Lamentations 3:1-24 | Psalm 30 | Ephesians 2:1-10 | Mark 15:33-39
Lamentations 3:1-24
1 I am the man who has seen affliction under the rod of his wrath; 2 he has driven and brought me into darkness without any light; 3 surely against me he turns his hand again and again the whole day long. 4 He has made my flesh and my skin waste away; he has broken my bones; 5 he has besieged and enveloped me with bitterness and tribulation; 6 he has made me dwell in darkness like the dead of long ago. 7 He has walled me about so that I cannot escape; he has made my chains heavy; 8 though I call and cry for help, he shuts out my prayer; 9 he has blocked my ways with blocks of stones; he has made my paths crooked. 10 He is a bear lying in wait for me, a lion in hiding; 11 he turned aside my steps and tore me to pieces; he has made me desolate; 12 he bent his bow and set me as a target for his arrow. 13 He drove into my kidneys the arrows of his quiver; 14 I have become the laughingstock of all peoples, the object of their taunts all day long. 15 He has filled me with bitterness; he has sated me with wormwood. 16 He has made my teeth grind on gravel, and made me cower in ashes; 17 my soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is; 18 so I say, “My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the Lord.” 19 Remember my affliction and my wanderings, the wormwood and the gall! 20 My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me. 21 But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: 22 The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; 23 they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. 24 “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”
Introduction
You may be seated. I do not like to start this way, but I need to beg your pardon on something. This is the time where I would be expected to give you my label for this sermon. But, with your consent, I will refrain from giving my title right now. I appreciate your patience in this matter. You may be ready for it now, but I am not yet ready.
Instead, I want to begin with a 17th-century writer, John Milton. He’s a complicated man from a complicated point in history, but arguably one of the greatest English poets to ever write. And his great masterpiece, first published in 1667, is called Paradise Lost. It retells the biblical story of the temptation of Adam and Eve, the fall of mankind, and embellishes it with the story of the demotion and descent of Satan from heaven. And it is there that I want to focus. In this fictional imagining, Satan has just waged war on heaven and been defeated. And as he contemplates the consequences of his rebellion, surveying the hell that imprisons him, he begins to devise a way back to heaven:
With reason hath deep silence and demur
Seized us, though undismayed: long is the way
And hard, that out of hell leads up to light…
While here shall be our home, what best may ease
The present misery, and render hell
More tolerable; if there be cure or charm…[1]
“Long is the way, and hard, that out of hell leads up to light.” This sentiment is, I believe, the very same sentiment at the heart of the book of Lamentations. As we turn to the third chapter, we find an author—traditionally the prophet Jeremiah—who is similarly contemplating a very real and present hell. And as he surveys the misery that imprisons him, he meditates on three questions, three questions that I hope to address in the course of this sermon. First, why has this hell—here framed as darkness—come to pass? What is the cause? Second, what exactly is it? What is it like to be in such a dark hell? Third, how can it be escaped? Or to put these three differently: Why has this hell come about? What is the nature of it? And how can one move beyond it? Let’s turn to that first question.
1. Why Has This Hell Come About? (vv.1-3)
In some ways, the most important question is the easiest and shortest to answer. Why? Why is this happening? The first three verses offer a very simple answer. In my bible, they begin: “I am the man who has seen affliction under the rod of his [that is, God’s] wrath; he has driven and brought me into darkness without any light, surely against me he turns his hand again and again the whole day long.”[2] The author unambiguously declares himself as the one who is suffering, the one who is enveloped in darkness. But why? What has caused it? The source is made clear in the pronouns. This is no mere accident. This is not random. “He has driven… he turns his hand… his wrath.” We often think of the hell we are in as something outside of ourselves. Sickness. Cancer. A disappointing job. Unemployment. Family drama. Political comedy. Financial tragedy. Discrimination. Disease. Disappointment. Despair. We experience the trials of this life, but they are somehow external to us. We often contemplate hardships in a general sense, but those external things are not what we find here. No. These are the ones that are deserved. These are the acts of a holy and perfect God, the wrath of God, the rod of comfort in Psalm 23 turned to the rod of punishment.[3] These are the consequences of sin, our sin. These are the hardships that are deserved. But to really understand this, we need to look into the historical context.
Lamentations is a collection of five poems in the style of qinah (kee-NAH), the Hebrew word for a funeral dirge. These poems were composed, as the author surveyed the destruction of Jerusalem in 586 B.C.E. This destruction, the burning of the Temple, the desecration of the sacred home of Yahweh for the Israelite people, was the commencement of the darkest, most devastating period in their history: the Exile. For generations, the Prophets had warned Israel that their rebellion against God, their disobedience, their giving in to temptation, would bring about their destruction. Isaiah 39, for example: “…‘Hear the word of the Lord of hosts: Behold, the days are coming, when all that is in your house, and that which your fathers have stored up till this day, shall be carried to Babylon. Nothing shall be left, says the Lord.’”[4] God’s judgment against Israel would bring about their deportation and enslavement in Babylon. And it did. For sixteen or seventeen years, the Babylonians launched a series of sieges against Jerusalem, finally demolishing it. But worse, it would mean they were separated from God’s very presence.
