Before my own heart ever learned its hungry cry, the hunger of God himself cried out for me. No grief escapes his eye, no tear slips from his hand. As God incarnate, he cried in anguish over his city; he reached out his arms on the cross in his hunger to hold the whole of his stubborn, shattered little world. Our pilgrim hunger is simply our response to the ever-present keening of God over his people, a summoning our desire does not instigate but answer.
