"You duped me, O Lord, and I let myself be duped."
That is about as honest a prayer as you will find anywhere in Scripture. Jeremiah is not thanking God this morning; he is accusing him. He took this call to preach because God overpowered him, and now the word has cost him -- he is being mocked and laughed at, and the loss of friends he once had. And here is the part that gets me every time I read it. Jeremiah says he tried to stop. He tried to hold it in, to say nothing more in God's name, and he simply couldn’t do it. "There is in my heart as it were a burning fire, imprisoned in my bones. I grow weary holding it in, I cannot endure it."
That is what it looks like when the word of God actually takes root and springs to life in a person. It is not a comfortable feeling. It is a fire. And fire, once it catches, cannot be talked back into staying small, it grows… remember when Jesus compared the Reign of God to a mustard bush and how uncontrollably that grows, well that is how the Word of God is when it takes root in someone.
The psalmist knows this same fire, though it comes out as longing rather than complaint. "O God, you are my God, for you I long. My soul thirsts for you, my flesh pines for you, like a dry weary land without water." That is not polite religious language. That is the language of someone who has fallen in love and has no other words to speak than amazing truth.
And then St. Paul, writing to the Romans, tells us plainly what gets in the way of that kind of love. Conformity. He begs them not to be conformed to this age, but to allow themselves to be transformed by Christ, so that they can actually discern what God is asking of them. Paul knew, and we know, how easy it is to let the world's priorities quietly become our own, comfort over conviction, safety over sacrifice, until one day we look up and realize our zeal is waning.
Which brings us to the Gospel, and to Peter, who I have a real soft spot for, because Peter is me, Peter is all of us. Just last week, remember, Peter proclaimed Jesus the Christ, the Son of the living God, and Jesus praised him for it. This week, when Jesus starts talking about suffering, rejection, and the cross, Peter pulls Jesus aside and rebukes him. He wants the Messiah without a cross. He wants the glory without the Passion. And Jesus, in that same breath, calls him Satan…get behind me. Because whoever wants to save their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for Jesus’ sake will find it.
That is the hardest sentence in the Gospel this week, and I am not going to pretend otherwise. Discipleship costs us something. It always has. It is not a decoration we add to a comfortable life, like we see happening all around us. Sometimes it is a literal cross. Many people have died for their discipleship of Jesus Christ, and still do! More often, for most of us, it is figurative, but no less real. It is the courage to say the true thing when silence would be easier. It is choosing mercy and compassion when the world around us is choosing suspicion, fear and cruelty.
And I have to name where I see that cost being asked of us right now, because I would not be honest if I did not. Our country continues to turn away immigrants and refugees at our doors, families fleeing violence and desperation, and calls it strength. People of color and women are still struggling for real equality in this country, and everywhere we turn we see erasure instead of inclusion. Real discipleship this week means refusing to let that become normal to us. It means remembering that the God we thirst for in Psalm 63 is the same God who told us plainly, whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me. Carrying that cross is not glamorous. Most days it looks like showing up, speaking up, and refusing to look away when it would be so much easier to conform, to keep the conversation comfortable, instead of speaking the truth of the Gospel…love one another as I have loved you, feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, house the homeless…that has become counter cultural. But it is the heart and soul of discipleship.
But I want to go back to the beginning of todays thoughts, because Jeremiah's story, and Peter's story, and our story, do not end in the fire alone. They end in relationship. Jeremiah, for all his complaining, never actually walked away from God. He kept preaching. The fire that exhausted him was also, somehow, what sustained him, because underneath the anger was a love he could not extinguish even if he tried. That is the paradox of real discipleship. It costs us, and it fills us, both at once.
And through every mile of that costly road, Jesus is not sending us out alone. He walks it with us. He told us plainly that whoever loses their life for his sake will find it, and that is not a casual comment, it is a profound promise. He comes with us into the valleys, into the hard conversations, the moments when standing up for the vulnerable makes us unpopular, and he does not leave us there. Even when we cannot feel him, even when the fire feels like exhaustion rather than comfort, he has not abandoned us. He never will.
So let that fire burn in you this week. Let it be uncomfortable if it needs to be. And trust, the way Jeremiah eventually had to trust, that the God who placed that fire in your heart is walking every step of this road right beside you. And never forget that you are deeply and passionately loved by God, just as you are!
