Sermon: “I am only a . . .”

Text: Jeremiah 1:4-10

4th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

January 31, 2010

Scripture introduction.  Our second reading this morning is what is known as the “call narrative” from the prophet Jeremiah.  A “call narrative,” of which there are many examples in scripture, is a story about how a person comes to understand God’s call in his or her life.  Our Gospel text for this morning[1] was a continuation of what might be thought of as Jesus’ call narrative, in which he used the words of the prophet Isaiah to announce his own call from God.[2]  Next week we will hear the call narrative from the sixth chapter of Isaiah.  And we are about to hear the story of how God called the prophet Jeremiah.

Jeremiah lived during the final days of the kingdom of Judah, just before and during the Babylonian conquest, when so many of the people were carried away for a generation to that far off empire.  He is sometimes called the “weeping” prophet because so many of his prophecies concerned the destruction of Jerusalem and the devastation of its people.  Anyone might be forgiven thinking that the greatest influence on the history of that day was Nebuchadnezzar, the king of Babylon.  But as our passage for today is ending, God says that Jeremiah—and not some commander of empires and armies—has been appointed over his own and other nations: “to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant.”[3]  As students of scripture have noted,[4] of these six verb forms, four have to do with destruction.  Yet even in a time of national disaster, two involve new beginnings—building and planting.

Sermon.  I want to begin this sermon with a question for each of you to consider silently: what is your “call narrative”?  How would you describe those moments, or that series of events, in which you felt called by God? 

Well, I don’t know, preacher.  I have never had an experience like Jeremiah’s, where God took human form and called me and with his hand placed his own words on my mouth.  I have never had a vision like Isaiah’s, in which I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty, surrounded by six-winged seraphim chanting “Holy, Holy, Holy.”[5]  Unlike Moses, I have never had God call to me out of a bush that seemed to be burning but, in fact, was not.[6]  At no time have I seen, as Jesus did, the Spirit of God descending on me with the grace of a dove.[7]  I’m not really sure I have a call narrative.

I want to suggest to you this morning that each of us has a story to tell about how God has called us.  In each case the story is powerful, and it is true.  Maybe your story would involve the call that is common to all Christians—our call in faith to become disciples of Jesus
is own and other ings--building e to do with destruction.  Yet even in a time of national disaster, two deal withing of Babylon
and to follow him in baptism.  Maybe there was a specific moment when you felt the presence of Jesus and made a conscious decision to live your life in a way that would accord with his teaching and that would please him.  Often those moments come after very challenging times in our lives, when we realize that we are not doing such a great job of life on our own, when we can easily catalog the bad decisions we have made, the people we have hurt, and the opportunities for life and love that we have let slip by.  Or things may be going pretty well, at least to the outside observer, but we yearn to know that our lives have meaning beyond simple survival.  At times like these, we know we need a savior, and Jesus always stands ready to receive us and to show us the path of humble service that gives our lives meaning.  If you can remember the moment when you said “yes” to Jesus, that is a powerful story—a true call narrative.  If you tell the story of how your life has been changed through faith in Christ, that story will have the power to change the lives of others who need to know God’s love just as much as you do.

For many of us, there may not be a single moment when we answered the call of Christ.  Especially if we have been raised in the church, part of the family of faith, it may seem as if there never has been a time when we did not belong to Jesus.  That, too, is a call narrative, which we should be happy to tell to others.  Far from being defective or lacking, this kind of story confirms God’s faithful providence throughout life.  When told, the story may cause others to see their own lives in a different light—the light of God’s love and care.

Not only does God call us into relationship with Christ, but also sometimes to specific missions and projects.  Has there ever been a time in your life when you had an idea that seemed repeatedly to return to your mind—an idea about the things of God, about what needed to be done?  Did you finally respond, telling someone else of your idea, sharing your sense of urgency and outlining the good things that would happen if your plans were implemented?  If so, God was calling you; and you answered.  As you continued to work on the project, maybe you felt the unseen hand of God opening doors, pointing you toward resources, and calling others to the vision.  This is a call narrative; it is powerful, and it is true.

God may call us to activities that seem rather ordinary.  Martin Luther famously said that even changing diapers could be a calling from God, as long as it was done with a spirit of love and grace.[8]  (What could be more important than caring for children?)  Banker, teacher, factory worker, homemaker, artist, musician, salesperson, attorney, retail clerk, student, physician, dentist, soldier—all of these and many others can be a calling from God.  In the eyes of God none of these is any better than any other.  (And any of these is just as good as the calling to the ministry of Word and Sacrament.  It is simply a matter of where God wants us to be working.)  Each of us has a set of spiritual gifts and other talents and abilities that suit us for our calling.  Each of us has a function in the economy of God’s kingdom, and our purpose is to fulfill that function with grace and love.  Often God calls us out of our comfort zone—just ask Moses and Jeremiah and Jesus.  It may seem at first that we are not equipped to the task.  Yet God will have been working all along to develop in us the resources needed for the human part of our endeavor.  “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you.”[9]

Even after these examples, some of you may still wonder if you ever have been called by God.  I would hasten to add that sometimes we don’t recognize God’s call for what it is.  We may feel motivated to action and we may respond, but only later when we think about it do we realize that God was there all along, nudging us in the right direction.  I believe that if we think back upon our lives we will be able to identify at least one way in which God has called us.  And perhaps having once identified God’s call, we will be better prepared to hear it in the future—tuned, as it were, to the right frequency so that the voice is clearer each time.

