The Stain and the Astonishment Text: Lamentations 1:9
Introduction: When the Skirts Are Dirty
We live in an age that has forgotten how to blush. We are a people who have mastered the art of the casual shrug in the face of abominations. We have redefined sin as a lifestyle choice, rebellion as authenticity, and filth as a personal expression. And when the consequences of this rebellion inevitably arrive, crashing down upon our heads, we have the audacity to act surprised. We look around at the rubble of our institutions, the decay of our families, and the confusion in our streets, and we ask, "How did this happen?"
The book of Lamentations is God's answer to that question. It is a post-mortem on a collapsed civilization. It is the inspired grief of a prophet walking through the smoking ruins of a city that thought it was invincible. Jerusalem, the city of God, has been sacked. The unthinkable has happened. And Jeremiah, the weeping prophet, is tasked with explaining the "why." He is not just cataloging the damage; he is diagnosing the disease. And the diagnosis is not comfortable. It is not seeker-sensitive. It is brutally, terrifyingly honest.
Our text today is a microscopic look at the heart of Jerusalem's fall. It is a verse that peels back the veneer of religious respectability and shows the rot underneath. It speaks of a visible, public sin that could no longer be hidden, a willful amnesia about the consequences of that sin, a shocking and precipitous collapse, and a profound, comfortless isolation. This is not just a history lesson about ancient Judah. This is a prophetic warning to the American church. We, like Jerusalem, have been given much. We have been covenanted with God. And we, like Jerusalem, have allowed filth to gather in our skirts. We have forgotten where our current path leads. We must therefore pay close attention, lest our downfall also be astonishing, and we find ourselves with no comforter.
The Text
Her uncleanness was in her skirts; She did not remember her future. Therefore she has gone down astonishingly; She has no comforter. “See, O Yahweh, my affliction, For the enemy has magnified himself!”
(Lamentations 1:9 LSB)
The Public Stain (v. 9a)
The verse begins with a startlingly graphic image:
"Her uncleanness was in her skirts;"
This is not subtle language. The word for uncleanness here is the same word used in Leviticus for menstrual impurity. This was a ceremonial defilement that rendered a person unfit to approach the holy things of God. For this impurity to be "in her skirts" means it was not a secret, private failing. It was visible. It was public. It was a stain on the hem of her garments for all to see. Jerusalem, personified as a woman, had become so brazen in her sin that she no longer bothered to hide it. Her idolatry, her injustice, her sexual perversion, it was all out in the open, flaunted.
Think of a woman who has so lost her sense of shame that she walks through the city with the evidence of her defilement clinging to her clothes. This is the picture of a covenant people who have forgotten the meaning of holiness. Holiness, at its root, means to be "set apart." Israel was to be distinct from the pagan nations, but instead, she had wallowed in their filth until she was indistinguishable from them. Her sin was no longer a hidden stain on her conscience, but a public declaration on her clothing.
We must ask ourselves: Has the church's uncleanness become visible in her skirts? When the world looks at us, do they see a people set apart, or do they see a people who have simply adopted Christian vocabulary to baptize worldly pursuits? When our rates of divorce, debt, and pornography consumption are nearly identical to the world's, our uncleanness is in our skirts. When we are more shaped by our political tribe than by the Word of God, our uncleanness is in our skirts. When we tolerate sin in our midst for the sake of a false peace, our uncleanness is in our skirts. The stain was not the cause of the judgment in itself; the cause was the shamelessness that left the stain there for all to see.
The Willful Amnesia (v. 9b)
The diagnosis continues, moving from the external evidence to the internal cause.
"She did not remember her future."
This is a profound statement. Her sin was not a result of simple ignorance. It was a failure of memory, which in the Bible is a failure of faith. To "remember" is not just to recall a fact; it is to act in accordance with that fact. Jerusalem's problem was that she forgot her "latter end," her future. She forgot the covenant promises and the covenant curses. God had laid it all out with perfect clarity in Deuteronomy 28. Obedience would lead to blessing upon blessing. Disobedience would lead to siege, starvation, cannibalism, and exile. The future was not a mystery. It had been revealed.
She lived entirely for the moment. She chased the immediate gratification of her idols and appetites, and refused to consider the long-term consequences. She traded her glorious inheritance for a bowl of pagan pottage. She forgot that the path of sin always, always leads to death. She presumed upon the grace of God, thinking that because she was the chosen city, she was exempt from the consequences of her choices. She forgot that covenantal privilege brings covenantal responsibility.