And so, as the poet sees his whole world crashing around him, his friends and family either slaughtered or carried away into slavery, as he surveys the smoldering ruins of the Temple, contemplating being abandoned by God for generations, he begins to understand their collective sin and the deserved judgment that has come upon them.
One of the things I deeply treasure about services here at this church are when, at the end of the service, an elder or pastor says something to the effect of: “As we go down from this place…” That is actually a reference to the Temple being on a hill. To leave the Temple is to go down. Except the Temple here is burning. He is at the bottom. There is no further to go down. He may not be the devil descended, but he is truly at the bottom of the pit. And so, the poet begins to understand something that the devil did not, that the heartbreak of it, is that we cooperate in our own demise. We give in. We face temptations every day, a variety of temptations, sometimes just in our own minds, and then, we participate willingly in our sin. “Long is the way, and hard, that leads out of hell…” It is a difficult thing to do, to look at the shambles of my life, the things that make me feel shame and dejection, and to understand that, in fact, it is my own darn fault. “Long is the way, and hard…”
2. What is the Nature of this Hell? (vv. 4-20)
The shame and dejection are only magnified when we contemplate the precise nature of this hell. What? What exactly is it? Verses 4-20 paint such a picture, not only affirming why it has come about, but just how hellish this hell is. Two major characteristics emerge. It is painful and it is public. We could also talk about how it is particular or persistent—“ he turns his hand again and again the whole day long”—but we will stay with just these two.[5]
It is painful. That is, it is described in physical terms. Verse 4: “He has made my flesh and my skin waste away; he has broken my bones.”[6] If this reminds you of Job, that is not an accident. Covered in sores, despised by his family, Job curses the day of this birth.[7] He would rather have never lived than to experience this kind of pain. This theme continues throughout the section. The one that particularly caught my attention is in verse 13: “He drove into my kidneys the arrows of his quiver.”[8] You may think that is a strange way of describing physical pain. Why the kidney? But if you have never had the experience of kidney pain, let me tell you. A few years ago, while visiting South Africa, I had the most pain I have ever felt. Two trips to the emergency room. Four days in the hospital (a really nice hospital, by the way). I remember being told that I was not allowed to lay on the floor while I waited in the ER—and yet, I could not physically bring myself to sit up, it hurt so much. I did not want to die, exactly, but I was very much open to the idea of them taking a surgical knife and cutting out all of my internal organs. And this, it turned out, was a relatively minor kidney infection. This is just one metaphor the poet has chosen to include. Bitterness. Grinding teeth. He is describing pain. The worst pain. All of the pain. Coping with my own sinfulness, being trapped in such a hell, is worse than the worst pain I have ever felt. “Long is the way…”
It is also a public hell. Verse 14: “I have become the laughingstock of all peoples, the object of their taunts all day long.”[9] The bitterness, the brutality of the punishment, the depth of despair, is compounded by the shame it produces. And friends, if I may be so bold to share something personal, I know this hell. I stand before you broken, much more than when I last stood before you… it has been a hard year. My life has changed dramatically in the last twelve months. I have endured shame that included a change of career, a change of location, and other significant changes. And I have had to live with the reality that it has all, in large part, resulted from my own sinful nature. There have been numerous points in which I could agree with the poet: “my soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is… My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the Lord.”[10] I do not know if you have ever had to encounter the devastating consequences, the horror, the disheartening or devastating results, to experience the tragedy of your own sin. But if you have, you know the pain, the public shame of being a sinner.[11] And it is enough to drive us to despair. “Long is the way, and hard, that out of hell...”
3. Is There a Way Out of Hell? (vv.21-24)
But then something happens. Something that still confounds me. It’s like a whisper in the dark. He has confronted his own sin, in the darkness, weeping, feeling the depth of pain, contemplating ending it all, the tears drying on his cheeks, and there is the slightest whisper. “But this I call to mind…” A thought emerges. It is still so quiet, that he has to let the thought take root. “Therefore… I have… hope.”[12]
It is, perhaps, the most audacious thing I have ever read. Hope? He is watching his city burn to the ground and his people be dragged into slavery and he, rightly, accurately, poignantly has described living hell. So, hope? he is mentally ill. He is the worst kind of crazy, delusional, and foolish. But he does not stop. Listen to what he says: “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”[13] It sounds insane. There cannot possibly be an escape from this hell.
Except this: It is the gospel.
Everything the poet has been describing, the long and hard way of hell, the despair of God’s wrath, the torment of knowing that it is deserved, that we bring God’s punishment upon ourselves through our sinful, rebellious, evil ways—it has all been couched in this language of darkness because it is the poet’s way of describing one long, perpetual, heart-breaking, pain-inducing, never-ending, soul-destroying, spirit-crushing, life-ending Friday night.
