Jr 45
26 September 2010
“Baruch, the Blessed”
When I was a kid, sometimes
I could be seen pouting or sulking—basically feeling sorry for myself. Occasionally my mom would ask me if I wanted
a “pity party.” (A poll was recently
taken, and nine out of ten surveyed agreed that such a gathering is their least favorite social event.)
John
Calvin, who, as Presbyterians, is one of our ancestors, apparently believed
that Baruch was desirous of a pity party.
Reflecting on Jeremiah 45, he said, “Baruch has thus far been severely
reproved, as he deserved, on account of his self-indulgence.”[1] Calvin was originally trained as a lawyer. I don’t know; if there were personal injury
attorneys in the sixteenth century, his opinion may have been different!
Of
course, not everyone has such a harsh verdict on Baruch’s lament, which we see
in verse 3: “Woe is me! The Lord has added sorrow to my pain; I am
weary with my groaning, and I find no rest.”
Being the friend and personal secretary of the prophet Jeremiah has brought
him more than his share of trouble.
Admittedly,
it can be difficult, if not impossible, to appreciate all the angles of a
situation when we’re right in the midst of it.
Walter Brueggemann invites us to step back, catch our breath, and take a
broader view of the book of Jeremiah.
That helps to give us a fresh look at Baruch and his challenges.
He
calls the book a “public document.”[2] By that, he means it doesn’t belong solely to
the scholars, of which he is one. But it
also doesn’t exclusively belong to,
first, the synagogue, and later, to the church.
The communities of faith that for centuries have treasured it—and have
found it to be a source of wisdom and light—can’t claim to be the only ones who
possess it.
In the next six chapters
after today’s text, Jeremiah directly addresses the surrounding nations. But more basic than that, we need to look at
Jeremiah’s world. He lives in a time of
what Brueggemann calls “deep public disruption.
[The book] dares to reflect on the ground of disruption, on the practice
of survival in the midst of disruption, and on life possibilities beyond
disruption.”[3]
What does that mean? What is “disruption” all about? Last week, I mentioned the threatened, and
then successful, invasion by the Babylonians.
Jerusalem is occupied, and the temple is destroyed. Hundreds, if not thousands, of Jews are sent
into exile. It seems like everything is
falling apart. It’s a perfect image of
what public disruption is all about. We
can probably think of other times when society has been disrupted—when it has
been turned upside down.
Still, the book of Jeremiah
does much more than chronicle the sorry state of affairs. “More than that,” says Brueggemann, “it
claims and sounds the utterance of holiness in the midst of disruption, sounds
about the Holy One, sounds from the Holy One that summon to honesty and to
hope.”[4] The book dares to claim that God speaks even
in the midst of disruption—in the midst of chaos. It dares “to ponder the odd connection
between public disruption and durable, undomesticated holiness.”
What is undomesticated
holiness? And what does it have to do
with public disruption, public disorder?
Undomesticated holiness
involves God acting in ways that are not at
all tame—acting in ways that are quite fierce. Or maybe we should think of God as acting in and through situations that are disordered, even situations that are
quite barbaric.
That’s a term our friend
Walter uses in describing much of our present-day culture. He speaks of the holocaust and “other circles
of barbarism.” Circles of barbarism. Who can deny that we are witnesses, and
sometimes participants, in it? It’s not
a question of being terrorists! We can
see that we also often treat
neighbors across the street, and across the world, in barbaric ways.
He admits that it’s “a daring
notion that holiness is at work in our own barbaric setting, but no more daring
than the parallel claim was in that ancient situation,” in the time of Jeremiah
and Baruch.[5] In other words, just as we can see God acting
when everything’s going haywire today, we also can see God acting when
everything’s going haywire during the time of our scripture reading.
The divine message that
Jeremiah relays to Baruch is that, “It’s not all about you. You aren’t the center of the universe, though
you may be the center of your own little
universe.” Verse 5 accuses him of
seeking “great things” for himself. The
Good News Bible and the New Jerusalem Bible say “special treatment.” It’s kind of like in sports, where sometimes
the top stars get away with bending the rules in a way the rest of the league
doesn’t.
But that won’t work here,
not when the word has been given, in language going back to the call of Jeremiah,
that “I am going to break down what I
have built, and pluck up what I have planted—that is, the whole land” (v.
4). There can be no special treatment
when the Lord is “going to bring disaster upon all flesh” (v. 5).
