Jr 15:16-16:9

9 September 2007

“The Betrayed”

            If I had to pick the biblical prophet who I most admire, based on the information we’re given, I would probably say Jeremiah is the one.  I say that for a number of reasons, not the least of which is a particular quality he demonstrates—one in which I find myself in short supply.  At the last men’s fellowship meeting, I said I often pray for this.  That quality is courage.

Consider for a moment his situation.  Jeremiah’s country, Judah, is being threatened by the Babylonians; war is at hand.  His assessment of the matter runs contrary to that of the government and most of the religious community.  Jeremiah simply refuses to stay “on message.”  For his trouble, he’s labeled a traitor, endures humiliation and beating, and gets arrested and abused.

            It must seem to Jeremiah like the world is coming to an end.  The prospect of a powerful army invading your country might stir up such feelings.  In chapter 4, the prophet cries out, “My anguish, my anguish!  I writhe in pain!…My heart is beating wildly; I cannot keep silent; for I hear the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war” (v. 19).  He suffers terribly, and this is what he envisions:  “I looked on the earth, and lo, it was waste and void; and to the heavens, and they had no light” (v. 23).

            Jeremiah isn’t the only one in time of war to conclude that the end is at hand.  Hollywood seems to agree with me.

            In the classic movie Casablanca, during a flashback, there’s the scene in which the Germans are marching into Paris.  Ilsa, played by Ingrid Bergman, and Rick, played by Humphrey Bogart, are looking down at the street from a window above.  Ingrid Bergman says, “With the whole world crumbling, we pick this time to fall in love.”  And Bogie replies, “Yeah, it’s pretty bad timing.”

            With The Last of the Mohicans, we go from World War 2 Paris back to the French and Indian War, here in upstate New York.  We have Madeleine Stowe playing Cora, and Daniel Day-Lewis playing Hawkeye.  They’re in the fort commanded by her father, a British colonel.  The fight is not going well.  The French are preparing their final assault.  Hawkeye has been arrested for helping some of the colonial militia escape so that they can defend their families.

            As she stares through the prison bars at her love, Daniel Day-Lewis, Madeleine Stowe hears the explosions of the French cannons, and she asks, “The whole world’s on fire, isn’t it?”

            You might think all this talk of love and war doesn’t apply to Jeremiah—but you’d be wrong!  On these issues of love and war, Jeremiah has seen precious little of the former, but he’s seen more than his share of the latter.  He hasn’t been nicknamed “the weeping prophet” for nothing!

            The book of Jeremiah is unique in an important way.  None of the other books of the prophets provides such insight into the inner life of the man.  There are several poems in the book which have been called “the confessions” of Jeremiah.  Our scripture reading contains the last part of the second one.

            These “confessions”—which are actually laments—show the torment that Jeremiah is forced to endure.  They’re similar to what we see in the book of Job.  The prophet complains about his lot in life, and at times, he hurls bitter accusations at God.  Earlier in chapter 15, he even regrets being born.  One writer says that Jeremiah’s “basic problem with Yahweh [the Lord] is that Yahweh did not seem to be keeping his promise…to protect him when opposition came.”[1]

            That promise comes with the call of Jeremiah, which was our Old Testament reading a couple of weeks ago.  It’s in the first chapter, where the Lord says, “Do not say, ‘I am only a boy’; for you shall go to all to whom I send you, and you shall speak whatever I command you.  Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you” (vv. 7-8).

            Jeremiah feels betrayed.  He says, “I’ve kept my side of the bargain.  What about you, God?”  We can see that in today’s reading.

            Things start off great.  “Your words were found, and I ate them, and your words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart” (v. 16).  But then he sees the corruption of his society, and he quickly finds out that, when you tell people God isn’t pleased with their behavior, they often aren’t pleased with your behavior—to put it mildly.

            You don’t find yourself on many guest lists.  Look at verse 17:  “I did not sit in the company of merrymakers, nor did I rejoice; under the weight of your hand I sat alone, for you had filled me with indignation.”  Aside from the external pressure, the prophet feels the internal pressure of turmoil within.  Writer Klaus Koch notes that with a life “as full of tension as this, who could fail to understand his wish to lead an ordinary, normal life at long last—to marry, to be at rest, and to laugh like other people?”[2]

            Jeremiah feels that God has forbidden him these normal social relationships.  Chapter 16 begins, “The word of the Lord came to me:  You shall not take a wife, nor shall you have sons or daughters in this place” (vv. 1-2).  And this is in a culture in which a man who never marries is virtually unheard of.

