How Long, O Lord? Advent Lament

Chemotherapy that requires a six-week period of sequestering, beginning just days before Thanksgiving. 

Going weeks without pay because of the government shutdown.

Fighting an uphill battle against a pernicious cancer and dealing with debilitating pain from an inoperable tumor. 

A horrific car wreck involving two cars full of teenagers, two of whom lost their lives. 

A no-win situation at church and no alternative in sight. 

I wish I could say the scenarios above were merely hypothetical, but sadly, real people in my sphere are grappling with each one this Advent season. I don’t say that to invoke sympathy; rather, entering the season this year simply feels a little different. An unusual heaviness lingers where excitement and anticipation normally reside. 

Maybe you’re feeling that too. Maybe your mind is swirling with hard questions: What if I don’t want to sing “fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la” this year? What if I’m walking through the “bleak midwinter” instead of a “winter wonderland”?

 Does Scripture make room for lament—even during “the most wonderful time of the year”? 

Of course it does. Just check out Psalm 13. 

How long, LORD? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long will I store up anxious concerns within me,
agony in my mind every day?
How long will my enemy dominate me? 

Consider me and answer, LORD my God.
Restore brightness to my eyes;
otherwise, I will sleep in death.
My enemy will say, “I have triumphed over him,”
and my foes will rejoice because I am shaken. 

But I have trusted in your faithful love;
my heart will rejoice in your deliverance.
I will sing to the LORD
because he has treated me generously. (Psalm 13:1–6)

The Question

Right away we notice the repeated cry of “how long?” Four times in six verses David uses this phrase, building the suspense, raising the stakes, and ratcheting up the emotion of the psalm. We English speakers don’t tend to use repetition in the same way, so imagine each “How long?” carrying an increasing level of emphasis: 

How long? 

How long?! 

How long?! 

HOW LONG?! 

Ultimately, this is the question of Advent, as we feel acutely the gap between the promise and the arrival of the Savior. It’s also the cry of lament: “How long, O Lord?” “Will this last forever? I can’t take much more!” 

The Feelings

Next, notice that David doesn’t shy away from emotion as he bares his heart before God. He begins by saying he feels forgotten by Yahweh. “Will you forget me forever?” he asks. Of course, theologically we know God could never forget His children. That’s about as likely as a new mom forgetting the infant nursing at her breast (Isa. 49:15). But sometimes our emotions don’t line up with our theology. While we must not stay there, lament does make room for such feelings. 

David then admits to struggling with “anguish” of his soul and carrying sorrow in his heart every day. Though we don’t know his exact circumstances, we see that his grief went beyond ordinary sadness. It was deep, real, and excruciating. It’s okay to bring that to God too. 

Finally, David feels defeated—beaten down by the enemy. Like a boxer who can’t land a punch or even lift his gloves to protect himself, he is taking blow after blow from his opponent. No bell will save him, and he can’t take much more. 

Can you relate? Do you feel the ache of sorrow, the helplessness of defeat, or the hopeless sense of having been forgotten by God? 

If so, the answer isn’t to deny those feelings—but we also can’t allow them to become an end in themselves. 

The Plea

David moves in his lament from expressing his feelings to pleading with God. Like Jacob, he seems determined to wrestle with God until he receives his blessing (Gen. 32:24–26). In this case, however, David isn’t seeking a blessing so much as relief from his circumstances. 

“Turn to me!” he begs, pleading with God to look in his direction, as if just one glance from the Lord would be enough to sustain him. 

“Answer me!” The man after God’s own heart implores Him to respond, longing for some sign that his prayers are doing more than ricocheting off the ceiling. 

We’re used to bringing our requests to God and asking boldly for what we need. Still, making such demands as David may feel sacrilegious and off-limits. Of course, we must be careful to examine our hearts when we speak to the Almighty, but the psalms of lament give us permission to pour out our complaints honestly before the throne of grace. God is much more interested in our honesty than in our Sunday-morning smile.

So, hurting friend, come boldly to the throne.

Come honestly.

Come through tears. 

Come angry.

Just come. 

The Hope

While psalms of lament, such as Psalm 13, teach us that our prayers don’t always have to be neat and tidy, they also extend to us hope, even in the pit of our lamentation. David concludes this visceral prayer by speaking truth to his own soul—truth that carries particular significance in the Advent season.

First, he affirms his trust in God’s unbreakable, steadfast, fully-committed covenant love. He knows the promises and continues to believe them. Perhaps he was thinking of Exodus 34:6–7: 

The LORD—the LORD is a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger and abounding in faithful love and truth, maintaining faithful love to a thousand generations, forgiving iniquity, rebellion, and sin.

This promise finds its perfect fulfillment in the child born in Bethlehem to young parents in the middle of a chaotic census: 

For a child will be born for us,
a son will be given to us,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
He will be named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Eternal Father, Prince of Peace. (Isaiah 9:6)

Not only does David cling to the covenant promises of God, the promise that a serpent-crusher would one day come and set all things right (Gen. 3:15), but he also rejoices in salvation, in deliverance yet to come. While he may have been thinking of his own personal deliverance from his agonizing circumstances, he didn’t have assurance that God would rescue him in that way. Yet he knew he could take another type of deliverance to the bank. He could rest in the absolute certainty that the Good Guys would ultimately win. 

David didn’t experience much rest in his lifetime, and though we don’t know exactly when he wrote this psalm, it’s possible that God didn’t answer the way he wanted. Still, his rejoicing was not unfounded. Though he likely didn’t realize it, he was rejoicing in the work of Jesus, the one who would “save His people from their sins” (Matt. 1:21). 

The psalm ends in a surprising way—with singing. David moves from tears of lament to a song of praise. Perhaps that will be your experience as you reflect on the covenant promises fulfilled in the Messiah this Christmas season.

But maybe it won’t. 

Not all psalms of lament end with thanksgiving and praise. Psalm 88 ends in darkness. Frankly, it’s a bit unsettling. Yet even in the darkness, we must not lose sight of the truth:

The Savior has come. 

Sin has been defeated. 

And one day, the King will return to “make His blessings known, far as the curse is found.” 

Until then we continue to ask, “How long?”