The Wailing Psalm
“I want to wail and scream in pain,
and not wash my face or comb my hair.
I want to fast from food and drink,
to abstain from music and fun.
I want to kick the walls and beat my breast, and even tear out the telephone.
I’d throw away my mail and speak to no one. but I am ashamed to grieve.
O God, how can I ever be the same again or feel the earth solidly beneath my feet, for ripped to shreds are my daily rituals, my patterns of living, loving and sharing. My heart feels full not of blood but of pain, my lungs filled with screams, not breath. My eyes are blinded to all by my bitter tears, but I am ashamed of my lack of Easter hope.
O God, I know how you felt
on that terrible Good Friday.
So I ask you to say nothing to me now, for nothing can be said.
Only hold me in your love, O God, till the pain passes, if it ever will. And pardon, I pray, my feeble faith
as I mourn like one without hope.”