An​​ Alta Journal reader responds to the fires ravaging his Southern California community. Got something to say? We’d love to hear from you. Email letters@altaonline.com. Please include your name, city, state, and phone number so we can contact you. Letters may be edited for brevity and clarity.

A City in Ashes: How Grief Can Lead Us to Hope

The fires in Los Angeles are among the worst catastrophes our city has seen since the Northridge earthquake in ’94 and are some of the most destructive wildfires in the history of California. Thousands have lost their homes, and countless others have been displaced. My home in East Hollywood hasn’t been burned, but there are ashes on my front porch—a haunting reminder of the surrounding devastation.

Amid the chaos, I’ve witnessed two prevailing responses. Many are searching for someone to blame, whether it’s the mayor, the governor, or climate change. Others are springing into action, asking urgently, “What can I do to help?” Both responses are valid. We need accountability to understand if the fires could have been better contained. And we must act quickly to help those in need. But there is a third response—one we’re not always good at in Los Angeles: We need to grieve.

Grief begins when we acknowledge our inability to fix the unfixable. While Los Angeles will rebuild, no amount of grit or planning can undo the devastation. Grief is about facing reality—not just the destruction of homes and neighborhoods but also the loss of memories, histories, and lives. At least 24 people have died in these fires. Schools, businesses, and churches have lost decades of growth and service. What once were vibrant neighborhoods are now fields of ash, punctuated by lonely chimneys rising into the smoky sky. These realities demand our attention and our sorrow.

Embracing our limitations isn’t like stepping into a prison. It is more like opening a door that leads to a field where grief and hope can coexist. Real hope doesn’t come from going around grief but from walking through it. Without deep grief, we are left with shallow hope.

To grieve means to acknowledge the pain, sit with the sorrow, and create space to feel our emotions—whether sadness, anger, confusion, or despair. Another word for this is lament. Lament is not the same as complaining; it is crying out honestly in the face of brokenness and pain. It’s something we’re not accustomed to in Los Angeles, a city known for performance and progress. We are quick to channel pain into action or anger rather than sitting with it and acknowledging its weight. We’re eager to move on to the next thing, often bypassing the hard but necessary work of mourning what has been lost.

There is ancient wisdom that can help us navigate this moment. For more than 2,000 years, Jewish, Catholic, and Protestant communities have turned to a collection of poems known as Lamentations to find perspective during times of tragedy. These poems were written after the city of Jerusalem had been decimated and burned. In one of the most poignant passages, the poet writes:

My soul is bereft of peace;
I have forgotten what happiness is;
so I say, “My endurance has perished;
so has my hope from the LORD.”
(Lamentations 3:17–18)

There is no sugarcoating here. The poet bluntly acknowledges his anguish and despair. And yet, his grief does not rule out hope:

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
(Lamentations 3:21–23)

The depth of grief leads the poet to a profound source of hope: the enduring love of God. This hope doesn’t deny the pain but sits alongside it, offering strength for the present and the promise of renewal for the future. Today is hard, but tomorrow will bring new mercies.

As a pastor, I’ve spent the past week sitting with people who have lost everything. They are asking as many existential questions as practical ones. In other words, people are looking for insurance lawyers, but they’re also looking for hope. They need to find a place to live, but they are also searching for purpose and direction. They need new things, but they want someone to acknowledge the loss of their old things.

This moment calls us to grieve together as a city. Grieving doesn’t mean giving up—it means creating space to process our pain, so we can move forward with clarity and strength. It means acknowledging our limitations and finding hope that is deeper than mere optimism. Hope that recognizes the profound losses we’ve experienced while trusting that restoration is possible.

As the City of Angels faces this profound loss, let’s resist the urge to rush past our grief. Let’s take time to lament what we’ve lost, to sit with our neighbors in their sorrow, and to rebuild with compassion and resilience. Let’s press on toward hope, not by avoiding grief but rather by walking through it together.

Jeremy Treat
Los Angeles, California•