The Hard Task Of Truth-telling
Sermon
Sermons on the First Readings
Series II, Cycle C
Object:
Carrie's1 high school guidance counselor noticed she had been acting out a bit in school recently. She had appeared depressed and had been having some authority issues over rules and such. The guidance counselor set Carrie up with a local pastor who had been volunteering a few hours each Friday after a teen suicide a few months before. Most of the other students who came to see the pastor just needed someone to listen to their usual teen issues and heartaches. But, shortly into their time together, Carrie began to open up about some real grown-up problems. In due course she revealed that she was, for the most part, raising herself as well as a younger sibling -- preparing meals (when food could be found), doing laundry, and getting them both up and dressed for school each day. Her mom and live-in boyfriend were usually high, drunk, or both.
The pastor knew the authorities needed to be notified, but Carrie was terrified of just what would become of her and her family. By law, the neglect had to be reported, but the pastor was hesitant to force the aftermath of this notification upon the teen without her consent. For the next ninety minutes the two wrestled with just what to do next.
This woman-child was also wrestling with her faith in a God she'd only heard about but never known. She was not convinced this God even existed, let alone loved her. In the end she chose to trust the pastor and the school staff who sought to help. She found the courage to tell the truth. Child welfare was notified and the intervention was begun. Some of her fears materialized and she did, in fact, experience some repercussions. There was no storybook ending; but with the help from friends she didn't know she had she found within herself a strength she never knew existed. It wasn't "happily-ever-after" but she did live through it, and was eventually able to laugh again.
Carrie's story is all too familiar, unfortunately. Even in her small rural school her experience is not unique. Other children, even younger than she, in any number of other places, are daily forced into these kinds of hard decisions -- finding the courage to seek out help and to speak the truth about alcohol and drug use, sexual exploitation, and domestic violence in their homes and families.
Youth, like adults, quite often don't know what they are able to do until the moment comes when their "metal" is tested. Most are terrified by uncertainty and a sense of inadequacy to live into what must be done or to speak what must be told. But when they step up to the task, they gain strength that can last a lifetime.
Jeremiah was one such youngster. We don't know exactly how young. The Hebrew word can mean any age from infant to teen. Little else is known for sure beyond a few brief verses beginning the book that bears his name. He came from Anathoth, we are told -- the village to which David's friend and priest, Abiathar, was banished by King Solomon. We can only speculate how, or if, such history played a factor in Jeremiah's own tension with royal authority in his adult years.
Just where he was when called into service we are not told. We know only that God initiated the encounter. "The word of the Lord came to me," he would later relate. This was no mystic teen at a youth retreat on a quest for divine truth. Like Abraham, Moses, and Gideon before him, it was God who issued the draft notice by name.
It was not a commission Jeremiah would have chosen for himself. His family lineage may well have prepared him to be a priest perhaps, to offer sacrifices in the Jerusalem temple and pronounce God's blessing upon those who still came to worship. He could have made a decent living in the quiet safety of the temple institution. But to proclaim God's word of judgment -- to announce the doom and destruction of that temple, of the world as he knew it -- this was a task most adults would not desire. For a youngster like Jeremiah such a message must have seemed downright terrifying, especially when the orders were coming directly from the Almighty.
Like Moses and Gideon before him, and countless others who would be called thereafter, Jeremiah recognized immediately that God's plan needed some adjustments -- like, "Hey! umm, you got the wrong person to carry this off. I haven't even started speech class, yet!" In the presence of such a holy and awesome God, and given the cosmic nature of the message, which of us would not claim to be vocally impaired, if not totally tongue-tied?
Notice how unimpressed God seems to be with Jeremiah's logical objections. No lightning bolts or angry thunder are emitted from heaven, no "how dare you defy me!" No divine anger, but not much sympathy, either. Only the assurance of God's providence is given. "I will put the words into your mouth." It would be easier, perhaps, if God would promise success rather than just presence. Something like, "Don't worry, they'll love you. It'll be great," would bolster so much more willingness on the part of Jeremiah, or any one of us. Instead he gets, "I will be with you to deliver you." To some folks' way of thinking, that implies hazardous duty rather than a good time had by all.
