Jeremiah 18:5-6a – Subtle Sight, Broad Vision
5 Then the word of the Lord came to me, saying: 6 “O house of Israel…"
Drawing again from my favorite television drama The West Wing, there is a time when natural disaster strikes the Midwest. Pres. Bartlet admirably alters his schedule to be present with hurting people. We are drawn in as he drops the pretensions of his massive intellect and office in order to relate to people's everyday struggles.
The thing is, he nearly gets stuck there. He finds such a payoff in being able to physically see the short-cycle difference he gets to make that the press secretary who advocated for the trip actually has to confront him with the broader perspective.
You are the President, she says in essence. You need to do what you are called and equipped to do, even when it's hard, even when you don't see immediate results. You need to get back to Washington.
I'm drawn toward that dynamic at the camera angle in Jeremiah's narrative shifts yet again and the Father's continual capturing of Jeremiah's heart, and ours. That Fatherly heart at the end of Jeremiah 17 called the same prophet who at times has been guarded and begrudging to the epicenter of national attention, the gate the kings use in Jerusalem. Warn the culture, He said, that its pillars are coming down. I am, He insists, protection and splendor which neither palaces nor gates can provide.
God leads Jeremiah from this climactic setting to the potter's house, narrowing his perspective and muting his necessary volume so that Jeremiah can listen. He can listen first to the spin of the wheel, and humbly, seemingly with fascination, record the rhythms of everyday life. It's in this setting that the Lord's voice comes to him, as promised.
It's by that voice that Jeremiah's perspective, and ours, is widened again dramatically. In case Jeremiah's heart was actually drawn toward the quieter life, more moldable material, and more obvious victories that are part of the potter's life, God plays the part of the press secretary to Pres. Bartlet. You, Jeremiah, have a bigger office. I brought you here not to extol a simpler life or a lower class but to provide a vignette to the whole country.
I don't actually know if Jeremiah struggled in moving from setting to setting. I don't know if his heart had any tendency which the Lord may have been preempting to attach to the new normal as the forever normal. By now, he may have been a veteran and content spiritual itinerant.
But I know my heart both sticks and wanders where it shouldn't. I know other people's work, other people's lives, ALWAYS look easier than the one to which God has called me. I am Paul Reiser's character in Mad About You when Helen Hunt, his on-screen wife plays on their marvelous chemistry and suggests that the elevator men in their building may be tired. When Paul derides without particular malice that all he does is push a button and wonders how that can tire a man, I'm right there. The potter's life looks easy. So does the elevator's man.
God's rescue to my insular tendencies is His Word. He pulls me out of my excuses and reminds me that His work is in the world. His work through me in that world often involves pushing the boundaries of what I'm comfortable with.
I may or may not be called to speak to my whole country, but I am much more often called to confront man I am to settle into myopic excuse-making about how fascinating somebody else's life is. The rhythms of my walk with Christ are called to be a lot like Jeremiah's. Parachute me in. Use God-given curiosity about almost everything to draw me into the details. Allow me to use those details to get the attention of the broader sphere to which God has called me.
What a ride! What a privilege! Still, the hum of the potter's wheel can be entrancing. I can idolize simplicity. I can idolize trade over profession. I can idolize whatever socioeconomic class, up or down, the Lord has not called me into. Let me behold His glory, or simply more comfort or contentment, over there, and the grass always looks greener.
My challenge, then, is to engage right where I am, to be grateful, and to always have my spiritual bags packed for His next call, His next challenge for which He is more sufficient than the nicest of human habits.
Drawing again from my favorite television drama The West Wing, there is a time when natural disaster strikes the Midwest. Pres. Bartlet admirably alters his schedule to be present with hurting people. We are drawn in as he drops the pretensions of his massive intellect and office in order to relate to people's everyday struggles.
The thing is, he nearly gets stuck there. He finds such a payoff in being able to physically see the short-cycle difference he gets to make that the press secretary who advocated for the trip actually has to confront him with the broader perspective.
You are the President, she says in essence. You need to do what you are called and equipped to do, even when it's hard, even when you don't see immediate results. You need to get back to Washington.
I'm drawn toward that dynamic at the camera angle in Jeremiah's narrative shifts yet again and the Father's continual capturing of Jeremiah's heart, and ours. That Fatherly heart at the end of Jeremiah 17 called the same prophet who at times has been guarded and begrudging to the epicenter of national attention, the gate the kings use in Jerusalem. Warn the culture, He said, that its pillars are coming down. I am, He insists, protection and splendor which neither palaces nor gates can provide.
God leads Jeremiah from this climactic setting to the potter's house, narrowing his perspective and muting his necessary volume so that Jeremiah can listen. He can listen first to the spin of the wheel, and humbly, seemingly with fascination, record the rhythms of everyday life. It's in this setting that the Lord's voice comes to him, as promised.
It's by that voice that Jeremiah's perspective, and ours, is widened again dramatically. In case Jeremiah's heart was actually drawn toward the quieter life, more moldable material, and more obvious victories that are part of the potter's life, God plays the part of the press secretary to Pres. Bartlet. You, Jeremiah, have a bigger office. I brought you here not to extol a simpler life or a lower class but to provide a vignette to the whole country.
I don't actually know if Jeremiah struggled in moving from setting to setting. I don't know if his heart had any tendency which the Lord may have been preempting to attach to the new normal as the forever normal. By now, he may have been a veteran and content spiritual itinerant.
But I know my heart both sticks and wanders where it shouldn't. I know other people's work, other people's lives, ALWAYS look easier than the one to which God has called me. I am Paul Reiser's character in Mad About You when Helen Hunt, his on-screen wife plays on their marvelous chemistry and suggests that the elevator men in their building may be tired. When Paul derides without particular malice that all he does is push a button and wonders how that can tire a man, I'm right there. The potter's life looks easy. So does the elevator's man.
God's rescue to my insular tendencies is His Word. He pulls me out of my excuses and reminds me that His work is in the world. His work through me in that world often involves pushing the boundaries of what I'm comfortable with.
I may or may not be called to speak to my whole country, but I am much more often called to confront man I am to settle into myopic excuse-making about how fascinating somebody else's life is. The rhythms of my walk with Christ are called to be a lot like Jeremiah's. Parachute me in. Use God-given curiosity about almost everything to draw me into the details. Allow me to use those details to get the attention of the broader sphere to which God has called me.
What a ride! What a privilege! Still, the hum of the potter's wheel can be entrancing. I can idolize simplicity. I can idolize trade over profession. I can idolize whatever socioeconomic class, up or down, the Lord has not called me into. Let me behold His glory, or simply more comfort or contentment, over there, and the grass always looks greener.
My challenge, then, is to engage right where I am, to be grateful, and to always have my spiritual bags packed for His next call, His next challenge for which He is more sufficient than the nicest of human habits.
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