Friday, July 31, 2020 Memorial of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, Priest (today’s lectionary)
Happy birthday, Jasper!
Happy birthday, little buddy! Your words and steps are coming soon. And tomorrow you will get to plunge your hands into a sugar cake. We’ll blow balloons and bubbles from a distance and laugh and laugh. Your brother will laugh and laugh, and we’ll laugh with both of you. Your mom and dad will have their hands full.
While we are partying in 2020, in 609 BC the prophet Jeremiah was being attacked by all the bad guys. The new king’s court was full of sycophants who thought they should run Jeremiah out on a rail because he did not glorify the new king.
God had long ago cornered Jeremiah. And Jeremiah let himself be cornered. God seduced him, and he was seduced. So he was going to speak the words he heard.
Whatever I command you, tell them, and omit nothing.
Jeremiah knew God loved his people, but he loved them these days with the toughest love imaginable. And Jeremiah was the messenger. Oh boy, here we go again.
I will make this the city to which all nations of the earth shall refer
When cursing another.
Oh, Lord, why did you make me say that! Look, they run at me, they surround me, they whack me with their fists, they spit on my face and stomp their feet. Their eyes bulge in their red faces. Here am I, send me? Oh, Lord, save my body and my soul.
Now that God’s words have been shouted out, Jeremiah’s own frightened, angry words rumble panicked through his mind. This was not going to end well.
In rage the priests and prophets laid hold of Jeremiah.
“You must be put to death!”
Hear the piercing wails of the broken-hearted, pity the poor starving children of the desert, hated and forlorn. Self-pity racks the frame of the wandering prophet, the wandering minstrel who waits for God. He flinches before the blows of the prosperous, protected temple priests.
Must I restore what I did not steal?
I bear insult for your sake, Lord.
I am outcast even to my brothers.
They curse you, and I do not. They curse me, and I do not curse them.
Oh, Jeremiah. Look in the mirror once in awhile. Sometimes I grow so weary of your complaints.
Yes, I know that, Lord. I’m sorry. But then I wake again, and fire fills my belly.
Zeal for your house consumes me
Even when insults intended for you, fall on me.
You are my constant source, my companion,
My salvation and my help.
Jeremiah could have been paving the way for Jesus. Jesus preached in his hometown synagogue, where he was known as the carpenter’s son. Surely he could not be a prophet to tell them their own sins. They turned against him, and Jesus spoke harshly of his people.
A prophet is not without honor
EXCEPT
In his native place and in his own house.
I hope Jeremiah was listening from his heavenly perch. He smiled and rubbed his hands. He recognized the path that Jesus chose. And he knew that every step was worth it. God is good, not bad. God is loving, hateful.
But God is never safe. And that’s OK. Step up.
Over and over we, the people of God, do not step up and followed our prophets. Over and over we miss the blessing. We fail to catch the wave.
And he did not work many mighty deeds there
Because of their lack of faith.
And there was weeping in the morning, and weeping in the evening, and weeping at suppertime. Lost, lost, all lost.
God does not say these things, however. He tears us away from our self-pity and condemnation. His tough love lasts forever.
But we forget, Lord. Please stand me up and remind me that you are here.
That’s what birthdays are for, right? And New Year Eve’s. And graduations. And mornings.
God is GOOD.
Happy Birthday!
(Jeremiah 26, Psalm 69, 1 Peter 1, Matthew 13)
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