A Language for Real Life: Honoring Walter Brueggemann and the Psalms
The Church lost one of its most prophetic and poetic voices earlier this month. Walter Brueggemann—Old Testament scholar, theologian, and fierce friend of the Psalms—died at the age of 91. His words and wisdom have shaped a generation of preachers and leaders—myself included.
In his slim but potent book Praying the Psalms, Brueggemann challenges the Church to reclaim a language that is honest, disruptive, and deeply human. He argues that much of modern religion has become de-vitalized—not because we lack sincerity, but because we’ve lost the courage to speak truthfully about pain. Our liturgies and sermons often aim for balance, polish, and positivity. But Brueggemann refuses this sanitized faith:
“The language of the Psalms is at odds with the language of a normal, self-deceptive culture in which everything must be kept running and smooth.”
Ministry leaders know: life isn’t smooth. We carry the grief of our congregations, the heartbreak of institutional decline, and the weight of our own personal losses. And yet, too often, we have no liturgical or pastoral space to name that grief. We shy away from lament—perhaps because it feels like giving up. But Brueggemann reminds us: lament is not resignation. It is resistance. It is choosing to remain in relationship with God even when the world doesn’t make sense.
Brueggemann identifies a sacred rhythm that runs through the Psalms and through our lives:
Orientation (when life feels stable)
Disorientation (when everything falls apart)
Reorientation (when surprising new life emerges, purely as gift)
“Our basic human experience,” he writes, “is not smooth and balanced, onward and upward, but rather a churning, disruptive experience of dislocation and relocation.”
This rhythm is not conceptual—it is deeply pastoral. And it demands practice. Lament, Brueggemann insists, is not optional. Without it, our speech becomes dull, our preaching becomes safe, and “the Holy One is not addressed because God seems far away.”
Leadership author Tod Bolsinger echoes this in Tempered Resilience, writing:
“Lament is not just a release valve for the pain of leadership; it is a spiritual discipline. It is the way we learn to face reality, to name our losses, and to make space for God to meet us there.”
Lament is not weakness—it is witness. It is a prophetic refusal to pretend. A sacred defiance of despair.
Brueggemann once quipped, “If you want to live in a world of equilibrium, stay in the Proverbs.” But if you long for a faith that is raw and real, pray the Psalms. Practice lament.
As we grieve the loss of Walter Brueggemann, perhaps the best way to honor him is not with tribute, but with practice. Let us reclaim the Psalms as our companions. Let us teach our congregations the holy work of lament. Let us risk the raw and the real.
For in the language of lament, we not only recover our voice—we encounter the living God.
“When pain is brought to speech, it turns to energy. When it is not brought to speech, it turns to despair. That means that the people who make a difference are the ones who bring pain to speech…Lament is the breakout of numbness by the admission of pain and loss. If we don’t stay close to our pain, then we can’t stay close to our neighbor’s pain.”—Walter Brueggeman
What do you need to lament today? What painful truth can you speak that may produce energy for healing?
Walking with you,
Vicki