud cry, a howl, or a passionate expression of grief. However, in the Bible lament is more than sorrow or talking about sadness. It is more than walking through the stages of grief…lament is a path to praise as we are led through our brokenness and disappointment. The space between brokenness and God’s mercy is where this song is sung (p.28).”
The Old Testament book Habakkuk is all about lament, and was written at a time when Israel was turning away from worshipping God. Habakkuk could see that Babylon was coming to overthrow the kingdom, so he asks God questions as he tries to reconcile God’s goodness in the presence of evil. He begins by asking
“How long shall I cry for help, and you will not hear? Or cry to you “Violence!” and you will not save?”
(Habakkuk 1:1-2)
Tim Keller notes that in verse 12, Habakkuk asks a question that is an accusation (“Are you not from everlasting, O LORD my God, my Holy One?”). He questions if God is really who he says he is given what’s happening in Israel. But the next phrase of this verse, “we shall not die,” reflects deep faith in God’s character.
Habakkuk continues questioning how God can let evil continue, but his tone shifts in chapter three and he writes a vision of the future in which God confronts evil and saves his people once and for all. This leads to the famous final verses of Habakkuk:
Though the fig tree should not blossom,
Nor fruit be on the vines,
The produce of the olive fail
And the fields yield no food,
The flock be cut off from the fold
And there be no herd in the stalls,
Yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
God, the LORD, is my strength;
He makes my feet like the deer’s
He makes me tread on my high places.
These verses are famous because they are such a strong expression of faith. They say that even though there’s no food or economic security, in the face of impending political doom, our faith in God is secure. This faith is grounded in the character and attributes of God – his holiness, justice, love, and omnipotence give footing so that we aren’t stuck, mired in sadness, fear, and anger.
I believe that adoptees haven’t felt free to linger in lament or grapple with the difficulty of facing sadness and injustice in their life. Some people easily and honestly face challenges and quickly move to hope, but others need time to grieve, to mourn, to ask God “why” or “how long”. Scripture doesn’t discourage us from asking these questions, the Psalms are full of them, and it doesn’t place a time limit on asking. But we face these questions knowing that Jesus faced ultimate injustice, understands the nuance of our experience, and is our hope.
I know that there’s a continuum of experience for adoptees; we experience trauma and grief to varying degrees and at different times. We toggle back and forth between sadness or anger and expressions of hope in God. But I think that as a community of adoptees, we need to allow ourselves to express grief in lament without reflexively moving to hope so quickly that we gloss over harder parts of our experience. The reality is that lament is difficult because it means facing parts of our story that we’d rather ignore. But facing these hard issues gives room for the Gospel to shine more brightly. This is where we, as Christians, have hope. We grieve and question injustice just like everyone, but our faith in God provides a path toward hope.
Aaron