Lament, Mercy, Grace

Have you noticed how God often weaves disparate threads of our experiences, things we read, conversations, lyrics in music, into a single, living tapestry—and when we pay close attention, we begin to recognize His hand at work.  As I considered my previous post, reading through and reflecting on Barnabas Piper’s writing on doubt and faith in “I believe; help my unbelief,” Jerry Sittser’s personal revelation of the soul suspended between loss and promise, it occurred to me that Mark Vroegop’s writing on ancient rhythms of lament, and Tony Horsfall’s grounded patterns of Sabbath and silence also intersected in ways that I had not previously considered.  Each book brings its own insights—naming our pain, holding us in tension, inviting our sorrow into prayer, and anchoring us in grace—and together they remind us that nothing is wasted, and every season of our lives is connected into one greater story that God wrote into our hearts before we were born.

When Piper writes for us to speak our doubts, he is inviting us to where lament begins.  Giving voice to yesterday’s losses: the plans that fell apart, the relationships we long for, the seasons that slipped through our fingers.  Vroegop would call this the first movement of lament.  This isn’t simply airing grievances, but it’s planting a seed of trust, trusting that your lament will not be wasted, but heard. Do you hear “I believe, help my unbelief” in this first “movement” of Lament ?

Giving voice to our doubts, grief, struggles, is the beginning. Staying present in our in‑between—dwelling in the tension and unknown of what was and what might be—brings us to the second movement of lament: today’s pain. Here, Vroegop’s writing dovetails with Sittser’s description of that suspended space between past joy and future promise.  

The third movement of lament—waiting for tomorrow’s mercy—bears a similarity with leaning into community. When we lean into one another’s stories of doubt and despair, we create a shared understanding and experience of God’s compassion.

None of these lament movements exist in isolation. That’s where Tony Horsfall’s Rhythms of Grace connected for me. Horsfall invites us into daily and weekly patterns of silence and solitude, Scripture and prayer, Sabbath and celebration that hold lament in their very structure. In creating regular times of silence, we give ourselves permission to mourn our losses without guilt. Through disciplined engagement with scripture and with our prayers or favorite music, we practice bringing today’s pain into worship. And in setting aside a weekly Sabbath of rest and rejoicing, we learn to wait together—no longer striving or striving to fix one another, but resting in the promise that God’s grace is sufficient and His mercy will come.

Taken together, Piper’s naming, Sittser’s presence, Vroegop’s lament, and Horsfall’s rhythms form the single, living tapestry I spoke of earlier. We begin by speaking our most challenging questions, offering yesterday’s losses at the foot of the cross. We stay present by pouring out our current sorrows and pain through prayer, meditation of God’s Word or sacred song.  We gather to wait, knowing that sometimes mercy often arrives in community before we can hear or see it fully in our hearts. And we anchor the whole pattern in faithful rhythms that carry us back, day after day and week after week, into the loving arms of the One who holds all things together, who is also holding us, even in our most subtle or unseen moments, the One who meets us in every dark cloud and whispers deep mercy into our souls.

• Vroegop, M. (2019). Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy: Discovering the Grace of Lament. Crossway. Google Books

• Horsfall, T. (2025). Rhythms of Grace: Finding Intimacy with God in a Busy Life (3rd rev. ed.). Bible Reading Fellowship.