When things go sideways and the future seems uncertain, we lament, we pray, we hope. In the best case scenario, we have a community of brothers and sisters who will lament with us and bolster our hope, helping us hold on when we have little reserve in our emotional and spiritual tanks. But not all communities of faith are willing to do that, or at least they struggle to do it consistently. In some situations, sufferers get the message, directly or indirectly, that their lament is faithless and that they need to get their spiritual act together if they want to belong.

As I write this, I am nearly done with my daily meditations on Psalm 89. It’s one of the longer psalms, so I’ve been reflecting on it every morning for over a month. I have taught on it twice, will be preaching on it again in a few days, and have written about it here on the blog. My suggestion has been if the psalmist had been able to see all the way to Palm Sunday, he would have known that God had not abandoned his promise to establish David’s throne forever. And even if the joy and celebration of Palm Sunday had turned to disillusionment again on Good Friday, Easter would have changed all that.

Everything the psalmist said in the first part of the psalm about God’s love and faithfulness remained true, even in the midst of the lament of the second part of the psalm. If the psalmist had been able to see the eventual fulfillment of the promise, would that have sustained his hope? Who knows. But we, who live in the days after Easter, are already in possession of that truth. Resurrection is our destiny and that is the foundation of our hope, our specifically Christian hope.

As I taught on Psalm 89 yesterday at church, I mentioned again things I had said before (there, as well as in the pulpit and here on the blog) about the famous passages in Jeremiah 29:11 and Romans 8:28, which are often ripped out of context to say, “Everything will work out fine if you just believe.” I know too many suffering, anxious people who have been hurt by other Christians who used these verses to get them to stop talking about their problems. I could see several heads nodding in the classroom as I spoke: Yes, yes. Been there. Done that.

But afterward a faithful friend, who is one of godliest women I know, approached me, concerned. This is someone who has been through the wringer, and has been an example of faith and endurance to everyone around. Jeremiah 29:11 and Romans 8:28 are near and dear to her; she had memorized them, prayed them, clung to them. My words, I think, hurt her spirit; she came to me concerned that instead of strengthening people’s hope, I was taking it away, stealing the promises upon which she herself had needed to lean.

Thank God for people who speak the truth in love.

This is what I know about her: she has suffered much, and her faith in God is not contaminated by denial. She prays in earnest, believing that God wants the best for her, but doesn’t resent God if things don’t turn out the way she’d want. God’s love and faithfulness are unshakeable realities to her, even in the midst of struggle. And she lives the opening verse of the psalm: “I will sing of the mercies of the Lord forever; with my mouth will I make known thy faithfulness to all generations.”

The things I have said and written about those two famous verses were motivated by the stories I’ve been told by people who have been hurt by them. But what this sister so gently reminded me was that many have also been helped by them, in ways that appropriately strengthened their hope and trust in God, their ability to endure.

I believe that what I’ve said about those verses is true, and I believe there is a danger in their misuse. But I also believe that the Holy Spirit can use Scripture powerfully and beautifully in a faithful heart, even if I don’t agree with the interpretation.

For that too is the mercy of the Lord.