Al Humdulillah. Praise be to God.

Living in the Middle East, we hear this phrase several times every day. It is the answer to many questions. “How are you?” She could be happy or sad and say, “Al Humdulillah.” “How is your work?” He could have a well-paying job or none at all and say, “Al Humdulillah.” “How are you feeling?” She could be healthy, sick, or even dying and say, “Al Humdulillah.” The phrase serves as a good reminder that our lives and well-being are in the hand of God. But sometimes I hate hearing it.

Of course, our God is worthy of all praise, but the religious culture of Islam strangles out expressions of discouragement and despondency. Often when I sit with a Muslim family and one of them tells me of his loss and grief, lamenting incredible sorrows, another will cut him off by insisting, “Say, ‘Al Humdulillah.’” The meaning is clear: “Don’t grieve. Praise God.” This is what I hate — the refusal to allow lament because we are supposed to praise God in all things.

We Christians can do this too. Once we shared with a church about a particularly hard season of ministry in the Middle East. Though not hopeless, we certainly weren’t rosy. One of the parishioners said to us afterward, “Rejoice in the Lord always.” It was a gentle rebuke meant to indicate that we shouldn’t share our hardships so honestly, especially not as “sent ones.” To this I say, “Al Hamdulillah, the Lord doesn’t share this aversion to lament.” In fact, we see in the Psalms that he invites us to pour out our complaints to him.

Prayer of One Afflicted

Too often when we read the Psalms, we ignore the little bit of text at the beginning. It may be something short like, “A Psalm” (Psalm 98) or “Of David” (Psalm 25). Other times, this little bit of text is part of what makes the psalm so deeply helpful.

The heading of Psalm 102 reads, “A prayer of one afflicted, when he is faint and pours out his complaint before the Lord.” For me, these are some of the most encouraging words in the Bible.

In our work in the Arab world, we haven’t seen the fruit we’d like. Much of our ministry has felt like plodding. Living in the Middle East can be challenging, with wars, refugees, unrest, and extremism. I can get discouraged, even depressed. My friend shouldn’t have 37 dead family members from a war in his home region. Another shouldn’t have watched all seven of his children die in their early years of life. And then there are those who can’t afford to feed their families, or must carry on in abusive marriages, or pull their kids out of school in sixth grade so they can work to support the family.

Faced with such suffering, I sometimes feel hopeless and downcast. But Psalm 102 reveals a simple truth: there is a prayer for me. I suspect you also have had similar moments of pain and discouragement. This prayer is for you too.

The psalmist lived in a broken world and needed to “pour out his complaint,” as the heading says. One does not pour something out if there is only a little. These were not drops of sorrow; there was so much in his heart he had to pour it out. Wonderfully, he felt free to pour out his complaint before God. Even more remarkably, the Spirit of God inspired him to pour out his complaint. Then the Spirit took this complaint and put it in the Scriptures so that we would have not only permission to do likewise, but also an example to follow.

Psalm 102 is encouraging because the psalmist teaches us how to be real when we express our pain; in the same breath, he moves us toward hope.

His Complaint

We don’t know the exact nature of the psalmist’s complaint, but we do see its effects. Something compels him to cry out to God in his distress. The pit he is in makes him feel like God does not hear his prayer. The darkness conceals God’s face, leading him to believe God might not answer (verses 1–2).

His heart is withering, for he feels like his life is in a furnace. His depression is so deep he forgets to eat. He cannot sleep. He weeps so much his tears mix with his drink (verses 3–9). All of this because he feels the “indignation and anger” of God upon him (verse 10).

The psalmist is brutally honest. He neither hides nor minimizes his sorrows. True relationship demands honesty. He wants to be known by God and will not shy away from his deepest pain. Nor does God want him to. The Father wants true relationship with his children. His love is not fragile nor weak. It bears our pain.

His Hope

Like the psalmist, I can be a mess — unable to eat or sleep, filled with discouragement and hopelessness. But the psalmist refuses to wallow. He makes a shift. Turning to the Lord, he knows that he has a source of comfort and hope. “But you, O Lord, are enthroned forever. . . . You will arise and have pity on Zion” (verses 12–13).

Too often, we fail to come to the “but.” We focus on our pain and make our complaint ultimate. We enthrone our woes over him who reigns forever. But the psalmist makes a shift. He changes the direction of his heart, turning his gaze from all that is wrong to the one in whom all is right. He remembers and proclaims the greatness of God’s power and majesty: “Nations will fear the name of the Lord” (verse 15). He also remembers God’s mercy and compassion: “He regards the prayer of the destitute and does not despise their prayer” (verse 17).

The psalmist’s confidence in God is so great he says, “Let this be recorded for a generation to come, so that a people yet to be created may praise the Lord” (verse 18). He wants a record of his pain and need, followed by a record of God’s gracious help in time of need. He wants a record of the most basic facts in the universe: We need help, and God is a helper. We get help, and God gets glory. We get delivered, and God gets praised. Make the record so that “they may declare in Zion the name of the Lord, and in Jerusalem his praise, when peoples gather together, and kingdoms, to worship the Lord” (verses 21–22).

His hope is sure because he knows God is faithful in his mercy. God’s help for the psalmist will abound to God’s praise among the peoples.

His Tension

At this point, the psalm gets most interesting and, in some ways, most encouraging. We all wish deliverance would be easy and smooth. We need help. We cry out to God. He saves us. We are comforted. We give him praise and worship. But rarely is our rescue that simple. It wasn’t for the psalmist.

He halts his complaint and turns the corner when he remembers that God is enthroned. He declares with confidence that new generations will see God’s deliverance and give him praise.

Yet in verse 23, the psalmist again makes his complaint: “He has broken my strength in midcourse; he has shortened my days.” He knows the truth. He hopes in the truth. He confidently looks forward to God’s deliverance, but he still feels broken. His pain does not instantly disappear. He lives in the tension of a fallen world filled with pain and a compassionate God who has pity on his people.

The truth of God’s mercy does not remove all the pain of his suffering. But neither does the pain of his suffering remove his faith and confidence in God’s mercy.

His Praise

The psalmist’s pain remains, but his hope is strengthened. In the beginning, he pleads with God not to hide his face from him (verse 2). At the end, he professes his conviction that though the world should perish, God remains (verse 26). His hope even extends to his children and beyond: “The children of your servants shall dwell secure; their offspring shall be established before you” (verse 28).

In our brokenness, we pray the prayer of one afflicted. We are faint and pour out our complaint before God. And like the psalmist, we pivot: “But God.” We turn from our complaint to him who is the truth — even to the Savior who prayed this prayer himself. When Jesus poured out his complaint, his agony was so great that “his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground (Luke 22:44). Then he was broken for us so that by his wounds we might be healed. His brokenness undoes ours.

The nations will fear the name of the Lord (Psalm 102:15). The peoples and kingdoms will gather to worship him (verse 22). We who are afflicted and broken will be made whole. And in the midst of our brokenness, we hope in God who is enthroned above. Al Hamdulillah.