            So not only is he denied the comfort of the opposite sex, but he’s also told not to get too chummy with his fellow Judahites in general.  “You shall not go into the house of feasting to sit with them, to eat and drink” (v. 8).  One might reasonably apply Arnold Schwarzenegger’s line in Kindergarten Cop to Jeremiah:  “I’m the party pooper!”

            But after a while, he gets tired of being the party pooper.  (Not to mention being the focus of hatred.)  This is where we see Jeremiah’s deep sense of betrayal.  The prophet demands of God, “Why is my pain unceasing, my wound incurable, refusing to be healed?” (15:18).  The prophet supplies his own answer:  “Truly, you are to me like a deceitful brook, like waters that fail.”

            There are a great many names of God that appear in the Old Testament.  Among them are Lord, Light, Rock, Shepherd, and plenty more.  Here’s something we can add to the list:  “deceitful brook,” or as it appears in the New Jerusalem Bible, “deceptive stream”!

            So, let’s review.  Jeremiah is prohibited from having a wife and friends.  (Still, having said that, he isn’t entirely friendless.  Baruch, for example, sticks out his neck for the prophet more than once.)  Even so, in exchange for people hating his guts, he gets this in verse 20:  God will make him “a fortified wall of bronze.”  Isn’t that special?  No possibility of marriage, but he does get to be a wall of bronze!

            God’s response to Jeremiah’s complaint is that he should “turn back” (v. 19).  The word in Hebrew is bWv (shuv); it means “return” or “repent.”  God is telling him, “Once you’re done with your venting, I’ll restore you.”  But there’s no guarantee that the prophet will no longer have to fight, only that “they shall not prevail over you” (v. 20).

            As for the divine offer to make him “a fortified wall of bronze,” well, he needs it.  Even the people in his home town of Anathoth turn on him.  We see this in chapter 11.  It’s been claimed that they’re “shamed to the depths that one of themselves should undermine the very foundations of the nation by what he said, and should make himself the most hated man in the country.  So they threaten to murder him.”[3]

            Jeremiah is getting betrayed from all directions.  No wonder he’s called “the weeping prophet.”

            Still, his tears, more than for himself, are for his people.  After all, he’s the one who cries out:  “Is there no balm in Gilead?  Is there no physician there?  Why then has the health of my poor people not been restored?  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!” (8:22-9:1).

            Due to his great suffering…due to the way he’s misunderstood…due to his being labeled a traitor…due to a number of things…Jeremiah is often pictured as the prophet who most resembles Jesus.

I am very grateful for the confessions of Jeremiah.  I said at the beginning that I admire him for his courage, something I have far too little of.  I also admire him for his vulnerability, which also takes a great deal of courage.  To make oneself vulnerable is to quit the play acting.  It means getting real with God and with each other.

            A story is told about John Robertson, a 19th century minister in the Church of Scotland.  Having preached for forty years, he “decided one morning to resign.  He prayed:  ‘O God, Thou didst commission me forty years ago, but I have blundered and failed and I want to resign this morning.’

“But as he prayed and sobbed, he heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘John Robertson…‘tis true you have blundered and failed; but…I am not here for you to resign your commission but to re-sign your commission.’  He went on to new and greater things in his ministry.”[4]

To become the community that, in our heart of hearts, we really want to be, we need that kind of confession—that kind of vulnerability.  It’s the open honesty demonstrated by our Scottish friend, and certainly by Jeremiah, that enables us to truly smell and taste the kingdom of God.

But there remains the question:  have any of us felt betrayed by God?  Would “deceitful brook,” “deceptive stream,” be names we might want to apply to God?  Denying it—hiding it—doesn’t do any good.  God knows our hearts.  It’s best for our own spiritual, emotional, mental, and physical health to get it out of our system.  Tell God; tell someone you trust.

We can be a support to others, others who feel that the world is ending—that God is against them.  I’m not saying that we can explain all the ways of God.  Only a fool would claim such a thing!  But if we become acquainted with people like Jeremiah—if we actually read the book of Jeremiah—we can let people know that they aren’t alone.  Even the greatest of prophets has been where they are…where all of us are.

We mustn’t be afraid to struggle with God:  to wrestle, to grapple, with God.  A Christian faith which is real and true reflects our deepest human struggles.  It’s reflected in the way we live and have our being in Jesus Christ as persons and as a community.  Of course we’ll have doubts.  After all, faith isn’t supposed to be blind!

But we can draw strength from Jeremiah’s prayer to God:  “Your words were found, and I ate them, and your words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart; for I am called by your name, O Lord, God of hosts” (15:16).

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