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Authenticity Before Cheer

I showed up to church this Sunday with a heavier heart than usual.

My family had said goodbye to our beloved cat the day before, and I wasn't feeling like my typical cheerful self. I had considered pushing through, putting on a brave face, pretending everything was fine and telling my usual weekly joke.

Instead, I opened the Time For All Ages by telling the truth: my heart was heavy. I was grieving. And then I invited the congregation into an activity - a communal lament. The following activity was designed by Tara Humphries and can be found here in its original form: We Lament Together

What Is Lament?

We started with a question: What does it mean to lament?

Our community offered their thoughts, and together we landed on this shared understanding: To passionately express grief or sorrow.

In the ancient Hebrew tradition, the people brought their laments into communal worship. They understood that the Divine could hold it all: the praise and gratitude, yes, but also the anger, the hurt, the sorrow, the questioning. Nothing had to be hidden.

As Unitarian Universalists, we don't all pray, and we don't all use the word "God." And yet, there is deep wisdom in this ancient tradition - in giving voice to the deepest hurts and longings of our hearts, even when we're not entirely sure to whom it may concern. The Hebrew Bible is one of our faith's original spiritual sources, offering us a language for offering our whole selves to something larger than us.

For our practice together, I chose the words "Spirit of Life" to name that holy presence. It felt like a good fit for this community, in that moment - a way of honoring our varied beliefs while still opening a door to the sacred.

The Structure of Lament

The psalms of lament follow a pattern: turning, complaining, asking, and trusting.

Using an adapted version of this pattern, Reverend Samaya stood ready at a poster board with her marker as I invited the congregation to respond to each prompt:

[Image description: The photo shows a large sheet of flip-chart paper taped to a wall and photographed at a slight angle. Five numbered, hand-written headers run down the page, each in a different bright marker color; underneath each are several short, handwritten notes. The colors — green, magenta, orange, blue and red — make the sheet feel lively and intentional.]

Part 1: Some things that are going on that are hard… Tumbler Ridge. ICE. Cuba. Fascism. Aging parents. Transphobia.

Part 2: This makes me feel… Hopeless. Angry. Sad. Exhausted. Scared. Incapable. Impotent. Lonely. Solidarity.

Part 3: And yet, this I know to be true about love… Unconditional. Will prevail. Healing. At the center. Is big enough. Universal. Complicated. Grows.

Part 4: Because of that, I will… Lead with kindness. Be hopeful. Forgive ourselves. Ignore or stay off social media. Sit quiet. Support each other. Speak the truth. Listen to the wisdom. Be brave. Listen. Persevere. Gather.

Part 5: Spirit of Life/God/Great Mystery/Love please… Give us strength, peace, patience, connection, persistence, hope, compassion, courage. Surround us.

Our Shared Lament
February 15, 2026

Tumbler Ridge. ICE. Cuba.
Fascism creeping like fog.
Aging parents slowing down.
Transphobia shouting.

It makes us feel
Hopeless and angry.
Sad and exhausted.
Scared and incapable.
Impotent and lonely.
And yet somehow, also solidarity

What we know to be true about love is that
It is unconditional.
It will prevail.
It is healing.
Love sits at the center of everything.
Love is big enough for all of this.
Love is universal.
Love is complicated.
Love grows.

And so, we will lead with kindness.
We will be hopeful anyway.
We will forgive ourselves.
We’ll step away when we need to,
And sit in the quiet.
We will support each other
And speak the truth.
We will be brave and
Listen to the wisdom.
We will gather and persevere.

Spirit of Life,
Please give us strength.
And peace,
And patience,
And connection,
And persistence,
And hope,
And compassion,
And courage.

Surround us.

Amen.

What I Want You to Know

That poster holds our honesty. Our hard things. Our hope. All of us.

When I showed up with my heavy heart and told the truth, something important happened: others did too. We didn't fix anything. We just made space for what was real. That space mattered.

Save this lament.  Print it off. Sit with it for a moment this week. Read it out loud to yourself or a loved one. Let it remind you that your feelings are held - by love, by this community, by each other.

May we remember that all of how we feel - and all of who we are - is holy.