The Scars of Hope

The Japanese art of kintsugi beholds an object’s brokenness as beauty instead of flaws that must be hidden. Skilled artisans mend broken pottery using melted gold or silver. They gently press each piece together, then seal them with a lacquer until the precious liquid hardens in the cracks. The result is a beautiful design on a previously common vessel.

Our Potter also fashions clay into vessels of his choosing. As God declared of Israel, “I can build you up or break you down. I determine both your purpose and your span of life” (see Jer. 18:1–11). Perhaps this picture grips the prophet Jeremiah as he mourns Jerusalem’s destruction (Lam. 3:1–20). For the Lord has crushed his chosen people. He has torn down city walls and defiled the holy temple. He has allowed their enemies to carry them into exile and seems to have broken his covenant promises. Would God rebuild the nation anew? Would he restore his chosen people?

“But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope” (Lam. 3:21). We cling to hope in times of brokenness when our lives appear to fall apart. And we actively wait on God when his answers feel slow in coming. For patient hope gathers up the pieces and returns our hearts to him. Such hope comes as we daily rest on the promises of God’s grace. Hope comes as God’s Word captures our foolish thoughts and we embrace his goodness. Hope comes as we fight to orient our hearts toward him and remember our precious Savior. Hope comes as we call to mind that “the steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness” (vv. 22–23).

Hope is the evangelistic beauty in our suffering. It perplexes the world and intrigues even skeptics. For suffering is a language common to humanity, but hope that lasts is spoken only from the heavens. Suffering is a valley where so many have lost their way, but where the light of hope shines brightest.

Consider the example of failing health which requires a medical operation. Gospel hope provides the chance to share with unbelieving loved ones why we are not afraid of surgery. It teaches our children that the faith we speak is not a thin veneer. It gives us words of comfort for the fearful patient in the bed beside us. It fills our words with kindness for the nurse who faces unjust anger just for trying to do her job. It encourages both the weak and the strong within the church when they see God answer prayers. This progression of brokenness and repair becomes our faith-filled testimony until even health updates, regardless of the outcome, declare God’s goodness (Rom. 8:28). And when our earthly days have reached their last, these scars of hope leave with us.

Jeremiah then traces his finger along the jagged cracks in Lamentations 3:

“The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases” (v. 22a). Our Father’s covenant love will never cease to act on our behalf even when the suffering is for our sin. Even when we fall, like Israel, and chase the idols that enslave us, God’s love remains. So, we lament because we dare to hope in God whose steadfast love preserves us.

“His mercies never come to an end” (v. 22b). The Lord pours out his kindness on us even though we are undeserving and covers us with his compassion. The use of the plural “mercies” indicates great abundance, for God grants mercies whenever we are hurting, angry, or afraid. He grants mercies whether we need comfort from our suffering or forgiveness for our sins (Mic. 7:18–20).

“They are new every morning” (v. 23a). Our God provides new mercies as a fresh renewal for our daily needs (Ps. 36:5–7). And his morning mercies are like manna—just enough for each day (Ex. 16:35).

“Great is your faithfulness” (v. 23b). God’s faithfulness embodies his steadfast firmness and fidelity to the truth. It shouts, “Amen,” as we affirm God changes not. He does not falter. He never gives up on wayward children. Although our hearts may claim that life is hopeless, we contend against such lies.

Jeremiah thus concludes, “‘The LORD is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘therefore I will hope in him’” (v. 24). Though his soul has been bowed low (v. 20), the prophet discovers hope anew by focusing on his portion in the Lord: “My God is enough. He’s all I need.”

God’s new morning mercies remind us that today’s mercies are for today’s burdens. As our lives reflect the hymn,

He, whose heart is kind beyond all measure,
Gives unto each day what he deems best—
Lovingly, its part of pain and pleasure,
Mingling toil with peace and rest.[1]

Every morning we awake, God gives us just enough mercies to handle today, just enough pain to not overwhelm us, just enough pleasure to fix our gaze on him. And even our lament can be a gift, for tears remind us that we are still alive and recipients of God’s grace.

God gives everything in his good measure. Yet his mercies today are only for today. And his tomorrow mercies must wait until tomorrow. He will surely give us what we need each day—new and afresh, full and sufficient. Again, the hymn beckons,

Every day the Lord himself is near me,
With a special mercy for each hour.

We rest in these truths because of Christ whose beauty shines forth from broken vessels (2 Cor. 4:5–11). For in Christ Jesus, we know the One who suffered greatly: His body broken; his blood poured out; his corpse buried in the tomb. Our Potter smashed this perfect vessel not in fury, but in love. And then, after three days, God raised him from the grave to reveal a kind of beauty only produced through suffering. His wounds fill us with his peace and his scars bring life (John 20:19, 26).

So, as we share Christ’s sufferings, we become vessels who bear his glorious image (1 Pet. 4:13). And through our cracks and jagged pieces, we proclaim the hope we hold in him (3:14–18).

[1] Written by Carolina Sandell and translated by A. L. Skoog, Day by Day, and With Each Passing Moment (1865).