A Lament for a Broken Land

The Alarm We Hear Today

Have you ever heard a sound you can’t un-hear? Sirens in the night. The blare of an emergency alert on your phone. The first gunshot in a crowd. That’s what Jeremiah hears: “My anguish, my anguish! I writhe in pain. My heart is beating wildly. I cannot keep silent, for I hear the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war.”

Jeremiah is not detached. He feels it in his chest. His bones shake with the terror of what’s coming. And I want to suggest, church, that in America today we, too, hear the trumpet. Another mass shooting. Another life ended too soon. We cannot keep silent—we are living inside Jeremiah’s lament.

The Cause – Wise in Doing Evil (v. 22)

God names the reason: “My people are foolish… they are skilled in doing evil, but they do not know how to do good.”

That line could be written on our headlines: wise in doing evil.

We invent new ways to harm faster than we invent ways to heal.

We build whole industries on lies and disinformation.

We are clever at exploiting one another, but clumsy at compassion.

We have entire industries that thrive on anger, outrage, and division.

Isn’t it striking? It should be hard to sin and easy to obey. But it’s the opposite. It is easy not to pray. How easy is it not to forgive. How easy is it to indulge in anger, to tear down, to walk away from God. And yet how hard, how uphill it feels, to be faithful. That is the human condition, and Jeremiah names it plain.

We are wise in doing evil, but ignorant in doing good.

The Four Looks – Creation in Reverse (vv. 23–26)

Then Jeremiah repeats four times: “I looked.”

– In Genesis, God spoke light into darkness. Here, it’s undone. No light, no order. Chaos returns. – Today: our order feels undone. Social trust erodes. Communities fracture. People say, “I don’t know what’s true anymore.”“I looked at the earth, and lo, it was waste and void.”

– The very foundations tremble. – Today: foundations we thought were unshakable are shaking—trust in institutions, in democracy, even in the church.“I looked at the mountains, and lo, they were quaking.”

– Life disappears. Silence where there should be song. – Today: we see communities emptied by violence, young people fleeing the church, creation itself strained by heat, storms, and fire.“I looked, and lo, there was no one at all, and all the birds of the air had fled.”

– Fertility turned to barrenness, flourishing turned to rubble. – Today: we see cities scarred by gun violence, rural towns hollowed out, families displaced by addiction or poverty. Fruitful land turned desolate.“I looked, and lo, the fruitful land was a desert, and all its cities were in ruins.”

Where Genesis repeats, “God saw … and it was good,”Jeremiah repeats, “I looked … and lo … it is bad.” This is what happens when we become wise to do evil, the world itself unravels.

The Alarm for Us

The trumpet Jeremiah heard is the alarm we hear today. Violence is no longer far away, it is next door. Innocent lives are treated as expendable. We have become sophisticated in cruelty, efficient in destruction, but fumbling when it comes to goodness.

So what do we do with the trumpet blaring? We don’t hide from it. We don’t numb ourselves. Jeremiah teaches us to lament. To say with him: “My anguish, my anguish!” To let ourselves feel what’s happening around us instead of pretending it’s normal.

And this isn’t just a political issue or a social issue, it is spiritual. When we do not know God, we do not know how to do good. When we trade His wisdom for our own, the land itself mourns.

The Glimmer – Not a Full End (v. 27)

And then—like a sudden pause in the storm—God speaks: “The whole land shall be a desolation; yet I will not make a full end.” That’s the line I hold onto. Not a full end.

Friends, judgment is real. Consequences are severe and the trumpet is blaring. But annihilation is not God’s last word.

There will be a remnant. There will be another chapter. There will be mercy beyond the storm. The cross itself proves it. Darkness fell at noon, the earth shook, the disciples fled. It looked like the end of all things. But it was not a full end. Resurrection broke through. The Spirit blew again at Pentecost, not a hot wind to scatter, but a holy wind to gather and empower.

Not a full end. That’s the hope. Violence may wound us, but it cannot erase us. The land may mourn, but God’s covenant mercy still breathes. Today, even in America’s unraveling, God whispers: “Not a full end.” The Spirit still blows.

When the trumpet sounds, what do God’s people do?

We lament. We name the anguish, we do not hide from it. Like Jeremiah, we say, “My anguish, my anguish!”

We repent. We confess that we have been skilled at evil and awkward at good. We ask God to retrain us in righteousness.

We intercede. Like Ezra and Daniel, we confess not only our sins but the sins of our nation, and we plead for mercy.

We hope. We hold fast to that small phrase: God still preserves a people. God still has a future.not a full end.

Closing Cadence

Yes, the trumpet sounds. Yes, the alarm of war is loud. Yes, we are wise in doing evil. Yes, creation groans. But it is not a full end. Sin may unravel, but grace re-threads. The cross shook the earth, but resurrection dawned. The Spirit still blows.

So lament, church. Repent, church. And hope, church. Because the trumpet has sounded, but the last word belongs to God. Not a full end.