Dig It Up

Lamentations 4:1-6

November 17, 2024 • Mount Pleasant UMC

If you ever go with me to Israel (which won’t happen again until they stop shooting at each other), you should be prepared to look at a lot of rocks. That sounds exciting, huh? It’s just that when we visit the Holy Land, there are two choices for the trip. You can visit a lot of beautiful churches that have been built over the centuries to commemorate Biblical events. Or you can go to the actual sites and see where things most likely happened, what has been uncovered and learn a bit about how people lived in those days. You can probably guess which trip I do, and I do it because I love archaeology. I love trying to understand the past and especially envisioning how different life was then than it is now. I have found that walking in the actual places gives a breadth and depth to the Biblical story that you just can’t get any other way. One of the places we go on that journey is the excavation outside the walls of the Temple Mount. There are still stones there that were thrown down when the Temple was destroyed in the year 70 AD. It’s always sobering to realize that when Jesus walked there, those stones were part of the wall. Now they are laying on the ground, evidence of the destruction that happened there nearly two thousand years ago.

The poet of Lamentations is taking a similar journey in chapter 4, dealing with the destruction of Jerusalem and, more to the point, the Temple in the year 587 BC. The streets, built to be full of commerce and conversation, are empty, filled only with rubble and smoke, rocks and broken things. Jerusalem is a ghost town, and as we’ve seen over the the last few weeks, the poet is brokenhearted over his beloved city and especially over the ruined Temple (cf. Guest, Communicator’s Commentary: Jeremiah, Lamentations, pg. 382). His cry over the city in this chapter is focused on things that ask for our deepest allegiance. He’s crying over the loss of sacred things.

We cannot overstate the importance of the Temple in ancient Judaism. Jerusalem had been a wide spot in the road until David chose it for his capital (cf. Goldingay, Lamentations & Ezekiel for Everyone, pg. 27). It really wasn’t on the way to anywhere and had no real strategic value. But David chose it because it sat on top of a hill, a good choice because its location made it difficult for anyone to attack. If you’re the enemy and you’re at the bottom of the hill, shooting your arrows up is a lot harder than the men of Jerusalem shooting their arrows down at you. And so when David chose this city, Jerusalem suddenly became important. It became the “center of the world” in Jewish eyes, and if the city was central, the center of that center was the Temple, built not by David but by his son Solomon. It was a gorgeous building by all accounts, but more important than the building itself was what it represented. The Temple was said to be the dwelling place of God, and because of that, there developed this belief that it could not, would not be destroyed. I mean, what kind of God would allow his own house to be destroyed?

This kind of God does. Our God does. There is an amazing scene in the book of Ezekiel where the prophet is at the Temple, and he sees all sorts of fantastic stuff that we don’t have time to go into this morning. But most significantly he sees this: “Then the glory of the Lord departed from over the threshold of the temple…” (Ezekiel 10:18). Ezekiel watches as the “glory” rises up out of the Temple, goes to the exit and leaves. The Temple was no longer God’s dwelling place because the people had chosen to follow other gods. God does not stay where he is not wanted, and even though they were still going through the motions of doing the Temple things, their hearts were no longer with the God of the universe. And so God left. And the Temple and the city that it was said could never be destroyed…was destroyed.

So at the beginning of chapter 4, the poet sees all the things that once made up the Temple laying on the ground: “How the gold has lost its luster,” he says, “the fine gold become dull! The sacred gems are scattered at every street corner” (4:1). Imagine walking through the streets of Terre Haute and seeing over there, the steeple from Mount Pleasant’s building. On the other side of the street at the antique shop, the stained glass windows. And shattered on the sidewalk, the communion chalices and plates that we’ve used here for so many years. Imagine what that would feel like. Yes, we know the church is not the building, but there is still an emotional connection to the physical reminders of our faith. That’s what the poet is experiencing, and he’s realizing again how deeply the people have sinned. He’s seeing how they have trusted in everything except the only one who can be trusted. Maybe they didn’t have little golden statues, maybe they still showed up every week for Temple worship, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t have idols, other objects of worship, in their lives. And maybe that might be true of us as well.

Idols get deep in our soul and in our lives. Most of the time, I believe, we don’t even realize such things have become idols; we worship them without thinking about it. And while we think of an idol most often as a little statue, in reality an idol is anything that takes the place of God, anything that demands and receives our full attention and acceptance. It might be a lifestyle or a physical thing or a way of life or even another person. And we might not say we “worship” those things, but when we give them unlimited attention and allegiance because of what they promise to give us—well, that’s worship. So how do you know if something has become an idol? Well, “the true test of idolatry is our response to its loss” (Vroegop, Dark Clouds Deep Mercy, pg. 124). In other words, if you were to lose that thing, would you become sad or would you despair? If losing that thing “breaks your spirit,” it has become an idol. To get rid of that thing that has gotten deep down in our soul, we have to dig it up. We have to dig down into our lives, figure out how it is controlling us, and find a way to get rid of it.

