Sacred Grief
Jo Acharya | October 1, 2024
Heman the Ezrahite was a celebrated worship leader who served for decades under King David and King Solomon. He must have written and sung thousands of songs during his career, but only one of his own compositions made it into the Bible: Psalm 88.
Psalm 88 is bleak. And unlike every other psalm of lament, it stays bleak. There is no change in tone, no declaration of hope. It ends, ‘You have taken from me friend and neighbour—darkness is my closest friend.’ (Psalm 88:18)
This psalm doesn’t get shared round social media on pictures of beaches at sunset. But in a strange way, its bleakness can be profoundly comforting.
I remember once hearing an interview with a Christian songwriter who described the freedom she felt when she realised it was okay to write, ‘I feel like God isn’t there’ without immediately following up with, ‘But I know he is really’.
That’s the gift Psalm 88 gives us. It allows us to put a full stop and a long pause after our pain. It gives us permission to feel what we feel, to not rush through grief before we’re ready.
In the most extreme moments of life, we need to know that God isn’t waiting to smite us for saying the wrong thing, but to sit with us in our darkest places and honour our suffering.
The fact that Psalm 88 made it into the songbook of God’s people tells us a lot about who God is, and how he calls us to respond to the pain of life. Heman the Ezrahite’s cries of despair were not swept under the rug. They weren’t treated as awkward or embarrassing, or as a threat to faith. Rather, they were respected and cherished. Heman’s raw, anguished prayer was given a place in holy scripture, and recognised as sacred.
This reflection is from my upcoming book ‘Glimpsing Grace’. It’s a collection of short devotionals, practical activities and prayer exercises alongside beautiful photography and other images. Pre-order the book in our store.
