‘Make a Way’ . . . for sorrow and hope
Review of "Make a Way" by Rachel Colman.
The psalmist confesses, “You gave me room when I was in distress” (s. 4:1). You held space for me. You allowed my anguish to be heard.
From my experience in ministry to young adults, I can attest that such “holding space,” such giving room for distress, for lament, for sorrow, is at the very heart of a ministry of healing and hospitality. And the struggle has always been to find the words and the music for such space. There are so few resources to help us give voice liturgically and musically to the lament that is in our hearts.
Enter Rachel Colman with her album of intense beauty and stunning musicality, Make A Way: Music for liturgy and life. The first track “Do it Again” greets us with a haunting organ and mournful, quiet wailing, before the first lines:
Lord are you listenin’ to our crying?
God of comfort and mercy, hold our pain.
When I was in trouble, you set me free.
Do it again, Lord, do it again.
Echoing Psalm 4, the passionate longing of this song sets the tone for the rest of the album. Here you will find neither cheap resolution to our lament, nor a self-indulgent wallowing in our sorrow. Rather, Colman leads us deeply into lament with a disarmingly gentle honesty and an always-tempered hope, rooted in memory.
Like the psalmists before her, Colman deeply knows that without memory, we are lost. And so she evokes memories of healing in the midst of naming the hurt, while always refusing the cover-up.
This is, perhaps, most richly portrayed on the fourth track, “In Our Sorrow.” Accompanied by Colman’s lovely and sensitive piano, the artist sings:
When all our waiting comes to an end,
and turns to grieving;
when all these tears end in a way
that no way has been made clear;
when anguish has come to our home,
and filled our hearts,
you know, you know sorrow.
If that has been your experience, if you know such waiting that only ends in grief, if the tears have led to no resolution, and you’ve experienced that all-encompassing anguish, then not only do you know sorrow, but so also does the Holy One. If you know what it’s like “when all of our hoping / ends in the death of a dream,” then this album is for you, as it moves between the space of confessing, “you know sorrow” and achingly asking, “do you know our pain?”
This album will catch your tears even as it catches your breath. It will give voice to your lament, hold you in its beauty, and gently, ever so gently, make a way in and through the sorrow.
When all the waiting comes to an end,
and we’re still living;
though the darkness is strong,
and the night stretches long,
‘Remember,’ we say together,
‘remember: God walks with us
slowly in our sorrow … through our sorrow.
This is an album for such slow walking.
The title track, “Make a Way,” is a lovely congregational song evoking the path of discipleship, that reminds us that …
Though trouble and suffering
are all around,
our story does not end there.
With mercy and goodness
you welcome us,
forgiven at your table.
With this echo of the 23rd Psalm, Colman sings of a hope that is manifest at the table. A spirituality of lament is a Eucharistic spirituality because this is a table of hospitality for our deepest longings; this is the table of distress that can hold our deepest hurts.
There is no escapism on this album. And there are no distractions. From song to song, we are invited to attend to the pain, and given permission to name and experience the sorrow in our bones, while never seeking an easy way out, a quick fix.
The short chorus, “Do Not Tarry,” has a clear allusion to Romans 8:
My body groans for your redemption.
My spirit waits for your day.
My heart longs for consolation.
On you we wait, for you we wait.
Do not tarry, Lord.
While not carrying the abrasiveness of many of the psalms of lament, this little song builds in an intensity that is bold to ask God to hurry up because there is a life and death seriousness to it all. This is, if you will, a spirituality of insistence before the face of God that will not insult the Holy One with empty praise when so much is at stake.
Returning to Psalm 4, the album concludes with “You’ve Given Me.” What begins in lament, if allowed to plumb the depths of that sorrow, if allowed the room for that distress, ends in gratitude.
You’ve given me greater joy than
those who drink well-aged wine.
You’ve given me greater joy than
those who feast all their days.
Perhaps still against much of the evidence, restoration and delight are renewed. And, not surprisingly, Colman brings us back to the table.
You’ve given me of your self
the bread to eat for strength this day.
You’ve given me of your self
the wine that brings your joy always.
This is a Eucharistic restoration, a safety found at the table of the Lord. Ever pointing us to that table, Rachel Colman’s Make A Way is an album of such powerful beauty and invitation that it creates for the listener that safety, that restoration, that joy and delight, even as it breaks open our hearts, touches our deepest longing and evokes our aching hope.