Few rational people, young or old, are eager to engage in the hard and thankless job of truth-telling -- particularly if pronouncing the truth brings pain to those we love. Condemning the sins of our enemies or nameless strangers can bring satisfaction to some, but announcing doom to a nation or a community to which we ourselves belong -- that is tough duty. The spiritually wise have learned that, usually, the harder it is to speak words of judgment -- the more ache that pronouncement brings to our hearts -- the more likely it is that the message is of godly origin instead of human vindictiveness. The harder it is for a prophet to speak the message, the more it is likely that the prophet speaks the truth.
To speak the truth even when it breaks our hearts -- such a divine calling prompts few volunteers. Yet, day after day, countless numbers are called to just such service:
• children like Carrie who find the courage to report domestic abuse and neglect;
• the battered wife who confides in her pastor;
• the corporate manager who risks his livelihood to blow the whistle on professional misconduct;
• the athlete who tells the truth about steroid abuse amongst his closest teammates; and
• the factory worker who risks destruction of the town's economy by reporting an environmental or safety hazard.
From time to time God calls nearly all of us to the hard task of truth-telling, even when it means alienating those we love. Most of us recognize our own inadequacy to such a task and offer our own form of protest. Not everyone answers the summons. Jeremiah did. Some might wonder why.
It was God's promise to be present that turned the tide from Jeremiah's fear and self-doubt to empowered obedience. "I will be with you. I will put the words in your mouth." God had more confidence in Jeremiah than Jeremiah had in himself. The one who made Jeremiah knew better than any just what Jeremiah was made of, and that was all that was necessary. Jeremiah came to understand it wasn't about his own abilities or even his flaws.
It wasn't about Jeremiah at all -- it was about God. It always is. It is about God's passion for righteousness and God's unwillingness to let Judah (or any of us) continue to live a lie, because living the lie will ultimately bring its own destruction.
It is no different today. Regardless of the denominational affiliation or theological perspective, the church, is called, as Jeremiah was called, to the thankless and often painful duty of truth-telling. Unfortunately, in far too many of our churches what is passed off as prophecy is hardly more than badgering those who believe or behave differently with threats of divine retribution. We engage in far too much condemnation and far too little enlightenment. Real prophecy, the truly courageous truth-telling inspired by God, consists of denouncing the lies our own people most desperately want to believe, in casting a vision few are able to see, and in illuminating a path hardly anyone wants to follow.
Where does that path invite us to go? What is the hard task to which the church is uniquely called today?
In this world of armed conflict, we are called to live "pro-peace" instead of "anti-war," to practice what we believe to be right rather than merely condemn those we think are wrong. We are called to model "the more excellent way" of mercy and compassion.
In a world where "money is power," we are called to advocate for the poor and disabled, whose concerns and needs are usually the first to get erased from our public budgets and consciousness. In a world of "better living through science" the church is required to point to realities beyond that which can be seen or measured.
In a society fragmented by issues like abortion, capital punishment, and "right-to-die," we are called to proclaim a message that is both "pro-life" and "pro-choice" by inspiring and empowering others to "choose life."
The church is called to expose all these false idols by pointing to the one, true God. Not only must we refuse to give homage to whatever would claim our ultimate loyalty, but we must strive to live in loyalty to the Christ who ultimately claims us.
Who of us is eager to assume such a task? Who of us is adequate to speak such invisible truths? Like Jeremiah and his fellow prophets before us, we plead our own incompetence and beg to be discharged from such service.
But God is not so willing to excuse us from duty, because God is unwilling to let the word go unspoken or the truth go unproclaimed. God is no more willing to let us perish in our lies than God was willing to let Jeremiah's audience abide in theirs.