So Lamentations 4 discloses five idols that controlled the people then and, I believe, still control a lot of us now. These are things that still get deep into our lives, sometimes without us even realizing it. So the first thing the poet focuses on is the idol of financial security, the idol of wealth (cf. Vroegop 125-127). In the very first verse of this poem, he talks about Jerusalem’s reliance upon “gold” and “sacred jewels” (cf. 4:1). The Temple had been covered with gold, gleaming in the Middle Eastern sunlight. Undoubtedly, you could see it from a long way away. The city had become wealthy under Solomon, and everything used in their worship rituals was made from precious stones. If money brings power, Jerusalem had both.

Money brings security. It brings identity. It creates options. Look at the way we put it in the center of everything today. How much conversation was there about money in the just-passed election cycle? About which candidate was raising more this week? Just in ads alone (and I know you miss seeing those political ads everywhere) candidates spent $11 billion, a new record and $2 billion more than in 2020. And there are other ways we put money and stuff at the center of everything. Last year, as a nation we spent $12.2 billion on Halloween candy and decorations, and it’s expected we will spend $989 billion this year for Christmas. We are taught to buy now and pay later, and by doing so we have racked up $17.3 trillion in household debt. No wonder we have such trouble giving. Every year I preach about tithing, about giving ten percent of our income, and the debates I hear are about whether that’s on gross or net income. That’s what we wonder about while holding tightly onto what we have. We don’t tithe, pure and simple. Today, the average giver gives 2.5% of their income, a far cry from a tithe. Money is an idol in so many ways.

Want to know how tight a hold money has on your soul? Try living without any. Or try living not knowing where your next income is coming from. I have a friend who lives like that. He has no steady income and simply trusts that whatever he needs, God will supply. And I look at his life and say, “No way. There’s no way I could do that.” But you know what? He doesn't go without. He tells me he doesn’t have everything he wants, but as he has learned to trust he has found he wants less. He’s lived for many years like that, and his life tells me that money has a grip on my soul. It’s an idol for me, and maybe it is for you.

Another idol the poet deals with is the idol of people (4:2-5, 20). Verse 2: “How the precious children of Zion, once worth their weight in gold, are now considered as pots of clay, the work of a potter’s hands!” Clay pots are easily broken, just like the culture. People have been deported, the wealthy are sorting through the ash heaps, children are begging for bread, and the leaders are unrecognizable (4:8-9). Even the king has been brutalized, which we learn from Jeremiah (cf. 39:1-10). What happened to him was particularly awful. He was caught trying to flee the city, arrested, and then he had to watch as his children were killed just before his eyes were gouged out. Then he was deported to Babylon. Any hope the poet had in people, and particularly in the leaders of the people, is gone and the limitations of people are on full display. People cannot save them. Or us.

There is a relational gap in our soul, and while we were made for community and we do need each other, another person can never bring complete healing to the wounds in our soul. Philosopher Blaise Pascal put it this way: “There is a God-shaped vacuum in the heart of every [person] which cannot be filled by any created thing, but only by God the Creator, made known through Jesus Christ.” A friend can help us through a tough time, a spouse can support us through a life-threatening illness and a church family can walk with us when questions arise, but only God can bring ultimate healing to our deepest longings and needs.  As one author puts it, “Try to occupy that space in someone else’s heart, and you’ll be frustrated. Treating other people or ourselves like saviors is a subtle form of idolatry because our trust should rest in God alone” (Vroegop 129).

Then there’s the idol of comfort, which is where I think I quit preaching and go to meddling (4:3-9). We love our comfort; if something is uncomfortable either physically or mentally, as a culture we’ll just refuse to do it. We make lifestyle choices based on what feels good and when we’re in a hard place, we crave comfort food. I don’t know what the people of Jerusalem craved or what their comfort looked like, but the poet gives us a vivid description of the discomfort of the ruins. He calls the people “heartless” and that is in the context of mothers refusing to feed their babies; even the jackals do that he says. Children are starving; they are begging for bread and no one is helping them. “Those killed by the sword are better off than those who die of famine,” he says, and the worst is yet to come. In verse 10 there is this horrific image of mothers cooking and eating their own children (cf. Goldingay 27), and the poet comes to this conclusion: “My people were destroyed” (4:10). Comfort is gone; all that is left is the so-called “survival of the fittest.”

