SermonStudio

A place to start with this passage is the use of the word "husband" by Jeremiah to describe the message God has given him. But let's jump, for a moment, to the Old Testament book of Hosea. It's a metaphorical story about a man, Hosea, whose wife was unfaithful. Ancient law would have permitted all sorts of dire punishment for that, but Hosea loved his wife too much to think in terms of punishment. Instead, he wanted her back, hopefully as things had been before her adultery. Thereafter, the story tells of Hosea's love and his willingness to begin again. The analogy is drawn in that story to the Jewish people in their relationship with God; the husband's love was great enough to overlook and forgive the betrayal.

That's what's implied here. Of course, in marriage the joining of husband and wife was the most intimate relationship they knew. So we have Jeremiah saying that God loves his bride too deeply to think in terms of punishment or rejection. He wants her back, willing to let bygones be bygones, ready to resume the "marriage" contract in a new way.

There is to be a difference, however. The new contract, or covenant, will have two provisos: henceforth, the people will know right from wrong and ignorance can never again be an excuse for betrayal, and from God's side, they will be forgiven. We're left to decide whether the words, "Behold the days are coming," refer to an immediate re-negotiation of the relationship or to the one Jesus referred to during the last supper when he spoke of "the new covenant in my blood." What's important for us is that Jeremiah's description of the conditions of the covenant are clearly still in effect for us.

God's law is henceforth "written on our hearts." H. G. Wells wrote: "In the heart of every man is a God-shaped place." We are born with an inherent understanding of the divine expectation. Actually, as we look at some people today, we are caused to wonder. Many of our streets are filled with hopeless people who seem to have no sense of responsibility to God or to anyone. That's a tragic characteristic of this decade for which many still search for humane answers. For those of us gathered here, however, we do know what is right. The Bible is fairly clear about that, what with the Ten Commandments, the Beatitudes, and several statements through the rest of the New Testament which call us to live lives of kindness, sacrifice, faithfulness, and integrity.

One element is missing in this passage: accountability. A continued reading of the Bible as well as even a quick glance at the world around us (or into our own hearts) reveal that betrayal and wrongdoing continue. The difference is that there are predictable consequences. Moral failure exacts a number of penalties. Maybe we should think about those and be reminded that God's promise of forgiveness does not mean we're exempt from other consequences of wrongdoing.

One author told of a tradesman in a certain town who discovered that a trusted employee had been stealing from him. He quickly brought charges against the man who was found guilty and sent off to prison. However, when the man was finally released, he learned to his amazement, that during his time in prison, his employer had paid his usual wages to his wife and children, and that his job was available once more. "We can start afresh," the employer said. Perhaps God's forgiveness is like that. There are consequences to our misdeeds, but they take place within the province of God's continuing love. The Bible seems to say that at least some of those consequences are exacted in this life.

Reputation. Recall the words of Shakespeare's Othello: "Who steals my purse steals trash É But he that filches from me my good name É makes me poor indeed." I know a man who, as a young professional man, decided he could avoid paying his income taxes. He did this for two or three years, then was caught and sent to prison. It was a short sentence and he was soon released. But he paid an exhorbitant price, not just in jail time or money. He gave up his good name. That was many years ago, but that man's career was never very successful because everyone knew he was a cheat. There's a popular excuse sometimes offered for people like that: "He paid his debt to society." Sorry, it doesn't work that way. We still know what kind of man he is. It takes a lot of exemplary living to offset a dishonest act. People remember. And once a person reveals himself as dishonest, later claims to having changed can sound empty since the person who will steal and cheat may easily lie. This is not to say we don't give such a person another chance. But reality is, we keep a close eye on such a person and his or her reputation is never the same.

Family. How would it feel to know that one of your parents or one of your children had cheated? Of course, that should not in any way reflect on you. And yet, there is a spillover. "Does this run in my family?" "Will people think I'm not to be trusted?" What about the economic cost, once someone cheats? Lost income, legal expenses. Embarassment. Recently a highly respected judge in a nearby community, a man already in his seventies, was found guilty of dishonesty as a judge. He wept at his sentencing, overwhelmed with remorse. But he was guilty. Never could his children be proud that their dad was a judge without also remembering that he was a crook. What a tragedy.

