One of the first events I attended after arriving in Cape Town was a funeral service for two young people who had been killed when bombs they were setting at a government facility had exploded prematurely. Unlike the terrorist attacks familiar to us now these bombs were not intended to damage people, only property. They were being set to explode in the middle of the night. The funeral was presided over by Desmond Tutu. I well remember the sorts of things he said – he in no way condoned such violent action but he understood the frustration of South Africa’s youth in the ongoing oppressive climate. I think he even said something along the lines of "our generation has failed them by not having managed to bring about the end of apartheid yet – if we had tried harder with peaceful means they might not have felt compelled to take such drastic measures now."

You are probably aware that for black South Africans singing and dancing was always part of life and part of the Struggle. One of the songs that I heard first at that occasion is a funeral song – Senzenina – although it was sung at many other events too. I think I might have taught it to groups here in the past. It is a hauntingly beautiful tune sung in the typical African style of an individual leading phrase which is then repeated by everyone else. The word Senzenina means "What have we done" and it is usually sung with the English words too. I sometimes wondered if it was an admission of guilt, especially when hearing it on occasions such as that funeral for the young bomb-setters. But I’ve since discovered it is intended to be a passionate outcry against being forced to suffer merely for having dark skin. "Senzenina. What have we done? Our only sin is being black." Sometimes protest singing is designed to stir up energy, but this song was a lament, a cry of despair, helplessness and pain. Sometimes that is all it is possible to say.

The reading that we heard from Mark’s gospel is the reading set in the lectionary for today’s services. I remember in my childhood hearing these verses quoted when there were earthquakes and famines reported in the news, as support for the idea that we were probably living in the end times. The passage is set in the apocalyptic chapter of Mark’s gospel and is the same sort of literature of the book of Revelation at the end of the New Testament. With its pessimistic view of the world and the hope for a future age when God will intervene and bring an end to suffering it is a type of literature that has continued to be popular ever since it began a few centuries before Christ.

It is in today’s lectionary readings but we don’t need to wait for once a year or once every three years in the lectionary cycle to be reminded of the world’s conflicts and suffering. I suppose it is typical of the media to dwell on negative stories and also a result of the world being brought ever closer through swift communication that we are aware every day of wars, earthquakes, famines and other disasters. In Sunday@5 each week we have a time when we focus on the "world" and it is never hard to find a place of need to think and pray about – last week we discussed Fiji with its seemingly increasing oppression under a military regime. The plight of refugees has been dominating our news recently, once again becoming a political football allowing the parties to score points against each other but we know there are people with real lives and real needs whose future is hanging in the balance. A couple of nights ago I was at a dinner along with Moriah and the interns where Christianity and War was discussed. Jesus’ words about "wars and rumours of wars" were quoted several times, with an opinion offered that because Jesus said there will always be wars there is not much point in Christians trying to bring an end to them.

So as people of faith we are well aware of suffering in the world around us. There are a variety of ways in which we might respond to these situations. One way the church has responded ever since New Testament times is to see them as signs of the end times, almost to will them on in order to hasten the day of Jesus’ return. Another common Christian (and human) response is to try to support aid agencies through donations of money and goods. Other ways are to creatively work for change – through projects such as Irene’s Place and other peace initiatives, or economic solutions such as micro-credits, or putting resources into research institutes like the Global Peace Initiative and think tanks to build up knowledge and find new solutions, or raising awareness and education with media based campaigns like Crikey or Avaaz. Many of these are valuable things to do and while there is probably not one perfect solution each small part of the puzzle contributes to building up a brighter picture.

Another response Christians have is to bring these issues into our worship and prayer lives. One of the things I’ve learned in my doctoral study of the book of Habakkuk is the value of lament. Habakkuk is one of the prophetic books and in the bible prophets were known as the messengers of God’s words, often of God’s judgement, aiming to get God’s people to mend their ways and speaking out against the injustices they see both in the nation of Israel and in the surrounding nations. When the book of Habakkuk begins this is exactly what we are led to expect. The opening words are very conventional: "The oracle that the prophet Habakkuk saw". This is a prophet, a person recognised as an intermediary between God and the ordinary people. The words tell us that this prophet had a vision, another thing that set the prophets apart. And the word "oracle" was a word often used to herald a message of judgement against another nation. So there are three ideas set forward in that short introduction: the spokesperson of God; the vision he had; and the message of judgement he was to deliver against the nations. But the next words come as a real surprise. Rather than a prophetic word there is a heartfelt prayer of anguish.

(the words are a little different to what your heard because they are my translation)

Here is a man of God, living in a world of pain and suffering, and not knowing what to say other than to ask "why?"

This is only one of many examples of lament in the bible. There are many psalms, prayers of lament especially in the books of Job and Jeremiah and of course the whole of the book of Lamentations, a beautifully crafted set of poems that show a personified Jerusalem expressing her pain following the Babylonian invasion.

