When faith communities embrace lament, they create space for the weary,
the grieving, and the broken hearted to met God without pretending
Tsutisangla Pongen
For many living with chronic illness-a long-term health condition that may not have a cure and often requires ongoing treatment- faith communities can be both a source of deep comfort and, at times, unspoken pressure. The subtle expectation to “suffer well” often overshadows the truth that Scripture itself is filled with people who suffered honestly: weeping, lamenting, questioning God, and yet still clinging to Him.
As a person disabled by chronic illness since the age of 18, I know this tension firsthand. I was diagnosed with Lupus in 2009, had my first kidney transplant in 2015, and after eight years of relative stability, my transplanted kidney failed again in 2023. Now, I spend hours in a dialysis chair three times a week. Over the years, I have been told countless times to “be strong,” to “trust God’s plan,” to “stay positive.” But the truth is, some days I am sad. Some days I cry. Some days I am angry. Some days I am exhausted. Some days I am anxious. And some days I am too heavy for hope’s balloon to lift.
Our culture- and even the church- often gravitates toward toxic optimism: the kind of “certainty,” “victory,” and “sunshiny” version of Christianity that says if you are sad or fearful, you lack faith and will not be healed. A person living with illness is more readily celebrated if they smile through the pain, proclaim victory every Sunday, and keep the rawer parts of their journey hidden. Expressions of sorrow, anger, or honest struggle are frequently met with discomfort or gentle correction: “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” But this phrase- often quoted with good intentions- is not found in the Bible. In fact, Scripture tells us otherwise, and yet we often overlook the passages and the historic liturgies around grief, sorrow, and loss- choosing instead to emphasize God’s presence only in moments of victory.
Paul wrote candidly in 2 Corinthians 1:8: “We were burdened beyond our strength… so that we despaired of life itself.” Even Jesus lamented on the cross, crying out the words of Psalm 22: “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Matthew 27:46). Job tore his robe, sat in ashes, and cried out to God. David poured his grief into psalms that swing from praise to anguish in the span of a few verses. Jeremiah was called “the weeping prophet” for a reason.
These are examples of people who did not hide their pain to make others comfortable. They modeled suffering honestly- bringing their grief, anger, and questions before God without shame.
The Problem with False Positivity in the Church
False positivity, however well-meaning, can silence the genuine expression of pain. When we insist that believers with chronic illness must be constant beacons of hope, we not only risk sending the message that sorrow, frustration, and spiritual wrestling are signs of weak faith- we also deny them the space to grieve and to express authentic emotions without fear of judgment. But biblically, lament is not weakness; it is worship. Lament says, “God, we still believe You are listening, so we will tell You the truth about our pain.”
Faith That Holds Space for Reality
Suffering honestly doesn’t mean abandoning faith; it means refusing to pretend. As human beings, we are created with the full range of emotions - joy, sorrow, grief, and gladness- and we should be allowed to feel them without shame.
In a biblical or theological context, lament is not just complaining; it’s bringing our pain directly to God, acknowledging our suffering, and asking Him to act.
Renowned theologian and New Testament scholar N. T. Wright reminds us that lament is not only biblical, it is foundational to Christian vocation:
“It is no part of the Christian vocation, then, to be able to explain what’s happening and why. In fact, it is part of the Christian vocation not to be able to explain- and to lament instead. As the Spirit laments within us, so we become, even in our self-isolation, small shrines where the presence and healing love of God can dwell.”
Lament teaches us that God does not ask us to suppress our feelings; instead, He invites us to bring every emotion before Him, whether that be the ache of loss or the celebration of hope. Psalm 34:18 assures us, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” It doesn’t say the Lord is only close to the strong, the cheerful, or the “inspiring.” He is near precisely when we feel crushed.
Walking with the God Who Stays
In the valley of the shadow of death (Psalm 23), the Shepherd does not shame us for trembling or crying. He stays with us. Our tears do not cancel His presence; our anger does not void His love. God meets us where we are- in the silence, in the sorrow, in the questions we cannot answer.
So if we are sad,
we are still His.
If we are angry,
we are still His.
If we are uninspiring,
we are still His.
There are many in the faith community who truly seem at peace in their suffering, and I am genuinely grateful for them. They are living reminders of the deep work I pray God will one day complete in my own heart.
But for now, I am at peace with not “suffering well.” We live in a time of deep anxiety, even if our church signs and social media posts rarely admit it. If the Church is to offer real hope to a weary world, we must learn to suffer honestly. Only then will we become a home not just for the smiling and victorious, but also for the weary, the fearful, and the brokenhearted.
Honest suffering doesn’t make our faith weaker.
It makes it real.