Remorse. Not everyone feels remorse, of course. One suspects that the "remorse" of many dishonest people is sorrow at being caught, not at having done wrong. But there are people who give in to temptation and later are sincerely sorry. Yet dishonest acts are like breaking a mirror; regardless of the sorrow, there's no way to put the pieces back as they were. Of course, not everyone gets caught and many people carry through life a sincere regret at wrongs committed about which only they and God know.

That, too, can be a heavy price to pay. Private guilt can be very painful. G. K. Chesterton, in his autobiography, explained that he joined the Catholic Church "to get rid of my sins." Martin Luther left that church for the same reason: "I am dust and ashes and full of sin," he said. Both men, though, made splendid contributions to their world as a result of their pain of remorse; so, as in all of these consequences, God can bless them.

Damaged relationships. As a pastor and counsellor, I have seen a few cases where, like Hosea, one or another member of a marriage has been willing to work through an act of unfaithfulness. This is certainly not to say it can't be done or that happiness is no longer possible in such a situation. But it is to say that the pain suffered by the innocent is sometimes a terrible price to inflict on someone we supposedly love.

Maybe there are other consequences too of betrayal. The point is: God may forgive us but God does not exempt us from the penalties exacted by society. That's how the world is arranged. But having said all of this, we're still left with the promise of eventual redemption from our wrongdoing. "I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more," said Jeremiah as God's spokesman. And there, finally, lies our ultimate hope.

The promise of forgiveness by God is at the heart of the Gospel. There's a wonderful, fanciful tale about the time Saint Peter supposedly turned a supplicant away at the gates of Heaven. He ruled that the man had not lived up to the standards of the teachings of Jesus. A few days later, Peter saw the man walking down the streets of Heaven and couldn't imagine how the fellow got there. He got in touch with the authorities and they decided to do some investigating. That night, they saw a shadowy figure skulking in the darkness. Soon, some people who had also been turned away recently were seen approaching the corner of a fence designed to keep them out. The shadowy figure sneaked over, lifted some loose wires, and the miscreants climbed under the fence. Quickly, the man in the darkness was apprehended. To Peter's amazement, it was Jesus. "But master," Peter spluttered. "What are you doing? I turned these people away just today." "Sorry, Peter," Jesus said. "But these are friends of mine."

Silly story, maybe. But you see, that's what Christianity is all about. Jesus loves us and doesn't want anyone lost. However, let's get one thing straight. Our records may be spotty. But what we must do is be honest about ourselves and be genuinely sorry for what we have done that is wrong. Repentance. That idea doesn't appear in our text, but it certainly appears over and over in the totality of the Gospel. No doubt there's opportunity beyond death to come to that point. One may hope for -- let's say -- conditional admission into the Kingdom of Heaven (to use earthly terms). Quite possibly, life beyond this life still offers hope for those who still don't get it. But the point of Jeremiah's words is clearly that since we know what's right, better that we do our best to be faithful and then if we fail, there's hope beyond the present.

One of my favorite stories was told by a famous Boston pastor of a much earlier generation. A woman in his congregation was his most severe critic. Nothing he could do would please her, and she was outspoken in her criticism of the man. Probably every pastor has had one or more of these. But this woman was a sore trial indeed. So, it was a happy day when he learned that she and her family were moving to a different city. Years passed. One day the pastor received a letter from the woman. Her life had changed in the intervening years. She'd had a change of heart. Looking back, she realized how unfair she'd been to the man. Overcome with remorse, she was writing to ask her former pastor to forgive her.

The following day, that woman received a telegram, three words which set her free. They were these: "Forgiven. Forgotten. Forever." Ah. How wonderful. You see, that's what God says to you and to me if we honestly examine our own life's failures: "Forgiven. Forgotten. Forever."