People who have studied the Lament literature have found that it has a particular structure and usually ends on a note of hope that God will indeed hear and bring a change to the situation. But they stress that there is value in the expressions of pain and suffering. Anyone who has deeply grieved knows that pain needs to be acknowledged and lived through. If words of comfort or well meaning advice is given too early, they sound empty and cannot take root. Answers to the question "why did this happen" are hollow if they don’t allow the pain to the surface.

It is also significant that Biblical laments are addressed to God. Even in the feelings of abandonment there is an acknowledgement that God’s presence will make a difference. So the most famous lament, that of Jesus on the cross expressing a dreadful sense of abandonment, still says "my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" The clinging on in the depths of despair keeps the relationship alive.

Habakkuk addressed his God with his questions too. As you keep reading through the book you see that the answer first given by God is not acceptable to the prophet. He asks more questions then positions himself to wait for an answer. As I studied the first part of the second chapter I discovered something very interesting. In most English translations it reads "I will stand at my watchpost and keep watch to see what he will say to me and what HE will answer concerning my complaint". But the Hebrew actually says "what I will answer concerning my complaint". In other words, the prophet himself, who has not been satisfied with the things said to him in his despair, may have a contribution to make to this conversation with God. That contribution could in fact be his complaint, or his lament. The honest expression of the frustration and sorrow.

Over the past few days I have been getting ready for the Gaza art exhibition sponsored by the Major Issues and Theology Foundation that will be opened tomorrow evening at Wesley church – there is a note about it in today’s bulletin. The unique artworks have come from people living in Gaza since the Blockade was instituted at the beginning of this year. Both children and adult artists are represented, from Muslim and Christian backgrounds.

Their own explanations of their works and stories of their own experiences of living through the Israeli attacks on Gaza are shown alongside the art. Like songs of lament, artworks also have the capacity to express deep emotion, both pain and hope. Some of the children’s pictures show bombs and guns, others show peaceful scenes of nature with bright sun and deep blue sea and sky. As you look at them you are reminded that children should experience freedom and innocence but these children have been in situations of fear and deep loss, yet many still hope for a brighter future. The paintings by adults are also vibrant and engaging, several of them showing strong women or people embracing, reminders of values that sustain communities in difficult times. An artist who gave two paintings entitled "Angels from Gaza" gave this explanation of his works:

"These painting are of people who were killed in Gaza. Their only fault was that they were passers-by." I hear in that an echo the song Senzenina – "what have we done?" In sharing the pain shown through their art, we as observers can more intelligently pray for and work for a change to their situation. As an Australian artist put it on the accompanying catalogue, "This collection affirms the prophetic value of the work of the artist and powerfully demonstrates that justice is about living with our eyes open" (Rod Pattenden).

In the biblical pattern of lament, the cries of pain almost always give way to new hope. The book of Habbakuk ends with the prophet walking forward with a new sense of joy. His experiences continue to enrich and inspire us as do the gospel stories of Jesus and the stories of hope in our own history. We have recently marked the twentieth anniversary of the breaching of the Berlin wall. Yesterday I watched some footage on you-Tube of a group of Palestinians who marked that event by pulling down one of the panels of the separation wall between Israel and Palestine. It was a symbolic gesture to announce the hope that one day the whole wall will come down, just as the Berlin wall came down, just as apartheid was dismantled. Jesus said to his disciples "Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another, all will be thrown down."

His words remind us that all regimes, institutions and achievements, even pious ones such as building beautiful temples, will ultimately be challenged by the power of the gospel which stands for peace and justice.

The value of the viewpoint of apocalyptic literature in the Bible is that it recognises that no suffering will be understood properly until God comes. So Jesus continued in that passage "When you hear of wars and rumours of wars do not be alarmed. This must take place but the end is still to come. There will be earthquakes in various places, there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs." Our human experience of the world is too limited to properly understand why there is suffering, but we can integrate the experience of suffering into our faith. Part of that integration is honestly expressing our pain in lament, song, art, prayer. Those things may well lead us on to various types of action. The other part of the integration is finding and holding onto hope.

This is what makes the metaphor of birthpangs that Jesus uses so wonderful – pain is real, it must be experienced, it must be borne and often lamented. But there is a promise of the joy of new life after the pain.

As I close this sermon I’d like you to listen to a version of the song Senzenina. It is played over the opening credits of the movie called "In my country" based on recollections of a journalist who reported on South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings in 1998. You may hear some scuffles on the recording because the visual images alternate between the fantastic scenery around Cape Town and footage of police beating and arresting protesters – the sorts of events that were investigated by the commission. At the end is a fragment of a speech by Nelson Mandela, expressing the hope that carried the struggle against apartheid forward.

There are times when all we can do is lament. But out of that may it be that new hope is given birth.

Song: Senzenina (about 3 minutes) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAOAxow2Au8&NR=1

Jeanette Mathews