You’re walking down Beale Street with your family and before you realize it, you’re mere feet from a homeless person slouching against the wall of a shop. He holds out his hand for some spare change and your eyes immediately dart away from him — like a reflex. A female beggar stands in an intersection holding a sign, “Homeless. Not an addict. Anything will help.” Your car is right beside her. Your knuckles tighten on your steering wheel and you feel the heat building in your face as you awkwardly try to avoid making eye contact, praying the light will turn green.

Many of us have had these experiences. They are disturbing and can even be frightening. When strangers enter our space with their brokenness, it feels unsettling. We’re not prepared for the weight of that moment. But here we are, living in a world that is full of pain. So will we engage or will be retreat?

The Poet of Lamentations leads us to this same uncomfortable place. He calls us to look upon the desolation of Lady Zion, Jerusalem. He draws our attention to her brokenness and her pain. Babylon has brutalized her. The few remaining inhabitants who escaped the exile and the sword weep over her. No, she is not innocent in this story (who is?). But she is still loved by God nonetheless. And the Poet calls us to lament over her, too, over our world — the same way Jesus lamented over her hundreds of years later: “And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it” (Luke 19:41).