This Advent, Chasing Justice partners with Red Candle Palestine to stand in solidarity with our Palestinian siblings, honor the people of the land where Jesus was born, and pray for peace and liberation in Palestine and beyond— for our liberation is bound up together.
In this third week of Advent, usually characterized by joy, we recognize that joy and flourishing come through lament. Never through bypassing, minimizing, or ignoring suffering.
In this excerpt from Red Letter Christians, Palestinian human rights activist and theologian Anthony Khair sits with Lamentations and finds a path to liberate his grief from resentment, finding hope and perseverance through lament. To read the full devotional, get the free Advent guide, God With Us.
The book of Lamentations ends without resolution. It ends with a cry suspended in the air—unresolved and unanswered. Unlike other biblical laments that eventually turn toward praise, Lamentations does not move us neatly from grief into joy.
Instead, it leaves us in the tension of devastation and longing. Maybe that’s why this book is such a beautiful representation of hard times.
Being angry at God is not a sign of a weak faith. Rather, it is a sign of a strong faith that is able to confront God with the truth of our suffering. The more our people go through hard times, the more our prayers turn into laments.
I wrote this poem as a way to liberate my grief from the chains of resentment:
Ya Rab,
In the midst of these uncertain times, make your justice fall down like rain and nourish this dry land covered in scars.
God, I hope you hear the screams of the wounded loud and clear, as we hear them from here.
Our loved ones’ cries echo louder than sermons.
Where is the Holy Spirit falling on us? Because all we see are missiles.
Where is your holy fire? The only thing being burned are tents.
I lament the homes that are turned to ash and those dreams that turned into rubble.
The holy soil is soaked in the blood of the innocent and the olive trees no longer blossom.
The land once called holy forgot how to be sacred
when your children were driven from their homes. Holiness left
with the breath of the thousands who screamed their last as the bombs fell like judgment.
They said this was a promised land, but who promised this?
Not a God of mercy.
Not a Christ who weeps.
This land has forgotten how to pray because every time we say “peace,”
it is answered with destruction.
But still, we gather our broken voices and we sing.
Still, we gather our shattered hearts and we pray.
Still, we hold onto memory, and memory becomes steadfast.
Because even the stones know our names. Rubble became our witness.
Ya Rab,
Teach us to grieve, without forgetting.
Teach us to hope without letting go of truth.
And when your justice finally comes—let it be like spring after a thousand winters.
Let it come not in missiles, but in mercy.
Not in fire, but in freedom.
Let it come.
Let it come.
Let it come. Amen.
Anthony Khair is a Palestinian human rights activist and theologian. He holds a Bachelor’s degree in Biblical Studies from Bethlehem Bible College and a Master’s in Theology from Vrije University Amsterdam, specializing in Peace, Trauma, and Religion. Born in Honduras, Anthony’s multicultural background spans Latin America, Palestine, and the United States. He has worked with the Mennonite Central Committee, advocating at the U.S. Congress and United Nations, and is currently engaged with Peace Catalyst International and the Bethlehem Institute of Peace and Justice. His work focuses on decolonial theology, international solidarity, and justice for oppressed communities.
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