All the Poor and Powerless

And all the lost and lonely...

All the thieves will come confess
And know that you are holy.

Shout it
Come on and scream it from the mountains
Go on and tell it to the masses
That he is God…

-All the Poor and Powerless, All Sons and Daughters

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Once upon a time, a long, long time ago…this song was an anthem. A declaration. There is good news to be shared and we must profess it!

And then everything fell apart.

The ministry that I was part of crumbled in my hands and just about everyone fell away. And this song became a reminder of what was and what could have been. After the collapse of our ministry, my husband and I landed at a lovely place and quickly found ourselves deeply entrenched. At the new church, this song was placed on the back burner. Then forgotten completely.

Ten years later…certain things have transpired within our personal lives that necessitated a change. A shift. A new church home.

I realize for some, this is just a part of life. You change churches and it’s no big deal. But we are ministry people. Pastors. Creators. Invested in the body. Our families do not live nearby and so our people are those who can show up on the front porch. Who sit in our living room while we lament. Who watch our kids so we can have a night out (not so much anymore—love the teen years)! Walking away from family (even though we are blessed that many will still stick around) is a hard thing for this household.

So this weekend, we visited a new church for the second time. My husband and I had hesitantly walked through the doors a few weeks before sans children and found ourselves intrigued. It’s a church facing trouble. I don’t plan on dropping its name here because you could easily look it up if you tried. (I have recently become acquainted with the word “disaffiliation” which guess is not really a thing in the evangelical world.) The church faced a significant victory that week, and we were welcomed to participate in the mess and celebration of it all.

A few songs in, the worship leader started with these words…

All the poor and powerless…
All the lost and lonely…
All the thieves will come confess…
And know that you are holy…

All the hearts who are content…
And all who feel unworthy…
All who hurt with nothing left…
Will know that you are holy.

I can count the times I have worshipped with these words on one hand in the last ten years. This song has been wiped from my internal hymnal, completely erased from my personal worship playlist. What once was a heart song of mine had become too painful. And this congregation sang this song in the midst of their pain. It was true lament.

Conflicted tears streamed down my face as I choked the words out in worship. There is a joy in shared grief that you don’t understand until you’ve experienced it. Grief intertwined with hurt intertwined with hope. It felt as if a whole body of believers was speaking my language without even knowing it. And I think there’s something to a body of believers that are willing to face the muck and the mire of being human together. With honesty. It felt good to be honest.

I feel like I could write an entire book over the language of lament from a personal perspective, so I will end this here. These are not half baked thoughts, but snippets of a wide complex web of emotions, thoughts, and spiritual reflections. I will be back to this topic I’m sure; it’s not a posture I seem to be able to walk away from these days. Thank you for reading my friends.

Blessings on your day.