Lm 3:1-3, 19-26; 5:19-22
10 October 2004
“Our Song”
How many of you have ever had a song that you and your “significant other” considered to be “our song”? If so, it was no doubt something that captured the essence of your relationship… For Banu and I, I guess it would be the song by the artist Seal, “Kiss from a Rose.” It was in a movie I’ve never seen, Batman Forever (that’s the one with Val Kilmer). But it’s special because it spoke to both of us—and besides that, on our first anniversary trip from Philadelphia to Tennessee to South Carolina to Virginia Beach and back to Philly, the song was in constant rotation on the radio.
Lamentations 3 presents something that could also be called “our song.” Now, before you conclude that I’m hopelessly morbid, let me say that I will explain! But I need to make a few introductory remarks.
Some say the “I” of chapter 3, the character speaking, is a particular person. (“I am the one who has seen affliction under the rod of God’s wrath.”) Those who claim that Jeremiah wrote the book tend to say that it’s the prophet who’s doing the talking. Others say it’s some anonymous individual.
Something to notice, though, is that the language of chapter 3 isn’t as specific as what we’ve seen in the first two chapters. The wording doesn’t tie it as much to a certain event. It has a more generalized, a more generic feeling to it. In fact, it really is more about inner feelings than certain outer events. It’s a lot like the laments elsewhere in the Bible, as in some of the psalms.
That’s led a lot of people to say that the speaker in this chapter is a generalized, generic person. In the Middle Ages, stories were told which included the character “Everyman.” Everyman is any of us, the random human being: you, me, someone rich, someone poor, someone good, someone bad… So it follows that it’s Everyman “who has seen affliction under the rod of God’s wrath” (v. 1). It’s each of us, and it’s all of us, who utter those words.
And here’s where we come to the point of this song of woe becoming our song. Clearly, that’s not “our song” in a good sense: to be enjoyed during a romantic dinner! That’s “our song” to be wailed, to be lamented, while the city has become depleted of food.
This can be our song, even if we haven’t lived in a city invaded by a foreign army. As I suggested, this chapter speaks more to what’s happening with us as individuals.
We saw last week how the poet of Lamentations feels that God has become the enemy. That feeling hits stratospheric levels in verse 3. “[A]gainst me alone he turns his hand, again and again, all day long.” Our writer cries, “I’ve been singled out! I’m the only one in the world—I’m the only one who has ever been treated like this!” God is a bratty kid with a magnifying glass on a hot summer day, burning me to a crisp! And no one can possibly understand how I feel!
Actually, we all go through this; it’s part of the human condition. There’s a word for it: alienation. That speaks to the way we feel separated from other people, from God, and even from ourselves.
Does it matter if there are hordes of other people feeling the hurt? Ask yourself. Haven’t there been times when the knowledge that other people are experiencing the same thing as you made absolutely no difference?
Still, it’s not all doom and gloom! There are mixed feelings in our song here. Verse 21 is the signal: “But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope.” We then move into the awesome, powerful words that are the inspiration for the hymn we’ll soon be singing. Even when we think (erroneously) that we are Godforsaken, “the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases” (v. 22).
There’s something about this that suggests how we should live our lives. God’s “mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning” (vv. 22-23). The gospel group the Winans put out a song with Anita Baker almost twenty years ago that goes, “Ain’t no need to worry what the night is gonna bring, ‘cause it’ll be all over in the morning!” Pain and death doesn’t get the final say.
The second part of our reading comes from chapter 5, the last four verses of the book. Chapter 5 is a prayer; it’s a lament of the community. The verses included show that same sense of mixed feelings.
Verse 19: “But you, O Lord, reign forever; your throne endures to all generations.” Hopeful!
Verse 20: “Why have you forgotten us completely? Why have you forsaken us these many days?” Not so hopeful!
Verse 21: “Restore us to yourself, O Lord, that we may be restored; renew our days as of old—“ Hopeful!
Verse 22: “unless you have utterly rejected us, and are angry with us beyond measure.” Not so hopeful!
I did mention last week that the less than optimistic ending of the book suggests an author other than Jeremiah. By this time, he had become convinced that God would make a new covenant with the people. (See Jeremiah 31 for more about that.)
The realities of Lamentations are about more than just mixed feelings. As important as it is to explore the range of human emotion, there’s a lot more going on. There are mixed consequences, as well. By that, I mean more than psychological consequences—what’s going on inside. I mean historical consequences—what’s going on out there, among nations.
It’s true: for the poet of Lamentations it’s the end of the world as he knows it. The Babylonians, with their brutality, have done their job well. Read through the book of Lamentations, but understand, there’s some stuff in there not for the faint of heart. It’s truly the end of one world, and the beginning of another.
The temple has been destroyed; great numbers of people have been sent into exile. The old Hebrew religion, with its sacrifices at the temple, has been rudely sent into retirement. It simply no longer exists. (Again, try to imagine the trauma of such a thing!)
With exiles hundreds of miles from Jerusalem, and no temple there anyway, what can be done? Now, this doesn’t happen overnight, but this is where we see the beginnings of the faith we know as Judaism. This is a faith not tied to the temple. It can exist in any nation. We see the birth of the synagogue, with its focus on the word of God, on scripture. In time, the temple is rebuilt (and later destroyed by the Romans), but it’s a new world.
The more direct relevance for us is that the synagogue provides a model for the church. The dispersion of the Jews means that the scriptures have also been dispersed. That, and other things, become crucial in spreading the gospel of Jesus Christ. So, mixed consequences!
There are mixed consequences anytime we make the words of Lamentations our own. Look again at how it ends. There’s a daring, brutal honesty with God. The writer isn’t addressing a God that mom and dad used to serve. This isn’t a God in some book. This is a God who is both familiar and missed. This is a God to whom the plea is made, “Restore us to yourself.” Bring us to repentance! Bring us back!
Is that “our song”? Do we ask to be restored? Do we ask to be brought to repentance? Or do we not believe that we need such a thing? Is there anything to distinguish us from our society at large? I’m thinking of “us” as individuals and families, and “us” as a church. Does Jesus make any difference in how we live our lives, how we spend our money, how we use our time? (I’m asking a lot of questions here, which, by the way, is a sign of faith: asking questions.)
I ask all this, not for the sake of embarrassment or casting blame, but to point out the possibilities open to us in Christ. They’re good questions to ask, most of all to ourselves. They’re good questions every morning, just as the mercies of the Lord (the one who restores us to the path—that one’s mercies). They are new every morning.