Blessings,
Fr Tim
That is about as honest a prayer as you will find anywhere in Scripture. Jeremiah is not thanking God this morning; he is accusing him. He took this call to preach because God overpowered him, and now the word has cost him -- he is being mocked and laughed at, and the loss of friends he once had. And here is the part that gets me every time I read it. Jeremiah says he tried to stop. He tried to hold it in, to say nothing more in God's name, and he simply couldn’t do it. "There is in my heart as it were a burning fire, imprisoned in my bones. I grow weary holding it in, I cannot endure it."
That is what it looks like when the word of God actually takes root and springs to life in a person. It is not a comfortable feeling. It is a fire. And fire, once it catches, cannot be talked back into staying small, it grows… remember when Jesus compared the Reign of God to a mustard bush and how uncontrollably that grows, well that is how the Word of God is when it takes root in someone.
The psalmist knows this same fire, though it comes out as longing rather than complaint. "O God, you are my God, for you I long. My soul thirsts for you, my flesh pines for you, like a dry weary land without water." That is not polite religious language. That is the language of someone who has fallen in love and has no other words to speak than amazing truth.
And then St. Paul, writing to the Romans, tells us plainly what gets in the way of that kind of love. Conformity. He begs them not to be conformed to this age, but to allow themselves to be transformed by Christ, so that they can actually discern what God is asking of them. Paul knew, and we know, how easy it is to let the world's priorities quietly become our own, comfort over conviction, safety over sacrifice, until one day we look up and realize our zeal is waning.
Which brings us to the Gospel, and to Peter, who I have a real soft spot for, because Peter is me, Peter is all of us. Just last week, remember, Peter proclaimed Jesus the Christ, the Son of the living God, and Jesus praised him for it. This week, when Jesus starts talking about suffering, rejection, and the cross, Peter pulls Jesus aside and rebukes him. He wants the Messiah without a cross. He wants the glory without the Passion. And Jesus, in that same breath, calls him Satan…get behind me. Because whoever wants to save their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for Jesus’ sake will find it.
That is the hardest sentence in the Gospel this week, and I am not going to pretend otherwise. Discipleship costs us something. It always has. It is not a decoration we add to a comfortable life, like we see happening all around us. Sometimes it is a literal cross. Many people have died for their discipleship of Jesus Christ, and still do! More often, for most of us, it is figurative, but no less real. It is the courage to say the true thing when silence would be easier. It is choosing mercy and compassion when the world around us is choosing suspicion, fear and cruelty.
And I have to name where I see that cost being asked of us right now, because I would not be honest if I did not. Our country continues to turn away immigrants and refugees at our doors, families fleeing violence and desperation, and calls it strength. People of color and women are still struggling for real equality in this country, and everywhere we turn we see erasure instead of inclusion. Real discipleship this week means refusing to let that become normal to us. It means remembering that the God we thirst for in Psalm 63 is the same God who told us plainly, whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me. Carrying that cross is not glamorous. Most days it looks like showing up, speaking up, and refusing to look away when it would be so much easier to conform, to keep the conversation comfortable, instead of speaking the truth of the Gospel…love one another as I have loved you, feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, house the homeless…that has become counter cultural. But it is the heart and soul of discipleship.
But I want to go back to the beginning of todays thoughts, because Jeremiah's story, and Peter's story, and our story, do not end in the fire alone. They end in relationship. Jeremiah, for all his complaining, never actually walked away from God. He kept preaching. The fire that exhausted him was also, somehow, what sustained him, because underneath the anger was a love he could not extinguish even if he tried. That is the paradox of real discipleship. It costs us, and it fills us, both at once.
And through every mile of that costly road, Jesus is not sending us out alone. He walks it with us. He told us plainly that whoever loses their life for his sake will find it, and that is not a casual comment, it is a profound promise. He comes with us into the valleys, into the hard conversations, the moments when standing up for the vulnerable makes us unpopular, and he does not leave us there. Even when we cannot feel him, even when the fire feels like exhaustion rather than comfort, he has not abandoned us. He never will.
So let that fire burn in you this week. Let it be uncomfortable if it needs to be. And trust, the way Jeremiah eventually had to trust, that the God who placed that fire in your heart is walking every step of this road right beside you. And never forget that you are deeply and passionately loved by God, just as you are!
Blessings,
Fr Tim
RSS Feed
