Learning to Lament (Part 5): The Place of Hope

Take some time to read Lamentations 3:1–39 before continuing with the post below.

I have said the difference between crying, which is human, and lamenting, which is Christian, is that crying is without hope, whereas lament is hopeful. Lament is prayer. It is directed toward God. It turns to the one from whom our help comes (Psalm 121). It is not helpless. Lament prays because there is hope. The big difference, therefore, between crying and lamenting, is hope. As we learn to lament, therefore, we must learn to be hopeful.

“We do not grieve as others do, as those who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13). Yes, Christians grieve, but not without hope. Here are four things to understand about hope as we learn to lament.

If we are realistic and honest, as described in the two previous articles, we must admit that our level of hope fluctuates. Sometimes, we are very hopeful; sometimes, not so much; and sometimes, we even feel hopeless. Even while we may be hopeful about eternity, the situations and circumstances here and now cause us to be less than hopeful in the present.

Consider the fluctuations in Jeremiah’s hope. In Lamentations 3:18, he has lost hope—and no wonder, considering the situation described in vv. 1–17.  In v. 21, he has regained hope, or is in the process of regaining it. In v. 24, he makes a determined decision to hope, and, in v. 29, he is again questioning hope. Notice that there isn’t a neat progression from lost hope to regained hope. It does not move from lost hope to questioned hope, to intentional hope, and finally arriving at regained hope. It’s more like a rollercoaster ride. He goes from lost hope to regained hope, to intentional hope, and then to questioned hope.

That is the way life happens. Situations and circumstances change, things happen, and our hope fluctuates accordingly. So take heart wherever you are on that roller coaster. Don’t let moralistic triumphalists make you feel guilty if you are not at the peak. Work toward the peak by remembering these next points.

Unlike unbelievers, who have no hope beyond this life, and therefore in the face of death that can strike at any moment, have no actual hope, we have a sure hope, an eternal future. That hope, according to 1 Thessalonians 4, is rooted in the past (v. 14) (in the death and resurrection of our Lord); is assured for the future (vv. 14b–16) (the day of his return); includes all Christians (dead or alive) (vv. 14b–15); is assured for eternity (v. 17); and is glorious (v. 16) (cf. 1Corinthians 15:49–53; Revelation 21).

This hope is not limited to the Lord’s return. Should my earthly life end right now, I have a future: “absent from the body“ and “present with the Lord“ (2Corinthians 5:8). Christian hope is the glorious hope of being in the presence of the Lord when this life is done.

Paul Tripp, commenting on 1 Peter 1:3-6, writes, “Peter cannot think about today’s suffering (and grief) without looking at it from the perspective of an eternity tomorrow.… Peter is saying that what is coming is a critical lens for understanding our present painful experiences. When we put on these gospel glasses, we indeed will experience ‘living hope.’” That leads to the third thing about hope in lamenting.

Lamentations 3:21 expresses a present hope: “I have hope.” He had regained hope after having lost it in v. 18. In vv. 19–20, he is still suffering and depressed. His soul is bowed down within him, and yet, in that state, calls “this” to mind, and his hope is restored and is present.

What is the “this” that he calls to mind? In the context of Lamentations (i.e. the destruction of Jerusalem in 586 BC), we would expect it to be some future promise, a future hope for Jerusalem, such as is Isaiah 65:17–19. We may expect it to be the future prophecy given to him in (Jeremiah 25:10–11). But no! What he calls to mind is Lamentation 3:22–24a, which causes him to be determined in his hope (v. 24b).

In the scrambled egg of vv. 16-20, his hope is found, not in the promises for the future, but in the here and now of God’s faithfulness, love, mercies (v. 22), goodness (v. 25; cf. vv. 31–33), and sovereignty (vv. 37–39).

Most important of all is that his present hope is found in the Lord’s presence, here and now (v. 24a). In times of trouble, having a present hope is essential. We may not “feel” it, but we do have such a hope.  “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling” (Psalm 46:1–3). “Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fails, and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD; I will take joy in the God of my salvation. GOD, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the deer’s; he makes me tread on my high places” (Habakkuk 3:17–19).

All of this is true because, in the final analysis, our hope is Christian.

How does Jeremiah get from v. 18 (“My future is lost, as well as my hope from the LORD”) and v. 29 (“perhaps there is still hope”) to vv. 22–25 and vv. 31–33? How does he do it with such certainty? How does he get from vv. 15–17 to vv. 22–23? How does he get from v. 16 to vv. 23–25, and from v. 32a to v. 32b? Only through the Lord Jesus Christ.

Although speaking then more than he knew, Jeremiah was speaking of Christ. Who better fits the descriptions of Lamentations 1:12 and 3:1, 8, 13–15, 30? At the cross, Christ suffered beyond description, so that, in him, we may receive the grace, mercy, and compassion of God, so that we can echo the words of Paul in Romans 8:31–39.

As we learn to lament, to turn to God through Christ our Lord, to complain, to grieve, to repent, to ask, and to trust, let us do so realistically, honestly, and hopefully, finding our hope in Christ alone.

I personally can never sing “from life’s first cry to final breath, Jesus commands my destiny” without lamenting. It takes me back to when I was present at my son Clifford’s birth and to when I came upon the scene of his death, his car crushed under the concrete mixer. It takes me to the magistrate’s office where I sat with his birth certificate in one hand and his death certificate in the other. I lament each time we sing those words, but I do so in hope: hope for Clifford and hope for me. It is the hope of:

Learn to lament with hope in him.