Remember thou mine affliction and my wandering, the wormwood and the gall.
Jeremiah has cried until he can cry no more. Now he lays the whole bitter account before God. Verse 19 is where the lament turns. The memory that crushed him becomes the ground of his hope.
Commentators mark this verse as the point where the whole poem changes direction.
Yet there is the very point of change. From verse 19 he spreads everything out before Jehovah, and asks Him to remember it. His soul is utterly crushed, and from there he begins to gain confidence: "But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope" (v. 21). It is not Christ Himself, but certainly the Spirit of Christ leading on an afflicted and broken heart.
(Older translations read "Remembering my affliction and my misery." The ESV reads it as an appeal: "Remember my affliction and my wanderings." Either way, the prophet brings his sorrow to God.)
The word gall names a bitter plant, and Scripture uses it as a picture of bitterness.
Gall (Hebrew rosh) is some very bitter or poisonous plant, not identified for certain. The word is used as a symbol of bitterness. To turn to idolatry was like "a root that bears gall and wormwood" (Deut. 29:18). God gave His people water of gall to drink as His judgement (Jer. 9:15). Gall was also mixed with the sour wine, or vinegar, that the Roman soldiers drank. They gave it to men about to be crucified — to make them less sensitive to the torture, it is now thought. It was offered to the Lord, but He refused it (Ps. 69:21; Matt. 27:34).
The prophet had real enemies. Yet he does not name them as the source of what he suffers.
The prophet does not blame the people and their leaders for all the persecution he suffered. Instead, he receives it from the hand of God, and says: "I am the man who has seen affliction under the rod of His wrath." He recalls the years spent in the darkness of prison (v.2,6) and the loss of freedom (v.7,9). He remembers the torture that broke his bones (v.4). He calls to mind how they mocked him… all was affliction, wormwood, and gall.
That is also why the affliction cuts deeper and holds him up at the same time.
The prophet carried in his own heart the deep grief of what Jehovah had brought upon Jerusalem. But he felt it as one who knew God to be his God… He suffered with Jerusalem, and he suffered for Jerusalem. This true relationship with Jehovah made him feel the affliction more deeply, yet it also held him up (v. 22)… It is right that an affliction like this should be felt. The only harm is when we let it weaken our confidence in the Lord.
This remembering is not brooding. It is a man reasoning clearly at last.
He can do no more. His cries and struggles cease, and with a humbled heart he dwells on his experience, remembering his affliction and misery, the wormwood and the gall… This prophet was a stricken man, and a stricken man is a disillusioned man. A disillusioned man is more likely to reason rightly than one who lives in dreams. As he remembered and reasoned, he reached his conclusion and found the answer to the great problem. Then he lifted his long-bowed head and cried, "Therefore I have hope."
Commentators see in this suffering man a picture of Christ, whose suffering went far deeper.
The prophet speaks of himself as a man smitten by the rod of God's wrath. He had not deserved that wrath. It has come upon a sinful people, but he identifies himself with them. What, then, must the suffering of our Lord have been, when at the close of His blessed life He suffered and died the death of the cross!… He speaks of "the wormwood and the gall" (verse 19).
At the cross Christ refused the drink that would have dulled His pain.
He would bear His sufferings without that drink, in full consciousness of everything involved — not only what men inflicted on Him, but the far deeper suffering of being made a curse of God.
Every trial leaves something behind.
No trial ever visits a heart without bringing an experience with it. Everything depends on what that experience is: the bitterness and resentment of an unsubdued will; the indifference of a proud and unbroken heart; or the sustaining mercies and compassion of the Lord. It must be one of these three. If it is the last — which is always the experience of the humbled and contrite spirit — then the way is opened for hope to enter, not as a visitor only, but to stay as a most blessed companion.
- Remember. The verse is the hinge. Here the prophet stops sinking and spreads his misery out before God.
- Bitterness. Gall is a bitter, poisonous plant and a symbol of bitterness. It was also the drink offered to the crucified.
- God's hand. He does not blame his persecutors. He takes it all from God's hand, and that deepens the pain and holds him up.
- Reasoning. A stricken man is a disillusioned man, and he reasons more truly than a dreamer. That is how the prophet reaches "therefore I have hope."
- Companion. Every trial yields one of three things: resentment, hard indifference, or the Lord's compassion. Only the last opens the door for hope to move in and stay.
My soul hath [them] constantly in remembrance, and is humbled in me.
Jeremiah has just said that his strength and his hope are gone. This verse shows his mind still going back over the affliction, and it raises one question: how can a memory that bows a man down become the ground of hope?
