Jr 8:18-9:1
19 September 2004
“Summer’s Almost Gone”
I realize that people tend to think of the Labor Day weekend as the end of summer, and from a tourist perspective, maybe that’s so. Still, today is the final Sunday of summer! The autumnal equinox occurs on Wednesday at 12:30pm.
To the extent that people have feelings associated with the end of summer, they often tend to be of a wistful, melancholy variety—a longing for those warm breezes and carefree nights. As a kid, I had those feelings, along with a certain dread at having to go back to school. But I also looked forward to fall, because that’s football season! Even now, the first days of cool weather remind me of the fun I had playing that game.
I’m reminded of a song by the late-sixties, early-seventies, group the Doors. They had a song called “Summer’s Almost Gone.” (Which, by the way, was before my time. I was maybe three years old when this one came out! And to avoid disparaging the late Jim Morrison, I won’t sing this!)
“Summer's almost gone, / Summer's almost gone, / Almost gone, yeah, it's almost gone / Where will we be when the summer's gone?” There really is a tone of gloominess to it. The song ends this way: “Summer's almost gone, / Summer's almost gone / We had some good times but they're gone / The winter's coming on, summer's almost gone.”
Our Old Testament reading in Jeremiah has an expression in which the people, realizing that summer is over, consider it an evil omen. “The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved” (v. 20). Some people say this refers to the drought mentioned in chapter 14. Others see it as a saying that Jeremiah uses to sum up the mood of the people. Maybe both are true. One thing is sure: the impending invasion of the Babylonians has people absolutely frantic.
If you recall, last week I mentioned Jeremiah’s lament, his jeremiad, at all the horrible things that had happened to him. I said this week we’d see his torment because of all the disaster that’s happening to the people. Now that stuff about the end of summer as a sign of their ruin is bracketed—it’s bookended—by cries of Jeremiah about that very thing. The passage begins and ends with Jeremiah expressing his intense grief. We see his distress.
Verse 18: “My joy is gone, grief is upon me, my heart is sick.” Our passage ends on an even more painful note. “O that my head were a spring of water, and my eyes a fountain of tears, so that I might weep day and night for the slain of my poor people!” (9:1). By the way, I did say last week that Jeremiah is known as “the weeping prophet?”
He truly loves his compatriots, even though they haven’t shown much love to him. In return for his desperate hopes and prayers that they’ll listen to the truth, Jeremiah’s been given ample helpings of all kinds of abuse: mockery, beating, and imprisonment. His words have been twisted to make him sound like the enemy of the people.
There are those who would say that the prophet is a fool to get so worked up over the fate of this bunch. After the way they treated him, they deserve all the pain that’s coming their way! Why should he care what happens to people who’ve made his life hell? Besides, it’s not like his tears are going to do any good anyway.
There are at least two responses to all this. First, Jeremiah isn’t naďve; he isn’t a fool. He knows the nature of the people he grieves, both the few who’ve been kind to him and the many who haven’t. Here’s the verse right after today’s reading, 9:2: “O that I had in the desert a traveler's lodging place, that I might leave my people and go away from them! For they are all adulterers, a band of traitors.”
Jeremiah would like to have a place way out in the wilderness. It would be nice to separate himself from all the villainous stuff that’s going on. He knows they aren’t trustworthy; he understands that better than anyone else. His compassion, his concern, shouldn’t be mistaken for wearing rose-colored glasses!
Still, having said that, the prophet’s care—his sorrow—does accomplish something. There is a certain wisdom gained. We do learn from grief things we can’t learn in any other way. Obviously, that’s a class that no one wants to sign up for! But if Jeremiah were to harden his heart—if he were to say goodbye to compassion—he would become less human.
I’ll confess, I don’t see myself very much like Jeremiah. I’m particularly thinking of those verses that open and close today’s passage. Look at them again, especially the last one, with its emphasis on profuse weeping. Maybe there’s a male stereotype thing going on, but I honestly have trouble seeing myself say those things.
And here’s my lame excuse: I’m actually not as bad as I used to be. I remember being a really cold fish. A few days ago, I happened to catch the last part of the movie, “Antwone Fisher.” There were tears of joy coming from my eyes. In fact, if anyone can watch that movie and not cry at the end…all I can say is, “Buddy, you’ve got a heart of stone!”
Still, that is a movie, and I know I have a long way to go. Something I can honestly say is that I want to be more like Jeremiah. He’s always been my favorite of the prophets, and I want to bring that spirit into our ministry here—and to the extent that Jeremiah-like compassion is present, to find ways for it to grow.
Sometimes it’s hard to know exactly how that’s done. There’s something of that confusion in the questions of verse 22. “Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then has the health of my poor people not been restored?” (Quick note here: Gilead was a region east of the Jordan River, part of modern day Jordan. It was known for, among other things, its medical potions, its therapeutic balms.)
Jeremiah’s using the “balm in Gilead” as a metaphor. The cure for what ails the people is readily available—Gilead isn’t far away. So what’s the deal? Why isn’t the message getting through? Why does the country continue on its downward spiral?
Is Jeremiah directing all this at God? Remember last week; he’s known for his heartrending struggles with the Lord. Haven’t we put those kinds of questions to God? “Why do we seem ineffective? Why do people, even family and friends, leave the church? How about some help, Lord?”
Maybe verse 22 is directed at the people. “Just what is your problem? Haven’t I suffered enough on your account? What more will it take for all of you to come to your senses?”
Or is the prophet asking these questions to himself? Is he wondering, “How much more of this can I take? If I hang around here much longer, they’re going to get me. I’m just wasting my time.”
Some people say that today’s reading is a dialogue between God and Jeremiah. Who says what is a matter of debate, but the point is that both Lord and prophet are deeply pained at the self-destructive choices of the people.
Is there no balm in Gilead? The remedy is right at hand. Is there no balm in Gilead? In a few moments, we’ll sing a song—a spiritual—that proclaims, yes, “there is a balm in Gilead, to make the wounded whole.” How do we live the life of compassion that Jeremiah models? Hear verse three: “If you cannot preach like Peter, / If you cannot pray like Paul, / You can tell the love of Jesus / And say, ‘He died for all.’” God has a way of taking our halting, stumbling efforts, and making something out of them.
Summer’s almost gone. We’re moving into fall. There is a balm in Gilead; the remedy is right at hand. Let’s work together to bring healing to the sin-sick souls among us and around us.