This is the great temptation of every generation. To live as though the future is not real. To believe that we can sow to the wind without reaping the whirlwind. We do not remember our future when we accumulate massive national debt, assuming some future generation will pay the bill. We do not remember our future when we abandon the discipleship of our children, assuming they will somehow stumble into faith on their own. We do not remember our future when we neglect the gathering of the saints for worship, assuming our souls can thrive on spiritual junk food. Forgetting the future is the direct result of ignoring God's Word in the present. And it always leads to a fall.
The Shocking Collapse (v. 9c)
The logical consequence of public sin and willful amnesia is a sudden and catastrophic judgment.
"Therefore she has gone down astonishingly;"
The word "therefore" connects the fall directly to the sin. This was not bad luck. This was not a geopolitical accident. This was the righteous judgment of a holy God. Her downfall was "astonishing." It was wonderful, in the old sense of the word. It caused wonder, shock, and amazement. No one thought it could happen. Jerusalem had the Temple. She had the promises of God. She was the city of the great king. Her enemies had tried and failed before. Sennacherib's army was annihilated at the gates. Surely God would not abandon His own city.
But they mistook the symbols of God's presence for a talisman that guaranteed His unconditional protection. They had the temple, but they did not have the God of the temple. And so, when the judgment finally came, it was breathtaking in its speed and severity. The collapse was not gradual; it was a plunge. One moment, she is the queen of the nations; the next, she is a desolate widow. This is how God's judgment often works. He is longsuffering, patient, and slow to anger. But when the appointed time comes, the collapse is swift and total. The foundations that seemed so secure are revealed to be sand, and the house comes down with a great crash.
The Utter Desolation (v. 9d-e)
The result of this astonishing fall is a state of complete and utter abandonment.
"She has no comforter... 'See, O Yahweh, my affliction, For the enemy has magnified himself!'"
In her pride and prosperity, Jerusalem had many allies, many lovers. She courted Egypt and Assyria, trusting in political alliances rather than in Yahweh. But now, in her desolation, they are all gone. There is "no comforter." This is the endpoint of sin. Sin promises friendship, pleasure, and fulfillment, but it always leaves you utterly alone. Her false gods are silent. Her political allies have betrayed her. She is left in the rubble with no one to offer a word of solace.
And in this absolute desolation, there is only one direction to look. The lament turns into a prayer, a desperate cry to the very God who ordained this affliction. "See, O Yahweh, my affliction." This is the beginning of hope. It is a dim flicker in a vast darkness, but it is there. Repentance begins when we stop blaming our circumstances and start appealing to God, even if it is from the depths of a judgment we fully deserve. She acknowledges her affliction, and she points to the arrogance of the enemy. "The enemy has magnified himself!" The Babylonians believe their victory is due to their own strength, to their god Marduk. But the prophet knows they are merely the rod of God's anger. This is not a cry of innocence, but a plea for God to vindicate His own name. The enemy's boasting is an offense to the God who is sovereign over all of it.
The Comforter Has Come
This is a bleak and desolate picture. A city stained with sin, forgetful of its end, astonishingly cast down, and left without a comforter. If the story ended here, it would be a tragedy without redemption. But we know this is not the end of the story. This entire scene is a backdrop for the gospel.
We, like Jerusalem, have an uncleanness that is not just in our skirts, but woven into the very fabric of our being. We are born in sin. And we, too, have forgotten our future, living for ourselves and ignoring the righteous judgment of God that awaits every unrepentant sinner. Our fall is therefore just as certain, and our desolation just as complete.
But God, in His infinite mercy, did not leave us without a comforter. Jesus, speaking to His disciples before His crucifixion, promised to send another Comforter, the Holy Spirit (John 14:16). But before the Comforter could come, the sin had to be dealt with. The stain had to be removed.
On the cross, Jesus Christ took all of our uncleanness upon Himself. He became sin for us, He who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God (2 Corinthians 5:21). He wore our filthy garments so that we could be clothed in His perfect righteousness. He remembered His future, the joy that was set before Him, and for that joy, He endured the cross, despising the shame (Hebrews 12:2).
His downfall was truly astonishing. The Lord of Glory was crucified. God the Son was forsaken. And on that cross, He was utterly without a comforter. He cried out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" He entered into the ultimate desolation so that we would never have to. He endured the comfortless wrath of God so that He could send the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, to us.
Therefore, when we see the astonishing judgment that is due our sin, we do not despair. We turn to the Lord. We cry out, "See, O Yahweh, my affliction!" And we do so knowing that He sees us through the finished work of His Son. The enemy, sin and death, has magnified himself, but Christ has crushed his head. The stain is washed away, not by our works, but by His blood. Our future is not one of judgment, but of eternal life. And we are not alone. The Comforter has come, and He will abide with us forever.