Recently, I saw a woman on TV tell her story as an immigrant from Cameroon to the United States. Estella and her two sons “won the lottery” when she received a green card to come and work in this country. She looked forward to the landlord introducing her to the neighbors and being welcomed into the community as would happen in her homeland. Not here. Day after day, week after week, she and her sons went to work and school without anybody in her building reaching out to them. One woman watched them from behind a curtain but never reached out to the new residents.
One day Estella had extra trash after the cans had already been taken to the street so she went to the garbage area and put the unwanted items in someone else’s bag. She didn’t see her incognito neighbor watching from the curtained window. When Estella went back into the building, the neighbor demanded to know why Estella put something in her garbage bag. It was a tense moment that could have ended badly. But Estella answered her question, introduced herself and took the time to get to know her. The woman was alone except for a cat and later confessed to Estella her deep loneliness.
Estella instructed her sons to help their new friend by carrying the heavy garbage bins for her and making sure they were put back.
It was during COVID and the upstairs tenant never left her apartment, her car was always in the same place. Then suddenly one day the car was gone. One week passed, then another week and the car was still gone. Finally, the landlord told Estella that her dear friend had died.
Estella was shocked and then ashamed.
“Who am I?!” she asked herself.
This was not the way she was raised. The woman had expressed her deep loneliness, yet Estella did not find the time to follow up with her. Now she was castigating herself for not being the good neighbor she expected others to be to her. She resolved that she would do better and take time to listen and respond to those around her.
I had much the same reaction when I heard Estella’s story. I was chagrined at my own lack of compassion for immigrants struggling to make their way in a strange, new place, often without family or friends to soften the hard landing.
Jesus tells us, “God blesses those who mourn, for they will be comforted” (Matthew 5:7). What exactly are we mourning? I believe strongly that this applies to those grieving the loss of loved ones. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those whose spirits are crushed” (Psalm 34:18).
But I also believe it applies to those who mourn over sin and its consequences, both to the guilty and the innocent. To lament means to express a deep and intense sorrow, a heartrending grief through weeping, wailing, moaning or sobbing for a loss or over sin.
The Old Testament gives us examples of those who faithfully followed God’s laws, even though they recognized their own sinful state, so when they prayed to the Lord, they said we have sinned, we are guilty, and they wept in lament for grieving the Lord and for the suffering that came as a result of sin and rebellion. Daniel, the prophet prayed this way:
“I prayed to the Lord my God and confessed: ‘O Lord, you are a great and awesome God! You always fulfill your covenant and keep your promises of unfailing love to those who love you and obey your commands. But we have sinned and done wrong. We have rebelled against you and scorned your commands and regulations. We have refused to listen to your servants, the prophets, who spoke on your authority to our kings and princes and ancestors and to all the people of the land.
“Lord, you are in the right; but as you see, our faces are covered with shame. This is true of all of us…
“So now the solemn curses and judgments written in the Law of Moses, the servant of God, have been poured down on us because of our sin’” (Daniel 9:4-6, 7, 11).
So often, we are quick to separate ourselves from what others have done or said, defending ourselves against accusations of historical crimes, even condemning those who are suffering the consequences of others’ decisions or actions, essentially “blaming the victim.” In today’s public arena, we feel compelled to shield ourselves from the actions and attitudes of people long dead, insisting it’s not our fault, we didn’t do it.
Sadly, this adds insult to injury, increasing the suffering of those made vulnerable by the unjust deeds of those in power or seeking power. This also widens the divide and deepens the wounds torn in the body of Christ as each group insists on its own innocence and rightness.
What if instead of running to our separate spaces for refuge from accusations, we could agree to lament together for the affront and sorrow to God by our collective sin, to confess that we — not someone else — sinned, to mourn for the suffering and loss that innocent and helpless people endure because of the sinful choices of others? If we could take our focus off of justifying ourselves, and instead view others through God’s eyes of tender mercy and compassion, maybe we wouldn’t be so concerned about who did what and begin to think about how God wants us to be His agents of reconciliation and healing.
In 1991, Rodney King, an African American victim of police brutality, made this plaintive plea, “Can we all just get along?”
But lament is deeper than just getting along. As we mourn the enormous weight of the aftermath of transgression, we can acknowledge that we may be innocent of a particular sin but none of us are without sin. We are all fallen people on a cursed planet. Due to human failing, we are all in the same storm but we’re not all in the same boat. Some have ocean liners, others have yachts, some are in dinghies and more than we care to admit are clinging to driftwood in the water.
The love of Christ compels us to invite those in the water onto our boat. As we lament for those in the water — and however they came to be there — we open the door to the compassion of Christ being formed in us, revealing ways that the Spirit of the Lord can, as it says in Isaiah 61.1, "bring good news to the poor, comfort the brokenhearted and proclaim that captives will be released and prisoners will be freed" through us.
As I reflect on Estella’s story, I must confess my internal conflict over the issue of immigration, agreeing that it’s good and right that people from other nations come here bringing their gifts and abilities to contribute to America, especially for Christians and others fleeing persecution. These believers bring a faith refined by fire and a fresh wind of the Spirit we so desperately need in the American church. However, not everyone who migrates to the U.S. means this country good. Some have outright criminal intent; others think because they just want to make a living it’s OK if they are on the wrong side of the law.
In addition, where do the residents of our nation’s inner cities go to find refuge from violence, oppression and persecution? Usually, when we think of the persecuted church, we think of foreign nations. But what about American Christians from ethnic minorities and cultures who have endured discrimination, injustice and violence in their own country, many times from other professing Christians? What are our biblical responsibilities to our own citizens as well as to migrants?
I really struggle with these inequities.
Thank God I don’t have to sort all this out in order to have His compassion toward those in need. God sends His rain on the just and the unjust (Matthew 5:45). He knows every migrant by name and why they came to this country. Jesus will sort it out on the day of judgment. I don’t begin to have enough wisdom and understanding to pass judgment on others. I can obey His command to let His light shine through good deeds, believing it will result in praise to the Father and a more just and righteous community.
God’s instruction still stands to love and care for the foreigner. So through us, He feeds, clothes and shelters them (Deuteronomy 10:18, 19; Exodus 22:21). The foreigner is also commanded to obey the laws of the land (Exodus 12:49).
Estella did not cause the longstanding problems of U.S. cities and clearly she came to this country with a heart open to any she would meet in her adopted home. I was convicted by her compassion for a woman who initially suspected and excluded her. Lamenting the brokenhearted state of her neighbor, Estella looked for ways to lighten her burden and comfort her.
God was so heartbroken over our sin and the eternal separation it caused from His beloved image bearers, He gave the best and the most He had, His only Son to bear the price of that sin to reconcile us to Himself.
There is so much for us to lament in today’s world — human trafficking in all its evil forms, the suffering of children around the world, injustices based on ethnicity, gender, disability, age, or religious, political and social oppression, the list goes on and on and on.
Lament can generate in us attitudes and actions that often lead to concrete changes for good in individuals and communities. Fervent and consistent prayer for those suffering as a result of others’ sins has helped me to see people and their circumstances through God’s eyes while examining my own thoughts and attitudes through a biblical lens. God is always ready and willing to give wisdom and insight.
As we pray for hearts broken — first over our own sin and then over the sin in the world and the millions who suffer because of it — God will comfort us in our mourning and fill us with His compassion for others. And we can be confident that God is working through His people to alleviate the suffering in our world.
Michelle A. Melchor is a writer and lead editor for Cru Inner City. She has served with Cru for 48 years.
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