There’s a kind of pain that words can’t quite carry. The ache that sits in your chest when everything familiar has fallen apart—the kind of grief that shakes even the strongest faith. Psalm 137 captures this depth of emotion in a way that’s both uncomfortable and profoundly honest. It reminds us that lament isn’t the opposite of faith. Sometimes, lament is faith—faith that cries, questions, and still clings to hope in God.
1. The Cry Beside the Rivers of Babylon
“By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion.” — Psalm 137:1 (NIV)
The Israelites had lost everything—home, temple, and freedom. They found themselves in Babylon, a foreign land with foreign gods, sitting beside foreign rivers, hearts heavy with memories of what used to be. Their captors mocked them, saying, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!” But how could they sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?
We’ve all been there—maybe not in Babylon, but in a season that feels foreign, painful, or unjust. Maybe your river is a hospital waiting room, a grave site, or an unexpected change in life that leaves you questioning everything.
The beauty of Psalm 137 is that it doesn’t hide this pain. It doesn’t sanitize grief or pretend that faith makes suffering easier. It invites us to sit by our own rivers and weep if we need to—because tears, too, are a form of worship when they’re offered to God.
2. The Permission to Lament
Lament isn’t a lack of faith—it’s a practice of faith. It says, “God, I still believe You’re listening, even when I don’t understand.”
The psalmists often poured out their confusion and frustration directly to God. Psalm 13 begins with, “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?” Psalm 22 cries out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” These are raw, emotional prayers that God welcomed into Scripture as holy.
Somewhere along the way, we’ve mistaken Christian faith for constant cheerfulness. But biblical faith is much deeper—it allows us to bring our pain honestly to God. He’s not threatened by our tears, our questions, or even our anger. In fact, He meets us there.
When we read the violent closing verses of Psalm 137, they can be shocking. But those verses reflect the Israelites’ deep anguish and thirst for justice. They’re not prescriptions for revenge—they’re expressions of grief so deep it spills over into words of anguish. It’s human. It’s honest. And God can handle it.
3. Remembering God’s Past Faithfulness
Even in the middle of exile, the Israelites remembered Zion—the city that once held the temple, the place of God’s presence. Memory became a form of hope. By remembering what God had done before, they could believe that He wasn’t finished with them yet.
When we’re suffering, our emotions tell us that God is distant. But remembering His past faithfulness anchors us when our hearts can’t see beyond the pain.
Try this: think of one time God showed up for you—one answered prayer, one unexpected blessing, one moment when you knew you weren’t alone. Write it down. Speak it out. Let that memory remind you that the same God who was faithful then is faithful now.
Psalm 77:11 says, “I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.” Remembering is a spiritual discipline—it helps us see that God’s character doesn’t change, even when our circumstances do.
4. Trusting in the Waiting
Lament and trust don’t cancel each other out. They coexist. In fact, lament often leads us toward trust.
When we cry out to God, we’re acknowledging that He’s still the one in control—that even in our pain, He remains the anchor of our souls. That’s why lament isn’t the end of faith—it’s often the beginning of deeper faith.
Habakkuk gives us a powerful example of this. He cried out to God about injustice and violence in his land, and God’s answer wasn’t immediate deliverance. Yet Habakkuk ends his book by saying:
“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines… yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.” — Habakkuk 3:17–18
That’s what trusting while lamenting looks like. It’s choosing to believe even when the evidence seems to suggest otherwise.
5. Gratitude as Resistance
One of the quietest forms of faith is gratitude in the middle of pain. When we give thanks while everything feels wrong, it’s an act of rebellion against despair. Gratitude doesn’t deny sorrow—it redefines it.
When the Israelites remembered Zion, they weren’t just mourning the past; they were keeping their faith alive. Remembering became resistance. Gratitude became a protest against hopelessness.
In our lives, this looks like whispering thank you in the middle of chaos. It’s finding small ways to see beauty—a sunrise after a hard night, a friend’s comforting words, a verse that feels written just for you. Gratitude becomes a way to keep our hearts soft and open to God’s goodness.
Philippians 4:6–7 says it this way:
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”
Thanksgiving doesn’t erase pain—but it invites peace into the middle of it.
6. When Healing Takes Time
Healing doesn’t happen overnight. The Israelites were in Babylon for seventy years. That means some of them never saw the return to Jerusalem—but they still believed it would come. They passed that hope to the next generation.
Maybe your healing journey feels long. Maybe you’ve prayed for peace, and it hasn’t come yet. That’s okay. God is working, even when the process feels slow.
Psalm 34:18 reminds us, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Notice that it doesn’t promise immediate relief—it promises presence. And sometimes, God’s presence is the most healing gift of all.
When you can’t see the big picture, trust that the One who holds it all together hasn’t lost track of you. He’s still writing your story.
7. Hope That Cannot Be Taken
Psalm 137 may begin with sorrow, but the story of God’s people doesn’t end there. Babylon wasn’t forever. One day, the exiles returned home. The temple was rebuilt. Songs of joy replaced songs of lament.
The same is true for us. One day, every tear will be wiped away. Every injustice will be made right. Every exile will find home again. Until then, hope is what keeps us walking.
Romans 15:13 gives us a beautiful prayer for this kind of hope:
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
Our hope isn’t based on circumstances—it’s anchored in the unchanging heart of God. And that means even in seasons of lament, we can trust that joy will return.
8. How to Trust While Lamenting: Practical Steps
When life feels heavy, trusting God can seem impossible. Here are a few ways to hold on when faith feels fragile:
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Name your pain. Be specific in your prayers. God can’t heal what we won’t acknowledge.
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Write your own psalm. Use the format of lament: express your sorrow, ask for God’s help, and end with a declaration of trust.
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Stay rooted in community. Don’t isolate yourself. Share your struggles with people who can pray and encourage you.
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Create a gratitude list. Even one small thing a day can shift your focus from despair to hope.
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Worship in the waiting. Let music and Scripture fill the silence. Worship reminds your soul of truth when your emotions forget.
9. The Cross and the Lament
If you ever doubt that God understands lament, look at the cross. Jesus Himself cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” quoting Psalm 22. He entered into our suffering fully—so that our laments would never be wasted.
Because of the cross, we know that every tear has meaning. Because of the resurrection, we know that lament is never the end of the story.
The hope of the Gospel is that even when everything seems lost, God is still redeeming it. He takes the ashes of our pain and turns them into something beautiful (Isaiah 61:3).
10. From Lament to Praise
The psalms often move from lament to praise—not because the situation changed, but because the heart did. Trust grows in the soil of honesty. When we bring our pain to God, He transforms it into something sacred.
Psalm 30:11 says, “You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.” That’s what God does with lament—He turns it into worship.
So if you’re in a season of sorrow, don’t rush to “get over it.” Sit beside your river. Weep if you need to. Remember what God has done before. And when the time is right, lift your eyes and trust that joy is coming again.