Verse 20 sits where the book turns from collapse to confidence, in the act of laying everything out before God:
This is the very point of change. From verse 19 he lays it all out before Jehovah and asks Him to remember it. His soul is completely crushed, and from there he begins to gain confidence... It is not Christ, but it is certainly the Spirit of Christ leading an afflicted and broken heart. Weeping may last for a night; but joy comes in the morning.
What the soul keeps in remembrance is not a list of grievances against people. Jeremiah traces every blow back to the hand of God:
The prophet does not accuse the people and their leaders of inflicting on him all the persecutions he endured. Instead, he receives them from the hand of God: "I am the man who has seen affliction under the rod of His wrath." He recalls the years spent in the darkness of prison and the loss of freedom. He remembers the torture that broke his bones. He calls to mind the mockery he suffered: he became the laughingstock of his own people, their song all day long. His life was spent far from peace. He has forgotten what happiness is. It was all affliction, wormwood, and gall.
Commentators differ on who does the remembering. Some read the verse as Jeremiah's own memory. Others read it as his confidence that God will remember:
He had cried to the Lord, asking Him to remember his affliction, his misery, the wormwood and the gall. Hope rose from his confidence that God would surely do this. Some translate Lamentations 3:20 this way: "You will surely remember that my soul is bowed in me." So he adds, "But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope." And the fact that he was still alive, bowed under the weight of his troubles, was itself evidence of mercy.
Being bowed down within is not the end of faith. Jeremiah is left holding on to God Himself, in place of the outward things that once tied the people to Him:
Jehovah, known in his heart, now takes the place of the ordinances that bound the people to Him. His soul reaches out in confidence to the One who was within and beyond all those links. He feels and speaks from the place of affliction. But his soul is humbled within him as he deals with Jehovah personally like this, and so he has hope. And this is a sure and immovable anchor of faith when God our Father is truly known.
The struggling stops before the hope starts. Jeremiah stops fighting and sits with what happened:
He can do no more, and his cries and struggles cease. With a humbled heart, he dwells on his experience. He remembers his affliction and misery, the wormwood and the gall. He is like a man sitting before the dying embers on his hearth, back bent, head bowed in his hands and misery in his heart, while the winter storm moans and beats about his house. This prophet was a stricken man, and a stricken man has lost his illusions. A man with no illusions is more likely to think straight than one who lives in dreams.
The same trial does not leave the same thing behind in every heart:
A trial never visits a heart without bringing an experience with it. Everything depends on what that experience is. It may be the bitterness and resentment of a will that will not bend. It may be the indifference of a proud and unbroken heart. Or it may be the sustaining mercies and compassion of the Lord. It must be one of these three. If it is the last — and this is always the experience of the humbled and contrite spirit — then the way is open for hope to enter, not as a visitor only, but to stay as a most blessed companion.
- Remember it all. Jeremiah does not push the affliction out of his mind. He traces it to God's hand, not to his persecutors.
- Remember and be bowed. The memory humbles him, and that is where the book turns. At his lowest point, confidence starts to form.
- Remembered by God. Some read the verse as his certainty that God will remember his bowed soul; on either reading, hope rises out of it.
- Remember what is left. God Himself takes the place of the outward things that bound the people to Him — a sure and immovable anchor.
- Remember rightly. A trial leaves behind resentment, indifference, or the Lord's sustaining mercy. Only a humbled spirit makes room for hope to stay.
-- This I recall to heart, therefore have I hope.
Jeremiah has just said that his strength and his hope have perished. Nothing in his circumstances has changed, yet now he says he has hope. Everything turns on one small word: "therefore". He has called something to mind, and it is strong enough to turn a funeral song into confidence.
The chapter so far is an unbroken account of misery. Verse 21 is where a crushed man stops sinking and begins to trust.
Yet there is the very point of change. From verse 19 he spreads out everything before Jehovah and asks Him to remember it. His soul lies completely crushed, and out of that he begins to form confidence... This is not Christ Himself speaking, but it is certainly the Spirit of Christ leading an afflicted and broken heart. Weeping may endure for a night; but joy comes in the morning.
Hope here is not a mood that arrives from nowhere. The grammar of the verse ties it to a reason already given.
This is the word that introduces a conclusion drawn from something already said. "Therefore" looks in two directions... It looks backward to the cause that is enough to support it, and forward to the consequence that cannot fail. The consequence in Jeremiah's case was HOPE. "Therefore," he says, "I have hope." That is an inspiring thing to have. Without it life would be impossible. With it the heart grows strong to meet any trial — if, of course, the hope is not a false one.
Commentators differ on what "this" points to. One reads verse 21 as looking forward, to the reason given in the lines that follow.