Each of us, at some point in our life, is called upon to do "tough stuff" -- to make hard decisions, to proclaim painful truths, to expose convenient lies, and to live by unpopular standards. In those moments we receive from God no assurances of success or rewards for endurance. All we are promised is God's sustaining presence. Amidst our protests of fear and self-doubt all we get is the knowledge that the God who made us knows what we are made of, and believes in us even more than we believe in ourselves. We find the courage to speak the word, which comes from beyond us because we, too, discover that in the end it is not about us -- it is about God.
And that alone is enough.
__________
1. Carrie is a fictional name.
The pastor knew the authorities needed to be notified, but Carrie was terrified of just what would become of her and her family. By law, the neglect had to be reported, but the pastor was hesitant to force the aftermath of this notification upon the teen without her consent. For the next ninety minutes the two wrestled with just what to do next.
This woman-child was also wrestling with her faith in a God she'd only heard about but never known. She was not convinced this God even existed, let alone loved her. In the end she chose to trust the pastor and the school staff who sought to help. She found the courage to tell the truth. Child welfare was notified and the intervention was begun. Some of her fears materialized and she did, in fact, experience some repercussions. There was no storybook ending; but with the help from friends she didn't know she had she found within herself a strength she never knew existed. It wasn't "happily-ever-after" but she did live through it, and was eventually able to laugh again.
Carrie's story is all too familiar, unfortunately. Even in her small rural school her experience is not unique. Other children, even younger than she, in any number of other places, are daily forced into these kinds of hard decisions -- finding the courage to seek out help and to speak the truth about alcohol and drug use, sexual exploitation, and domestic violence in their homes and families.
Youth, like adults, quite often don't know what they are able to do until the moment comes when their "metal" is tested. Most are terrified by uncertainty and a sense of inadequacy to live into what must be done or to speak what must be told. But when they step up to the task, they gain strength that can last a lifetime.
Jeremiah was one such youngster. We don't know exactly how young. The Hebrew word can mean any age from infant to teen. Little else is known for sure beyond a few brief verses beginning the book that bears his name. He came from Anathoth, we are told -- the village to which David's friend and priest, Abiathar, was banished by King Solomon. We can only speculate how, or if, such history played a factor in Jeremiah's own tension with royal authority in his adult years.
Just where he was when called into service we are not told. We know only that God initiated the encounter. "The word of the Lord came to me," he would later relate. This was no mystic teen at a youth retreat on a quest for divine truth. Like Abraham, Moses, and Gideon before him, it was God who issued the draft notice by name.
It was not a commission Jeremiah would have chosen for himself. His family lineage may well have prepared him to be a priest perhaps, to offer sacrifices in the Jerusalem temple and pronounce God's blessing upon those who still came to worship. He could have made a decent living in the quiet safety of the temple institution. But to proclaim God's word of judgment -- to announce the doom and destruction of that temple, of the world as he knew it -- this was a task most adults would not desire. For a youngster like Jeremiah such a message must have seemed downright terrifying, especially when the orders were coming directly from the Almighty.
Like Moses and Gideon before him, and countless others who would be called thereafter, Jeremiah recognized immediately that God's plan needed some adjustments -- like, "Hey! umm, you got the wrong person to carry this off. I haven't even started speech class, yet!" In the presence of such a holy and awesome God, and given the cosmic nature of the message, which of us would not claim to be vocally impaired, if not totally tongue-tied?
Notice how unimpressed God seems to be with Jeremiah's logical objections. No lightning bolts or angry thunder are emitted from heaven, no "how dare you defy me!" No divine anger, but not much sympathy, either. Only the assurance of God's providence is given. "I will put the words into your mouth." It would be easier, perhaps, if God would promise success rather than just presence. Something like, "Don't worry, they'll love you. It'll be great," would bolster so much more willingness on the part of Jeremiah, or any one of us. Instead he gets, "I will be with you to deliver you." To some folks' way of thinking, that implies hazardous duty rather than a good time had by all.
