The Renewal of Mercy

Have you ever woken up on one of those mornings where the alarm sounds more like a sentence, and the mirror seems to say, “Seriously? You’re trying again?” Well, congratulations, welcome to real life. The good news is: you’re also firmly on G‑d’s radar of grace. Yes, that same grace that doesn’t flinch at your mess or write you off just because yesterday fell apart.

Jeremiah, the prophet of tears (and let’s be honest, of some of the most underlined verses in the Bibles of weary souls), wrote these words amidst the ashes of Jerusalem:

“Because of the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed… they are new every morning. Great is Your faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:22–23).

This wasn’t written while swinging in a hammock on the coast with a coconut in hand. No, it was penned in the total collapse of a city and a people.

In fact, Jeremiah was surrounded by devastation. The Temple had been destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BCE, the holy city had been looted, its walls reduced to rubble. The leaders had been exiled, and those who remained were starving, humiliated, and without hope. The prophet, once dismissed for his warnings, was now weeping over the consequences he had long foretold. The book of Lamentations is the lament of a soul walking through the ruins of a public faith in collapse, yet still daring to believe that G‑d remains faithful even when everything else appears lost.

The Hebrew word for “mercies” here is חַסְדֵי (chasdei), the plural form of chesed, which is more than kindness. It’s a fierce, loyal love that keeps showing up, even when no response is possible. It doesn’t say “I love you if,” but “I love you even though.” This chesed is the glue holding a shattered soul together. But hold on, it gets even more profound. Another key word in this verse is רַחֲמָיו (rachamav), His mercies. This comes from the Hebrew root רֶחֶם (rechem), which means… womb. That’s right. Mercy, in the language of the Bible, is as intimate and protective as a mother’s womb. It’s not about pity, but a visceral, sheltering, surrounding kind of love. It’s as though, when G‑d sees us stumble, He doesn’t say, “There goes that sinner again,” but, “My child needs a place to be held.” Like a mother who doesn’t count her baby’s faults, but simply gathers them back into her arms. It changes everything, doesn’t it? When Jeremiah says we haven’t been consumed, he’s not philosophising about human resilience. He’s saying: “The only reason we’re still here is because G‑d’s womb is wide enough to hold our despair.” The people weren’t erased because there was still a chesed clinging to the rubble, and a rachamim breathing life into the dust.

And then comes my favourite part: “They are new every morning.” The Hebrew uses the word חֲדָשִׁים (chadashim), from chadash, new, fresh, unprecedented. G‑d doesn’t recycle mercy with the stale scent of last week’s forgiveness. No. It’s completely new, special. Every single morning. And that’s not just poetic, it’s the kind of truth that rescues a soul from the pit and whispers, “Live again.” Do you realise what it means to wake up and find that G‑d has already handed you a new opportunity before you’ve even remembered what you did yesterday? Jewish tradition says that when we open our eyes in the morning, it’s as if heaven is saying: “Here’s your blank page, write something new today.” You might have a failure record worthy of a Netflix series, but if you’re breathing today, then there’s enough mercy to script something entirely new.

May I tell you what moves me most in this verse? Jeremiah finishes with:

“Great is Your faithfulness.”

The Hebrew word is אֱמוּנָתֶךָ (emunatecha), deeper than mere belief. It’s steadiness. Consistency. The faithfulness of G‑d is the kind of structure that doesn’t wobble when you fall apart. It’s the foundation that holds through tears, doubt, sin, and still says: “I’m here.” You see, G‑d never promised a pain-free life. Jeremiah knew that better than anyone. But he saw that, within the pain, there was a Presence. That in the heart of grief, there was a Love that wouldn’t let the soul vanish. That’s faithfulness.

Maybe you’re walking through ruins too. Not physical ones, but emotional. You look at your life and see the pieces of a dream that didn’t survive, the shards of a broken relationship, the dust of a season that promised much and delivered little. And right in the middle of all this… appears a blank page. Yes, a crisp, white sheet. You might think it’s just another day on the calendar. But in heaven’s eyes, it’s a new chance in the book of grace. As if G‑d lays a fresh page before you and says: “Write again. I’m here. Start over with Me.”

Now listen, this isn’t about being soft on sin. It’s not divine denial. It’s a holy invitation to repentance that leads to restoration. G‑d’s womb doesn’t generate excuses, it gives birth to new life. He doesn’t cover your mistakes with silence; He transforms them into testimony. Mercy isn’t escape from justice, it’s the path into it. This is exactly what Yeshua offered the woman caught in adultery. After silencing her accusers, He didn’t ignore her or condemn her. He simply said:

“Go, and sin no more” (John 8:11).

It wasn’t harshness, it was freedom. It was as if He said: “Here’s your blank page. Now write a different story.”

And honestly, what greater gift could there be than that? A life that seemed lost, recovered with purpose and honour.

Perhaps today is the day to stop clinging to torn pages soaked in guilt. Take the one He’s offering you , clean, bright, alive. Write on it with faith, even if your handwriting trembles. Write “forgiveness.” Write “trust.” Write “thank You.” G‑d isn’t looking for flawless resumes, He’s looking for hearts that are willing. The grace that brought you this far is more than able to carry you forward. And if you’re still breathing, it’s because the Author of life has decided your chapter continues. You’re still part of the story.

So rise, brew that cup of tea if needed, and say with Jeremiah:

“Great is Your faithfulness!”

Because even if you don’t feel it, it’s still there.

Even if everything seems lost, G‑d still has mercies enough to rebuild you — one morning at a time.

Adivalter Sfalsin