Every time an election comes around, we see our worship of comfort on full display. Every candidate wants you to believe that you’ll be better off and your life will be more comfortable if you vote for them. We’ve embraced the American dream of manicured lawns and quiet lives while all around us the world is falling apart. Do we see the destruction happening in our morality, our sense of justice, our awareness of right and wrong? Comfort becomes an idol when it becomes the highest goal, when our hope for life is to get to a place where we can play golf and just put our feet up at the end of the day. In the poet’s day, comfort was gone and the people’s sense of compassion, care and concern had crumbled.

Next, the poet turns his eye toward the people again, but this time he focuses on a different sort of person. He gives witness to the idol of spiritual leaders (4:13-16). Now, this one is going to hit close to home at least for me, as you might imagine, but it is certainly one we see each and every day. Certain preachers and authors are put on a pedestal as if they have a better, stronger connection to God. And when they mess up, the fall is spectacular. We’ve seen it with the abuse scandals that rocked the Roman Catholic Church, and while it was easy for people to throw stones at such a huge institution, the reality is that the problem is just as widespread among Protestants. We’re just more spread out and harder to target. Regardless of a person’s leadership position, it’s always dangerous to put our hope in a human being.

The poet saw how this had happened in Jerusalem. The priests and other official religious leaders were complicit in the decline of the city and the nation. They had led the people in such a way that they benefitted and the people were not moved closer to God. The prophets of the time over and over again chastised the spiritual leaders for filling their own coffers rather than pointing the people toward God. And so now, we’re told, they are reaping the consequences of their “spiritual apathy” (Vroegop 133). They are “wandering, blind, isolated and defiled” and the people are calling them “unclean” as if they have a skin disease like leprosy (cf. Vroegop 132). Leadership failure at any level is heartbreaking, but there’s something about when a hero of the faith falls that goes above and beyond. When we put our trust in any human being, no matter how spiritual we think they are, we will always be disappointed.

And then there’s a final idol the poet confronts: the idol of God’s “blessing” (4:18). Jerusalem had believed they were blessed, the chosen of God, and that they could not be destroyed or harmed. Not only was the city defended by their location, they believed any attack would be repelled by the power of God. They were blessed. But Lamentations has made it clear that the destruction that happened was from God; this was an act of discipline for the people who had failed to obey. He even says in this chapter that their punishment was greater than Sodom (4:6), which had been destroyed because of their sin (Guest 383). At least Sodom was destroyed in an instant; Jerusalem’s suffering is prolonged and painful. God’s blessing did not protect them, and they’re wondering what it all means.

We’re very quick to claim God’s blessing when things are going well for us. When we have everything we think we want, or when the music is good, or when we receive that unexpected check in the mail, or even when we get a parking spot close to the store—we’re blessed! God is with us! But what happens when the rug is pulled out from under us? What happens when there is too much month at the end of the money or when the cancer shows up or when there is stress and strain in our family relationships? What happens when the clouds gather? Are we still blessed? Or is God’s blessing only something we feel or experience when life is good? Sometimes I think we forget that we worship a savior who was, in the words of the prophet Isaiah, “despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain” (53:3). We forget we serve a Lord who was beaten beyond recognition and nailed to a Roman cross. Was Jesus blessed? Not if you apply Deuteronomy 21:23 to him: “Anyone who is hung on a pole is under God’s curse” it says. Is it possible we have a misguided idolatrous definition of blessing? The people of Jerusalem certainly did, and the destruction of the city challenged all of their idols and all of the things they had trusted in.

If any of these idols sound familiar, uncomfortably so, it’s time to push down deep into your soul and dig them up by the roots. I don’t know any of us that want to experience that kind of destruction that this poet is talking about to be forced to confront our idols. It’s better to do it now. But let me skip to the end of the chapter, where the poet offers a final word of sorts. Verse 22: “Your punishment will end, Daughter Zion; he will not prolong your exile. But he will punish your sin, Daughter Edom, and expose your wickedness.” Yes, the poet says, you sin has to be dealt with. But here’s the good news: exile will not last forever. Destruction is not the last word. God will not prolong the punishment any longer than is absolutely necessary to purify his people. Yes, it may be painful, but the correction is part of God’s blessing. The toppling of our idols brings healing to our souls and draws us closer to God. Here’s how one author describes it in words better than I can come up with: “When pain topples our idols, lament invites self-examination. We can see more clearly the misplaced objects of trust that surface when the layers are peeled back. Pain helps us to see who we are and what we love” (Vroegop 136).

So what idols need to be dug up in your life today? We all have them because it’s so easy to misplace our trust. Healing can come but we have to be willing to do the work, to dig up the idols and leave them behind, the place our trust in God alone. We can learn from the experience of the poet. The question is: will we? Let’s pray.