Few rational people, young or old, are eager to engage in the hard and thankless job of truth-telling -- particularly if pronouncing the truth brings pain to those we love. Condemning the sins of our enemies or nameless strangers can bring satisfaction to some, but announcing doom to a nation or a community to which we ourselves belong -- that is tough duty. The spiritually wise have learned that, usually, the harder it is to speak words of judgment -- the more ache that pronouncement brings to our hearts -- the more likely it is that the message is of godly origin instead of human vindictiveness. The harder it is for a prophet to speak the message, the more it is likely that the prophet speaks the truth.
To speak the truth even when it breaks our hearts -- such a divine calling prompts few volunteers. Yet, day after day, countless numbers are called to just such service:
• children like Carrie who find the courage to report domestic abuse and neglect;
• the battered wife who confides in her pastor;
• the corporate manager who risks his livelihood to blow the whistle on professional misconduct;
• the athlete who tells the truth about steroid abuse amongst his closest teammates; and
• the factory worker who risks destruction of the town's economy by reporting an environmental or safety hazard.
From time to time God calls nearly all of us to the hard task of truth-telling, even when it means alienating those we love. Most of us recognize our own inadequacy to such a task and offer our own form of protest. Not everyone answers the summons. Jeremiah did. Some might wonder why.
It was God's promise to be present that turned the tide from Jeremiah's fear and self-doubt to empowered obedience. "I will be with you. I will put the words in your mouth." God had more confidence in Jeremiah than Jeremiah had in himself. The one who made Jeremiah knew better than any just what Jeremiah was made of, and that was all that was necessary. Jeremiah came to understand it wasn't about his own abilities or even his flaws.
It wasn't about Jeremiah at all -- it was about God. It always is. It is about God's passion for righteousness and God's unwillingness to let Judah (or any of us) continue to live a lie, because living the lie will ultimately bring its own destruction.
It is no different today. Regardless of the denominational affiliation or theological perspective, the church, is called, as Jeremiah was called, to the thankless and often painful duty of truth-telling. Unfortunately, in far too many of our churches what is passed off as prophecy is hardly more than badgering those who believe or behave differently with threats of divine retribution. We engage in far too much condemnation and far too little enlightenment. Real prophecy, the truly courageous truth-telling inspired by God, consists of denouncing the lies our own people most desperately want to believe, in casting a vision few are able to see, and in illuminating a path hardly anyone wants to follow.
Where does that path invite us to go? What is the hard task to which the church is uniquely called today?
In this world of armed conflict, we are called to live "pro-peace" instead of "anti-war," to practice what we believe to be right rather than merely condemn those we think are wrong. We are called to model "the more excellent way" of mercy and compassion.
In a world where "money is power," we are called to advocate for the poor and disabled, whose concerns and needs are usually the first to get erased from our public budgets and consciousness. In a world of "better living through science" the church is required to point to realities beyond that which can be seen or measured.
In a society fragmented by issues like abortion, capital punishment, and "right-to-die," we are called to proclaim a message that is both "pro-life" and "pro-choice" by inspiring and empowering others to "choose life."
The church is called to expose all these false idols by pointing to the one, true God. Not only must we refuse to give homage to whatever would claim our ultimate loyalty, but we must strive to live in loyalty to the Christ who ultimately claims us.
Who of us is eager to assume such a task? Who of us is adequate to speak such invisible truths? Like Jeremiah and his fellow prophets before us, we plead our own incompetence and beg to be discharged from such service.
But God is not so willing to excuse us from duty, because God is unwilling to let the word go unspoken or the truth go unproclaimed. God is no more willing to let us perish in our lies than God was willing to let Jeremiah's audience abide in theirs.
Each of us, at some point in our life, is called upon to do "tough stuff" -- to make hard decisions, to proclaim painful truths, to expose convenient lies, and to live by unpopular standards. In those moments we receive from God no assurances of success or rewards for endurance. All we are promised is God's sustaining presence. Amidst our protests of fear and self-doubt all we get is the knowledge that the God who made us knows what we are made of, and believes in us even more than we believe in ourselves. We find the courage to speak the word, which comes from beyond us because we, too, discover that in the end it is not about us -- it is about God.
And that alone is enough.
__________
1. Carrie is a fictional name.
