New Every Morning

“But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” – Lamentations 3:21-24

I am not a morning person. I don’t wake up feeling happy, or hopeful. Dave has learned to not attempt much conversation before 10 A.M. Mornings these days, as I wake to the sounds of the kids stirring outside, tend to be when I feel the weight of all I’m called to do press down upon me. I often don’t feel up to the task of loving the people around me, cooking and cleaning, doing it all at home on and on for as far as the eye can see. Things sometimes look up from there, but mornings are the bleakest.

These verses really mean something, occurring where they do. They are the only hopeful words in the entire book of Lamentations. This is perhaps one of the most significant but’s in the Bible. This is a person in sorrow intentionally recalling hope to mind. Hope is not just something we feel. It’s something that results from what we intentionally think on. And what he recalls to mind is a God whose love and mercies are new every morning.

There is something in that, isn’t there? The sun rises every morning, without fail (I once read a fascinating science-fiction novel called The Three Body Problem which made me realize I shouldn’t take that for granted). There has never been a morning in my entire life when the sun has not risen. That is what God’s love and mercy are like. They never fail. They arrive anew each day. And through his mercy, we can “allow God to love our people through us.” As Nouwen writes:

“I remember how Thomas Merton once wrote: ‘God is mercy in mercy in mercy.’ This means that the more we come to know ourselves, the more we come to know God’s mercy, which is beyond the mercy we know. Letting go of the desire to be perfect lovers, and allowing God to love our people through us, that is the great spiritual call that is given to you and to me. There in the pure heart of God, embraced by his unconditional love, you will find the true joy and peace your heart is longing for.”

Lament

“How lonely was the city that was full of people!” – Lamentations 1:1

Living as close to the church building as we do, we often pass by it during our walks, standing empty. I know there are good things happening right now as we connect in other ways. I firmly believe in God’s sovereignty. But there is still something in me that, staring at that empty building, feels the wrongness and sadness of it all. 

The opening words of Lamentations say it all. Yes, how lonely is the place that was full of people. Right here, in the Bible, sit five chapters of nothing but lament. Lament is when we bring our sorrow to God. Lament is when we pray our pain. Lament is a form of protest. It is a way to process emotion. It is a place to voice confusion. It gives dignity to suffering. We are not to suffer in silence. It is okay to acknowledge our emotions.

And yet, the book of Lamentations is not mere emotional outburst. Most of it is an acrostic poem, each verse or verses beginning with the next letter of the Hebrew alphabet. Perhaps this is a spelling out of the full expression of the author’s sorrow, going from A to Z. Perhaps it is to provide an ordered, linear structure that contrasts with the disordered chaos of pain and grief. Despite the structure, emotion is there. The author moves rapidly between topics, as if in active turmoil. The last chapter is not acrostic at all.

We all need to read Lamentations because we all need to learn to lament. We too easily either deny and suppress our emotions, or spiral with them into bitterness, complaints, and anger against God. Lament is something different. It is a language we need to learn, a space we need to be familiar with, personally and corporately. If we’re in grief, we need examples of how to be heartfelt and honest with God about it. If we’re not, we need to learn how to see and be present in the suffering of others. Lamentations 1:12 says, “Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow.” Look, and listen, and see.

Alphabet Acrostics

“I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.” – Psalm 34:1

In the Hebrew, every verse of Psalm 34 begins with a successive letter of the Hebrew alphabet, in order from first (aleph) to last (taw), making it an acrostic poem. The Hebrew alphabet consists of 22 consonants, written from right to left. There are several passages in the Old Testament that are alphabetically acrostic:

Psalm 9-10 together: 2 verses per Hebrew letter

Psalm 25: 1 verse per Hebrew letter

Psalm 34: 1 verse per Hebrew letter

Psalm 37: 2 verses per Hebrew letter

Psalm 111: ½ verse per Hebrew letter

Psalm 112: ½ verse per Hebrew letter

Psalm 119: 8 verses per Hebrew letter

Psalm 145: 1 verse per Hebrew letter

Lamentations 1-2: 1 verse per Hebrew letter

Lamentations 3: 3 verses per Hebrew letter

Lamentations 4: 2 verses per Hebrew letter

Proverbs 31:10-31: 1 verse per Hebrew letter

Nahum 1:1-9: 2-3 verses per Hebrew letter

What is the significance of this? It can point to completion and wholeness (from A to Z, so to speak)—the idea that the poet is fully exploring the topic, or that God wholly reflects the subject. It can be, and perhaps was, a helpful mnemonic device, which is interesting to reflect on. We don’t often approach Scripture as content to be memorized, but perhaps it’s worth exploring more seriously ourselves. Kathy Keller writes about memorizing Psalm 34 during a period of suffering. The acrostic structure also points to a sense of well-defined order. It sets boundaries and confines that causes the poet to limit himself, that allows him to showcase his skills. 

Most of all, though, the acrostic structure adds a certain auditory and visual beauty to the entire text. There is a kind of order, progression, and fullness that comes from hearing and seeing each letter enumerated upon, knowing which one is next, knowing when the ending is coming. Perhaps there is some nuance of meaning added when you know a particular word was chosen for its starting sound. There’s a kind of cognitive beauty to it, like a puzzle put together. There’s an implicit love for the Hebrew language, for how God literally inhabits every letter in the mouths of his people. Our English translations convey meaning, but they aren’t always able to fully convey the full poetic impact of the text, so it’s good to read with at least a background awareness of the hidden beauty within it.