I have no doubt that the prophet spells out in the verses that follow the ground of hope he laid to heart in verse 21: "It is of Jehovah's mercies that we are not consumed, because His mercies fail not. They are new every morning: great is Your faithfulness. Jehovah is my portion; therefore I will hope in Him." That last line confirms that verse 21 looks ahead, and that here the real spring of hope is reached.
Another writer traces the hope to God's promise to remember him, and adds that Jeremiah was still alive at all.
He had asked the Lord to remember his affliction and misery, and hope arose from the confidence that God would surely do this. His continuing to live, while bowed under the weight of his troubles, was itself evidence of mercy. This point in his past history fits exactly the condition of the city and the nation at that moment. Great as the desolation of the city was, and the trials of the nation, they were not consumed... They deserved to be swept off the earth, but God in mercy had stepped in.
Hope here grows out of the least promising material. One writer explains this with a picture from the fields.
How deeply the ploughman thrusts his blade into the soil, leaving a gaping furrow behind him! What is all this determined labour for? A great purpose! The seed-basket follows the plough, and the farmer casts golden grain into the furrowed ground... But the field would yield no harvest if it were not first cut and seamed and ploughed. Because the ploughshare does its work in the soil, there is hope. Has the ploughshare of adversity or sorrow left deep furrows in your soul? "Therefore have hope." The good seed of the Word can take no root in an unprepared heart.
Not every sufferer reaches Jeremiah's conclusion. What a trial leaves behind depends on the state of the heart it visits.
Never did a trial visit any heart without bringing an experience with it. Everything depends on what that experience is. It may be the bitterness and resentment of an unsubdued will. It may be the indifference of a proud and unbroken heart. Or it may be the sustaining mercies and compassion of the Lord. It must be one of these three. The last is always the experience of the humbled and contrite spirit. Then the way opens for hope to enter, not as a visitor only, but to stay as a most blessed companion.
Hope is not named only here. One writer counts it through the chapter, and names what it waits for.
In this third chapter, the middle one of the book, the man of affliction of verse 1 speaks of "HOPE" three times, in verses 21, 24 and 29. In verse 26 the word is "wait". But wait for what? For the salvation of God. God has secured that salvation in Christ, raised from among the dead, for Israel and for us also.
- Turn. Verse 21 is the hinge of the chapter. From total collapse the prophet begins to form confidence, and night weeping gives way to morning joy.
- Therefore. The word looks back to a cause strong enough to bear it, and forward to a result that cannot fail. Hope is a conclusion, not a mood.
- Ground. Commentators differ on the "this". Some point forward to the mercies that never fail. Others point to God's promise to remember, with Jeremiah still alive as proof that God stepped in.
- Plough. Sorrow cuts the soul open the way a plough opens soil — the wound is what makes the seed able to take root.
- Choice. Every trial leaves resentment, indifference, or the Lord's mercy known. Only the last opens the way for hope to move in and stay.
It is of Jehovah's loving-kindness we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not;
Lamentations is a book of grief over a ruined city, and chapter 3 speaks for the people who lived through it. Verse 22 is where the mourner stops counting his wounds and asks why anyone is still alive.
The verses before this one are bitter. Then the speaker turns and takes God's side.
Verse 22 strikes a completely different note, and a tone of high, joyful confidence carries on down to verse 36. Instead of complaining that his sorrows were greater than he deserved, he declares God right, and thankfully admits that justice has been mixed with grace… How precious the faith that, at such a time, could so speak! And what tested believer can honestly say anything else? Only when the soul is away from God's presence does His correction seem too severe, and partly undeserved.
Older English versions read the first line as "It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed," and most of the writers here quote it that way. On that reading, the verse points at the bare fact that the speaker and his people are still alive.
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He was still alive, bowed under the weight of his troubles, and that was evidence of mercy. What he had been through fits the present state of the city and the nation. The city lay in ruins and the nation was in great trouble, yet they were not consumed. Jeremiah was one of them, and he and others still alive were witnesses of this. How could they explain it? They deserved to be swept off the earth, but God in mercy had stepped in… His justice demanded the judgment they deserved. His mercy gave hope for the future, and they were living examples of it.
The second half of the verse explains the first. It tells us what God feels, not only what He does.
"His compassions fail not." No cold, indifferent heart ever directs the rod. He feels as no other can for the people of His choice, the children He loves. Every morning brings fresh evidence of His loving-kindness.
There is a note on the wording worth knowing. Older translations turned the first line around, so that it is God's mercies, rather than the people, that "are not consumed."
