Our longings and desires for release from trials and suffering point us to the hope of the gospel, an anchor for us in the storms that will inevitably come crashing in….God will not let you go. He knows your name, He knows your pain, and He promises to bring you home.
Jewish tradition holds that the temple of Solomon was destroyed in 586 BC by the Babylonians on Tisha b’Av (the ninth day of the Jewish month of Av). Interestingly, the tradition also holds that the temple of Herod was destroyed on the same day in AD 70 by the Romans. In Judaism, it is considered the saddest day possible. It brought to an end the temple as a central Jewish institution. Thus, the book of Lamentations is read each year during the fast on Tisha b’Av. That book comprises five acrostic poems, with the twenty-two verses of each chapter beginning with the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet in order. The central third chapter triples this, with the same letter beginning every set of three verses. The content laments the fall of the temple.
Of course, these events were crushing blows to Judaism. But Christians find hope as a bookend on either side of the most famous verses in Lamentations. The writer, presumably Jeremiah the prophet, expresses hope in Lamentations 3:21–24 with verses 22–23 containing these familiar words:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
After two and a half chapters of heartbreaking lament, Jeremiah, seeming to pause, says: “But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope” (v. 21). In the face of blinding and profound loss and grief, the prophet can find hope in the promises of God’s never-ending steadfast love and mercy. He remembered, perhaps, that just as the Israelites saw daily reminders of God’s faithfulness in the wilderness through manna, we can find daily hope in God’s promises. In our undeserving sinfulness, God still says, “I have called you by name, you are mine” (Isa. 43:1). So Jeremiah concludes, saying, “‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘therefore I will hope in him’” (Lam. 3:24).
“The Lord is my portion.” This means that in some real, meaningful sense, we have all that we need in Christ. And this sounds like foolishness to the unbelieving world. In my travels and experience, the most content people I have ever met seem, in the world’s eyes, to be the most desperately needy people you might imagine.
Years ago, I traveled to Ghana, West Africa, with Joni and Friends’ mission outreach, Wheels for the World. We regularly saw disabled people, victims of polio, who walked with sandals on their hands, dragging withered limbs behind them. One night, our group was taken to visit a group of these homeless disabled people, living in cardboard boxes down a small, dark side street. As we approached, we realized that they were singing hymns of praise to God. Their simple testimony was “When Jesus is all you have, you know that Jesus is all you need.” The Lord was their portion, and they were expressing an exuberant, joyful, overflowing hope in Christ.
Christian faith has often been embraced by the poor and marginalized but rejected by the elite, powerful, and popular. Paul said:
Consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. (1 Cor. 1:26–29)
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