I’m reminded of a scene in the 1992 movie The Last of the Mohicans, when Madeleine
Stowe’s character and Daniel Day-Lewis’ are sharing a “private moment” during
the French and Indian War. The English fort
they’re in is being attacked by the French.
In the midst of cannon fire and explosions, she says, “The
whole world is set on fire.” Is the
entire planet actually ablaze? Certainly
their world, as well as Baruch’s, is
set on fire. Disaster is being brought
to all flesh.
It’s
hard to blame Baruch for lamenting his fate.
Look at when all this happens.
According to verse 1, we’re back to when Jehoiakim was king. In chapter 36, Baruch has written Jeremiah’s
words on a scroll and read them in the temple.
Of the kings that Jeremiah has to deal with, Jehoiakim is no doubt the
one most bitterly opposed to him.
Some
of the king’s officials who are sympathetic to the prophet meet privately with
Baruch. They tell him that he and
Jeremiah need to go into hiding; the king is not happy. When the scroll is read to Jehoiakim, he
shreds it and burns it. As a result,
Jeremiah and Baruch do the same thing again.
The prophet dictates another
scroll, with “many similar
words…added” (36:32). They are defying
the king, and he wants them arrested.
So, let’s move ahead
a couple of decades—and back a
couple of chapters to last week’s sermon.
(Remember what I said about the jumbled timeline in Jeremiah.) The group that wants to flee to Egypt accuses
Baruch of treason and persuading Jeremiah to speak lies. So there’s yet another woe for him to add to all his other woes.
Still, with all of that, the final word from God to
Baruch is that “I will give you your life
as a prize of war in every place to which you may go” (v. 5). That is the word of comfort in the midst of
everything falling apart: you will
survive! Even though the world be set on
fire, your life will be like “a prize of war,” like the plunder soldiers loot
from a fallen foe.
Believe it or not, Baruch, but you are
blessed! Actually, the name “Baruch”
means “blessed.” No, you are not Baruch,
the woeful. You are Baruch, the blessed.
Walter Brueggemann has an
interesting take on this. He doesn’t
deny that Baruch is an actual person, but he suggests that here, besides that
individual man, he might possibly
represent “those ‘right-minded’ people” who support Jeremiah—those who truly
are among “the blessed.”[6]
It’s easy to have conflicted
feelings about the ideas of “blessed” and “blessing.” Baruch is basically told that the mere fact
that he will live is itself a blessing.
Or dare we say the “mere” fact that he will live? When so much death is being shared, Baruch is
quite fortunate—in fact, blessed—to avoid it.
We can see that among
ourselves. What many think of as
ordinary would be seen by others as having the floodgates of heaven opened upon
them. Enough food to keep away constant
pangs of hunger, clean water to drink, a toilet that one can use in privacy, a
bed where one can go to sleep without fear of danger, these and so many other
aspects of life are great blessings to those who have them.
Sometimes, it really is a
matter of perspective. When we lived in
Jamestown, I volunteered with a group called Compeer. They work with two different
populations: adults with mental
disabilities and youth with behavioral issues.
They ask that you just be a friend.
At different times, I was paired up with a couple of guys who were in middle
school.
Anyway, the first time one
of them came to our house, referring to our street, he asked, “Is this where
the rich people live?” (It basically
looked like one of the streets in Hammondsport.) I had seen the houses he lived in, so I could
understand his question. But even he,
compared with a significant percentage of the world’s people, would be
considered well above the level of poverty.
So, is Baruch justified in
complaining about his woes? I don’t
know. Are we justified in complaining
about ours? I don’t know. One thing I do know is that it’s always important to put ourselves in the other
person’s shoes. And in the end, that is
what will carry us.
Do we follow the way of the
Jews determined to flee to Egypt, as I mentioned last week, those who find
death? Do we follow the way of Baruch,
one who finds blessing? Both of those ways
are walked in the midst of disturbance and disorder. Outwardly, they look the same. What is the difference? It’s the promise of God.
It
is the promise of God that in a culture of disruption, we are enabled to both be a blessing and to see the blessing that’s already been given.
There’s
already been a hint of this in today’s worship service. Look again at our call to worship. “For any who have turned to self-pity rather
than repentance and healing… [Is that you,
Baruch? Is that us?] And for all who come here today content and
thankful for many blessings… This house
of prayer is filled with the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and
the fellowship of the Holy Spirit. Therefore,
we can take heart.”