The Targum and the older versions, apart from the Latin one, turn it this way: "The mercies of Jehovah are not consumed, for His compassions fail not." I see no good reason for that, though Calvin thinks this sense fits better. The Latin version and our own English one read better to me. They are clearer, and they give more prominence to His people themselves… So His mercies have no end.
The next verse says these compassions are new every morning. Writers tie that rhythm to the manna, the bread God gave His people each morning in the desert.
The manna also had to be gathered in the morning. It was the evidence of God's provision for His people day by day, as we read elsewhere: "His compassions fail not. They are new every morning" (Lamentations 3:22-23).
Daily mercy carries a person through a long wait. Joseph waited like that, forgotten by people.
The devil may tempt us day by day, and God may test us by keeping us waiting from day to day. Still, He renews His mercy every day… Man forgets Joseph, but the Lord remembers him.
The passage does not stop at the mercies themselves. It goes on to the Giver, so hope holds even when no mercy can be seen.
What held our souls up in the past, when they were almost overwhelmed? The Lord's mercies! So we have hope… The sorrows did not come alone, the mercies followed hard on their heels. Therefore we have hope! And suppose there were neither mercies nor compassions — what then? Then, "The LORD is my portion," says my soul, "therefore I will hope in Him." It is good to hear hope's song break into the prophet's funeral song, and to learn that the Lord was greater than his greatest sorrow.
- Not consumed — the verse starts from survival. They deserved to be swept off the earth, and mercy stepped in instead.
- Not deserved — he stops arguing that his suffering was too heavy, and admits that justice came mixed with grace. Only a soul away from God calls the correction too severe.
- Not cold — the hand holding the rod is not indifferent. His compassions do not fail, so the blow fell only in part.
- Not exhausted — mercy comes in daily portions, like the manna gathered each morning. That is what carries a person through a long wait.
- Not dependent — even if no mercies could be counted, hope still stands, because the Lord Himself is the portion.
they are new every morning great is thy faithfulness.
These words sit in the middle of a long lament, and they turn it toward hope. How can a man in that much grief call God's mercies new and His faithfulness great?
The tone of the chapter turns at verse 22, and this line carries the turn. Notice where the speaker puts the blame.
The note changes completely at verse 22, and he keeps up a high strain of joyful confidence down to verse 36. He does not complain that his troubles were greater than he deserved. Instead, he clears God of blame and gives thanks that God has mixed justice with grace. "It is of the Lord's mercies," he owns, "that we are not consumed, because His compassions never fail. They are new every morning: great is Your faithfulness." How precious is the faith that could speak like that at such a time! And what tested believer can honestly say anything else? Only when the soul is out of God's presence does it seem as if His discipline were too severe, and partly undeserved.
The word "morning" has its own history in the Bible. Manna was the bread God gave Israel in the desert. It had to be gathered at daybreak, and it came again the next day.
In Exodus there are also many references to the morning. "In the morning … you shall see the glory of the Lord." This was the answer to the murmuring of the people. The manna too had to be gathered in the morning. It was the evidence of God's provision for His people day by day, as we read elsewhere: "His compassions never fail. They are new every morning."
How much mercy does one ordinary day hold? Count it, from the first meal to lying down at night.
"His mercies are new every morning." Mercy comes in as steadily as the tide. In fact, how many tides of mercy do we see in a single day! We never eat without mercy carving every piece for us. We never drink except from the golden cup of mercy. We never go out without mercy setting a guard of angels around us. We never lie down in bed without mercy drawing the curtains of protection close around us. Shall we receive so many good things from the hand of God, and not receive evil? Our mercies far outweigh our afflictions; for one affliction we have a thousand mercies.
The second half of the verse — "great is Your faithfulness" — is also a line the Lord Jesus could speak. What did His own mornings look like?
The Lord Jesus could say, "The Lord God has given me the tongue of those who are taught, that I may know how to sustain with a word him who is weary. Morning by morning he awakens; he awakens my ear to hear as those who are taught" (Isa. 50:4), and He could say, "Great is Your faithfulness" (Lam. 3:23). I wonder about us — do we have these experiences morning by morning? Do we listen to what God has to say to us through His word? … The Lord Jesus received fresh communication every morning. Do we receive fresh communication every morning? Well, we can.
Human compassion has a limit; God's does not. What does that mean when the people who should care let you down?
In the Christian circle God would have us free of care. This can only happen as we cast all our care on Him, in the happy consciousness that He cares for us. Sadly, we may fail in our shepherd care of one another. But the compassions of God will not fail; "they are new every morning." If those who shepherd fail, and the sheep feel neglected, let each one take comfort from this word: "He cares for you."