But as surely as Jesus Christ rose early Sunday morning, so God’s loving mercy is new. And it is new every morning.
Church, I think I am finally ready to tell you my title for this sermon. It is the reality to which I have clung on my darkest of nights, and it is this: Every morning is Sunday morning.
Every morning is Sunday morning. God’s grace, his amazing mercy, overcame death and hell when Jesus came up out of that grave. And that mercy is given to us, according to this poet, every morning. Long may be the way, and hard. But in dying for our sin, and then rising again, Jesus brought us to the light. No matter the sin. Adam and Eve never forgot that first disobedience. Abraham never forgot that wretched disbelief. Moses never forgot losing his temper. Aaron never forgot making that idol. Samson never forgot his disloyalty. David never forgot his adulterous and homicidal ways. Solomon never forgot dilly-dallying in gardens of iniquity. Jonah never forgot running the other direction. And that’s just a few from the Old Testament. Paul never forgot his murderous oppression and Peter never forgot his vicious prejudices. And then, we could contemplate our own sins and return ourselves to the darkness. “Long is the way, and hard.” But, and here is the lesson, the one thing you need to remember today: God’s rightful punishment of his rebellious people is exceeded only by his mercy. That’s the point. God’s rightful punishment of his rebellious people is exceeded only by his mercy. And that mercy, show up every morning. Paul picks up on this language in his letter to the Ephesians: “But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus…”[14] God’s rightful punishment of his rebellious people is exceeded only by his mercy. Every morning is Sunday morning.
Now, I need to pause for a moment and clarify something very important. I have made several references to the concept journey already. “Long is the way, and hard, that leads from hell to light.” And I realize that today we are remembering the Middle Passage. I want to clarify at this point, lest you think I am making connections that I do not intend to make. Africa, is not hell. I have been in several countries on that continent on several trips, and I can assure you, it is not hell. And, further, this may come as a shock to some of you, America is not heaven. Do not misunderstand me, I love my country. We all just need to be a little more nuanced in recognizing that both Africa and America are complicated places. I am also not saying that enslaving people and transporting them across an ocean in shamefully brutal ways was, in any way, necessary for the gospel to spread amongst Africans. The institution of slavery was brutal, and, without doubt or reservation, shameful. So, if we are to draw a connection it is this: I can think of only one enslavement worse, and I can only think of one journey more brutal. Enslavement to sin and the journey to and from hell that Jesus took, so that we may escape hell and come to the light. Every morning is Sunday morning.
Conclusion
As I begin to close, I want to ask one final question of the text. What are we to do? If every night is Friday night, and every morning is Sunday morning, rich with God’s new mercies, what are we to do with this? I think the answer has to be this simple. Wake up. Two words. Wake up. Wake the heck up. Some of you may not have experienced a dark night recently. You may be perfectly happy. And if so, you may even feel like listening to the last twenty-five minutes has been a waste of your time. But I hope you paid attention, just in case sometime you do experience a dark time and have to confront your own sin. My guess is: That is something that probably needs to happen anyway.
For the rest of us, however, the night will not overcome us.[15] In Christ Jesus, we have the beautiful privilege to wake up. I know I do not deserve to make it through the dark night. As Milton said, “Long is the way, and hard…” Yet, as the Psalmist says: “Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”[16] As the evangelist says, “In him [that is, Christ] was life, and the life was the light of men.”[17] As the poet this morning says, the “steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning...”
And as the great hymn writer adds:
Great is thy faithfulness,
Great is thy faithfulness,
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed thy hand hast provided;
Great is thy faithfulness,
Lord unto me.[18]
Let me pray: Heavenly Father, great is your faithfulness, great is your mercy. May we rise each day, leaving the hell of our sin behind, that we walk in the light of your love. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.
[1] John Milton, Paradise Lost (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 16.
[2] Lam 3:1-3.
[3] Ps 23:4.
[4] Isa 39:5-6.
[5] Lam 3:3.
[6] Lam 3:4.
[7] See Job 2:7-10, 3:1, 19:20-26.
[8] Lam 3:13.
[9] Lam 3:14.
[10] Lam 3:17-18.
[11] I think the passage also unearths other characteristics of this hell, including that it is also a particular hell. “He has walled me about so that I cannot escape… though I call and cry for help, he shuts out my prayer… he has made my paths crooked.” Lam 3:7-9. This is targeted. It is not for anyone else. I am not getting caught up in a general punishment for a depraved culture. This is individualized. And it is certain. “He is a bear lying in wait for me, a lion in hiding.” Lam 3:10. God has surveyed my sin and punishes me accordingly. It is calculated and designed. It is for me to learn. And this becomes even clearer in the following verses, because this hell is on display for the world to see.
[12] Lam 3:21.
[13] Lam 3:22-23.
[14] Eph 2:4-6.
[15] John 1:5.
[16] Ps 30:5.
[17] John 1:4.
[18] Thomas O. Chisholm, “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” (1923).