She cries herself to sleep each night, tears soaking her pillow. No one’s left among her lovers to sit and hold her hand. Her friends have all dumped her.

After years of pain and hard labor, Judah has gone into exile. She camps out among the nations, never feels at home. Hunted by all, she’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Zion’s roads weep, empty of pilgrims headed to the feasts. All her city gates are deserted, her priests in despair. Her virgins are sad. How bitter her fate.

All beauty has drained from Daughter Zion’s face. Her princes are like deer famished for food, chased to exhaustion by hunters.

Jerusalem, who outsinned the whole world, is an outcast. All who admired her despise her now that they see beneath the surface. Miserable, she groans and turns away in shame.

The enemy reached out to take all her favorite things. She watched as pagans barged into her Sanctuary, those very people for whom you posted orders: keep out: this assembly off-limits.

All the people groaned, so desperate for food, so desperate to stay alive that they bartered their favorite things for a bit of breakfast: “O God, look at me! Worthless, cheap, abject!

“He struck me with lightning, skewered me from head to foot, then he set traps all around so I could hardly move. He left me with nothing—left me sick, and sick of living.

“For all this I weep, weep buckets of tears, and not a soul within miles around cares for my soul. My children are wasted, my enemy got his way.”

“God has right on his side. I’m the one who did wrong. Listen everybody! Look at what I’m going through! My fair young women, my fine young men, all herded into exile!

“Take a good look at their evil ways and give it to them! Give them what you gave me for my sins. Groaning in pain, body and soul, I’ve had all I can take.”

The Master became the enemy. He had Israel for supper. He chewed up and spit out all the defenses. He left Daughter Judah moaning and groaning.

Her city gates, iron bars and all, disappeared in the rubble: her kings and princes off to exile—no one left to instruct or lead; her prophets useless—they neither saw nor heard anything from God.

My eyes are blind with tears, my stomach in a knot. My insides have turned to jelly over my people’s fate. Babies and children are fainting all over the place,

Your prophets courted you with sweet talk. They didn’t face you with your sin so that you could repent. Their sermons were all wishful thinking, deceptive illusions.

God did carry out, item by item, exactly what he said he’d do. He always said he’d do this. Now he’s done it—torn the place down. He’s let your enemies walk all over you, declared them world champions!

It’s a Good Thing to Hope for Help from God

I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness, the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed. I remember it all—oh, how well I remember— the feeling of hitting the bottom. But there’s one other thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:

God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over). He’s all I’ve got left.

“Enemies with no reason to be enemies hunted me down like a bird. They threw me into a pit, then pelted me with stones. Then the rains came and filled the pit. The water rose over my head. I said, ‘It’s all over.’

“I called out your name, O God, called from the bottom of the pit. You listened when I called out, ‘Don’t shut your ears! Get me out of here! Save me!’ You came close when I called out. You said, ‘It’s going to be all right.’

Waking Up with Nothing

Oh, oh, oh . . .  How gold is treated like dirt, the finest gold thrown out with the garbage, Priceless jewels scattered all over, jewels loose in the gutters.

God let all his anger loose, held nothing back. He poured out his raging wrath. He set a fire in Zion that burned it to the ground.

And that’s it for you, Zion. The punishment’s complete. You won’t have to go through this exile again. But Edom, your time is coming: He’ll punish your evil life, put all your sins on display.

Give Us a Fresh Start

“Remember, God, all we’ve been through. Study our plight, the black mark we’ve made in history. Our precious land has been given to outsiders, our homes to strangers. Orphans we are, not a father in sight, and our mothers no better than widows. We have to pay to drink our own water. Even our firewood comes at a price. We’re nothing but slaves, bullied and bowed, worn out and without any rest. We sold ourselves to Assyria and Egypt just to get something to eat. Our parents sinned and are no more, and now we’re paying for the wrongs they did. Slaves rule over us; there’s no escape from their grip. We risk our lives to gather food in the bandit-infested desert. Our skin has turned black as an oven, dried out like old leather from the famine. Our wives were raped in the streets in Zion, and our virgins in the cities of Judah. They hanged our princes by their hands, dishonored our elders. Strapping young men were put to women’s work, mere boys forced to do men’s work. The city gate is empty of wise elders. Music from the young is heard no more. All the joy is gone from our hearts. Our dances have turned into dirges. The crown of glory has toppled from our head. Woe! Woe! Would that we’d never sinned! Because of all this we’re heartsick; we can’t see through the tears. On Mount Zion, wrecked and ruined, jackals pace and prowl. And yet, God, you’re sovereign still, your throne intact and eternal. So why do you keep forgetting us? Why dump us and leave us like this? Bring us back to you, God—we’re ready to come back. Give us a fresh start. As it is, you’ve cruelly disowned us. You’ve been so very angry with us.”