If mercy arrives new each day, what should meet it? Look at how a day begins and ends.
His mercies are new to us every morning and our praise should be new as well. And if we begin our day with praise and thanksgiving and faith and hope, we must end it with thanks and praise. Its needs and ups and downs only bring out the trustworthiness and the resources of our God.
- Ruins first. A man in deep loss stops protesting his suffering. He clears God of blame and owns that God has mixed justice with grace.
- Morning next. Like manna gathered at daybreak, God's compassions come fresh, day by day.
- Count them. Mercy comes in like the tide: every meal, every drink, every step out, every night's sleep. For one affliction we have a thousand mercies.
- Christ's pattern. The Lord Jesus listened morning by morning and could say, "Great is Your faithfulness." The same fresh hearing is open to us in God's word.
- Then praise. New mercies each morning call for new thanks each morning. And God's compassions hold steady even where human care fails.
Jehovah is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him.
Jeremiah writes these words while Jerusalem lies in ruins and the sanctuary is desolate. In that wreckage he says one thing about God, and draws one conclusion from it.
In this chapter the sufferer looks past his losses to the God behind them. One writer finds it a place of worship, even with the sanctuary in ruins:
In the third part, it is the LORD Himself who is before the soul: the bitterness lies in its coming from the LORD. Yet here the burdened one begins to realise what is in the LORD for him, and He Himself is still his portion. The sorrow is discipline, and it is good to bear the yoke. Out of it all, at last, come revival and blessing and the overthrow of enemies. Though the sanctuary is desolate, we find this chapter of Lamentations to be a sanctuary-psalm. The LORD Himself is this.
A portion is the share a person lives on. Jeremiah names God as his. One writer shows how small that looks to a heart that wants something it can hold:
It is a fine portion, without doubt. Yet unbelief thinks it nothing. It longs for someone to show it some good it can touch — the grain and wine and oil of this creation. But to have Him who has all things is a better portion beyond comparison. He is Himself infinitely more than all He has. Anyone who believes this by grace must admit it.
The idea did not start with Jeremiah. Israel's priests received no share of the land. God Himself was their portion:
The priests needed these provisions, because unlike the other tribes they had no inheritance in the land. They were to realise that God was their portion and inheritance. We may wonder whether they understood and valued this as they should have. But what about ourselves today? Being priests, believers have no earthly inheritance. Yet even now God is our portion and inheritance. And we have the wonderful prospect of an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled and unfading, kept in heaven (1 Peter 1:4).
Jeremiah reports what his own soul is saying. That makes it something each person has to say for himself, and it shows what the heart has been chasing instead:
The words "You are my portion" are a confession, not a prayer. Has there not been a danger of our looking for a portion on earth, looking around for something to satisfy? How good it is for us to find, as Solomon did, that everything here is "empty." The Lord is God's centre, and the source of all grace for us. When we realise that, our souls reach out to Him and say, "Lord, You are my portion."
Hope appears earlier in the chapter, at verse 21. One writer traces where that hope comes from:
There is no doubt that the ground of hope which the prophet takes to heart, as he said in verse 21, is stated in the verses that follow… The last clause confirms that verse 21 was looking ahead, and that here we reach the source of it.
Another writer takes the thought to its worst case:
When other helpers failed and comforts fled, what was it that did not fail? His compassions… And suppose there were neither mercies nor compassions — what then? Then, "The LORD is my portion, says my soul; therefore I will hope in Him." It is good to hear the song that hope sings break in on the prophet's funeral lament. It is good to learn that the Lord was greater than his greatest sorrow.
The portion lies in heaven, out of trouble's reach. So no trouble here can put the light out:
Have you not chosen Him for your portion? Are you not looking for a heaven to enjoy Him in for ever? Then can any dungeon of outward affliction be so dark that this hope will not light it up? He who has laid up a portion in heaven for you will surely cover all the costs you need on your way there. Remember how often God has proved your fears wrong and shown your unbelief to be a false prophet.
- Ruin. Jeremiah speaks over a ruined city, and the sanctuary is gone. Yet the chapter itself becomes a sanctuary, because God Himself is still there.
- Portion. A portion is the share you live on. Name God as yours, and you have the One who owns all things and is worth more than all He owns.
- Precedent. Israel's priests owned no land; God Himself was their portion. Commentators say the same of believers: no earthly inheritance now, and an inheritance kept in heaven.
- Claim. "Says my soul" makes it a confession, not a prayer. It becomes real when a heart stops hunting for a portion on earth and says it.
- Therefore. Even if you could see no mercies at all, God Himself remains. So hope stands on ground no affliction can reach, and no dungeon is dark enough to put out its light.