Absence Touches Presence

I recently reread Henri Nouwen’s book Turn My Mourning into Dancing. It was a book that a colleague and I used to teach a senior seminar at Eastern Mennonite University, called “Dealing with Suffering and Loss.” 

While reading the book, I was preparing to teach a Sunday school lesson on the fifth chapter of Lamentations. I wish I could have required the class to read this book before our lesson discussion. Lamentations deals with the suffering of the people Israel in exile in Babylon. They begged God to look at them in their misery and act on their behalf.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be no answer from God. Although their sins were not mentioned in the chapter, it could be assumed that it was because they not only had become arrogant in their former prosperity, but also because they didn’t take care of marginalized among them: “the orphans, widows and the stranger.” (Deut. 10: 18-19)

“Absence and presence touch one another,” writes Nouwen. “Out of his utter pain and forsakenness comes an intimate prayer: ‘My God, my God.’ The God the psalmist fears has turned his gaze away is still a God he can address. And will address. The One who seems far from our plea is the One to whom we still turn.”

Jesus' cry from the cross comes from Psalm 22: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" This is a Psalm of Lament. Like most Psalms of Lament, there comes a "but," turning from lament to praise. "But you are the one who pulled me from the womb, placing me safely at my mother’s breasts." (vs. 9) The psalmist continues on to turn his lament into praise. Absence touches presence. While he was in his deepest pain, God still was present. 

Even in Lamentations 5 there is a "but." "But you, Lord, will rule forever; your throne lasts from one generation to the next." (vs. 19) Although the overall picture of the book is a deep plea for God to see them in their pain, there is still a recognition that God is present. 

We are often reluctant to be honest with God about our feelings of abandonment. I was raised to believe that if we question God, we don't have enough faith. So, we repress our real feelings, something that is more harmful than helpful for our emotional health. This was true for most of our EMU students in the Senior Seminar. If the psalmist and the children of Israel could cry out their feelings of abandonment, why can't we?

During our discussions of the Laments in the Psalms, we asked the students to write their own lament, using the formula that the psalmist used. The ones who took the assignment most seriously, poured their hearts out on paper. Many expressed how healing it was for them to write their feelings of abandonment. Some couldn't get to the "but" stage, but most did. This section about sensing God's presence despite their feelings, was often shorter than the lament. Yet it appeared. Absence touched presence.

Have you ever felt abandoned by God? Were you able to pour out your deepest feelings of abandonment? Have you tried to write a lament?