Lamentation: Wrestling with God in the Brokenness
I wasn’t raised to lament.
I was raised to pray but only in hushed tones. Hands folded neatly. Heads bowed in reverence. The volume and tone mattered: always respectful, always measured. Begin with thanksgiving. Ask gently, and only if you follow it with “if it’s Your will.” When pain entered the room, we did not bring it to God; we tried to stifle it with gratitude. I was taught that sorrow could teeter on the edge of disrespect or ungratefulness. Deep questions were discouraged. Tears were wiped away quickly. Emotions were filtered before they reached heaven.
But as I grew in my faith, especially through suffering, I began to realize that the way I had learned to pray left little room for the kind of grief that doesn’t resolve quickly. For injustice. For betrayal. For the ache of watching the world unravel and wondering why God feels so silent.
It was through His Word, as I came to know His unchanging character and covenant love, that I discovered lament—an invitation to bring my sorrow and questions to Him, not hide them.
Lament: A Forgotten Form of Faith
In many churches, lamentation is overlooked or misunderstood. It’s absent from many family prayer traditions entirely. But the Bible does not shy away from lament, it boldly embraces it.
Lament is the language of a faithful heart in pain. It is what we pray when we are confused, angry, grieving, or disillusioned. Lament does not reject God. It clings to Him with open hands and an honest heart. It is not a complaint or a lack of gratitude. Biblically, lament is a form of worship.
Throughout Scripture, we see this kind of prayer repeatedly. The book of Lamentations mourns the devastation of Jerusalem with raw clarity. Nearly one-third of the Psalms are psalms of lament. Job cries out to God in confusion, anger, and sorrow, and God honors his voice. Even Jesus, in His final hours, quoted Psalm 22: “My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?”
What Lament Truly Is
Lament follows a sacred rhythm in Scripture:
It turns to God.
It names the pain with brutal honesty.
It pleads for help, even boldly.
It reaffirms trust in who God is.
Lament refuses to pretend. It does not hide pain behind platitudes or shrink it to make others more comfortable. Instead, it brings grief, injustice, fear, and sorrow into the presence of a holy and compassionate God.
And here’s the heart of it: negative emotions—grief, frustration, even anger and sadness—are not foreign to God. They are not outside the realm of holiness. Scripture tells us that we are made in the image of God, and that includes our emotional capacity. God grieves. God becomes angry at injustice. Jesus wept. These emotions are not signs of spiritual immaturity but reflections of God’s heart. When we lament, we echo those same emotional truths, trusting that God can handle them and that He welcomes our honesty.
Lament as Relational Trust
Lament is deeply relational. It is what we do when we believe God can handle the truth of our hearts. Just as a child cries out to a parent, not just for answers but for presence, so lament reaches toward a faithful God who invites us into communion, even in sorrow.
This sacred exchange is rooted in covenant love. The Israelites cried out not because they stopped believing in God, but because they believed His character was still trustworthy. “God, You said You are just. You said You are kind. This pain doesn’t make sense in light of who You are. So I bring it to You.”
That is the distinction between lament and complaint. Complaint turns away. Lament turns toward.
True faith is not about stoically quoting Scripture while we suppress our anguish. It is not about putting on a strong face while falling apart inside. Biblical faith is found in relational surrender, the kind of surrender that says, “I don’t understand You right now, but I still trust You enough to bring this to You.”
And in that sacred space, we encounter a kind of intimacy that surface-level prayers will never reach.
The Healing Power of Honest Connection
Psalm 34:18 tells us, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalm 51:17 adds, “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”
What a contrast to how many of us were taught to pray. God does not turn away from our pain. He draws near to it. He honors it when it is brought to Him in faith.
Modern relationship research supports this spiritual truth. In emotionally secure relationships—whether between spouses, parents and children, or close friends—emotional vulnerability fosters deeper connection when it is met with empathy and attunement. Dr. John Gottman’s research on marriage emphasizes that healthy relationships are not free from conflict, but are marked by the ability to “turn toward” one another in difficult moments. Dr. Sue Johnson’s Emotionally Focused Therapy shows that vulnerable sharing, when received with safety, builds lasting emotional bonds.
Researcher Dr. Dan Siegel adds that emotional attunement between parent and child builds neurological and relational security. A child who is allowed to express fear or sadness and is met with presence, not punishment, develops resilience. Our relationship with God is no different. When we cry out and are met with His presence, we grow in trust. We grow in faith.
This is precisely what lament offers us. It is the soul turning toward God with its most vulnerable cries. Lament is an attachment cry—an act of trust that deepens our relationship and lived experience with Him.
The Fruit of Wrestling
God’s people were never meant to pray shallow prayers in painful seasons. We were meant to wrestle with Him. That wrestling, like Jacob’s long night or Job’s anguished monologues, brings us face to face with who God is. And the fruit of that kind of prayer is not just relief, but transformation. Intimacy. Humility. An increased faith.
The Apostle Paul encourages believers in Philippians 4:6–7, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”
That kind of peace doesn’t come from ignoring our pain. It comes from bringing all of it—our grief, our questions, our longings—to the One who is all-powerful, all-knowing, ever-present, and who lovingly pursues a Father-child relationship with us.
A Courageous and Faithful Prayer
Lament is not a spiritual weakness. It is an act of courage. It is not immaturity—it is faith that is willing to struggle. Lament says, “Even when I cannot see You, I still believe You are near. Even in silence, I believe You listen and You are good.”
Maybe it’s time to reclaim the language of lament in our churches, in our homes, and in our personal walks with God. Maybe it’s time we teach our children that bringing their sorrow and confusion to God is not only okay, it’s sacred.
When we lament, we join the voices of Job, David, Jeremiah, Habakkuk, and even Jesus Himself. We cry from the wilderness, and in that cry, we draw closer to the heart of God.
Don’t be afraid to pray ugly prayers. Your Father isn’t put off by your brokenness. He delights in your honesty—your intentional choice to come to Him instead of turning away. He meets you in the wrestle. And He will not let go.