Sometimes, however, we hear God’s call; and we do not want to answer.  Poor Jeremiah!  We don’t know if he really was a boy, or a young man, or just young in experience—the Hebrew word can mean all of these.  But he certainly felt inadequate to God’s call: “Not me, Lord; I am just a boy and I don’t know how to speak persuasively.”  Where have we heard this before?[10]  Do you remember what Moses said when God called to him from the bush?  “Lord, I’m really not a good talker; you need to choose someone else.  Not me.”  But God brushed past these objections: “You won’t have to figure out what to say because I will be giving you the words—my words.  You will be my instrument; leave the result to me.”  In effect God was saying that the success of the call did not depend on the talent or skill or energy or courage of the human; God would provide all that was needed.  I guess that is one reason I am so happy when I am working in the Church.  I may make bad decisions, I may go off on a tangent that is not really important, I may spin my wheels; but in the final analysis, I am working in the one institution in this world that is guaranteed to succeed.  Eventually, the Church will prevail, as long as we are faithful to Christ.  Indeed, it will prevail in spite of our mistakes.  When God calls, the one who answers can depend on God for the result.

Of course, we may be called into situations that are unpleasant or even dangerous.  Jeremiah certainly understood this.  God called him to be a prophet not only to the people of faith, but also to the “nations,” the Gentiles, including the fearsome and contemptuous Babylonians.  Thank you, Lord, but I don’t think I’m up for that!  But God responded with a command.  I like what one writer has observed[11]—that it is the most common command in the Bible.  And what is it?  “Don’t be afraid!”  This was God’s command to Moses, to Isaiah, to Jeremiah, to Mary, to the shepherds at Christmas, and many others.  “Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, says the Lord.”

In last weeks’ sermon I tried to outline some of the formidable challenges that we face in our national life.  At the end of the service, I suggested to you that Presbyterians, who are squarely within the Reformed tradition, historically have been interested in and engaged in the practical problems of the world.  Ours is not a tradition content to withdraw into the relative safety of an isolated and purportedly pure community.  We believe each of us has a calling in the world.  Likewise we believe that the church, collectively, is called to work for the transformation of this world for the better.[12] 

We would do well to remember that even in a time of national disaster, when Jeremiah was appointed to “pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow,” yet after the destruction was ended, he was finally appointed to the hopeful tasks of planting and building up.  God is always working for the betterment of our world.  Our Christian hope and expectation is that one day God’s re-creating work will be completed, and the world will be governed in perfect justice and perfect mercy.  Like Jeremiah, each of us through our respective callings—whatever they may be—is God’s partner in that transformative process.  And no matter how discouraging are the problems around us, if we are faithful to build and to plant, God will give the growth.



[1] Luke 4:21-30.

[2] Luke 4:14-20 (last week’s lectionary gospel reading): to proclaim good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and the arrival of the year of the Lord’s favor.

[3] John M. Bracke, Jeremiah 1-29, Westminster Bible Companion series (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2000), pp. 18-19.

[4] E.g., Patrick D. Miller, “The Book of Jeremiah: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections,” New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 6 (Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 2001), p. 583

[5] Isaiah 6:1-9.

[6] Exodus 3:1-12.

[7] Mark 1:9-11.

[8] James Calvin Davis, “Jeremiah 1:4-10: Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year C, vol. 1 (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2009), p. 292 (quoting John Calvin, too, for the same point).

[9] Jeremiah 1:5 (NRSV).

[10] George H. Martin, “Jeremiah 1:4-10: Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year C, vol. 1 (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2009), p. 292.

[11] Ibid.

[12] We work for that transformation without any illusion that our motives are pure or that our efforts will produce purely good results.  As the great 20th century theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr, wrote when he was a parish pastor (a meditation printed this morning on the inside cover of our bulletin), we will never achieve the radical, selfless, courageous goodness exemplified by Jesus, for we are human and very fallible. 

The whole Christian adventure is frustrated continually not so much by malice as by cowardice and reasonableness.  Of course everyone must decide for himself just where he is going to put his peg; where he is going to arrive at some stable equilibrium between moral adventure and necessary caution.  And perhaps everyone is justified if he tries to prove that there is a particular reasonableness about the type of compromise which he has reached.  But he might well learn, better than I have learned, to be charitable with those who have made their adjustments to the right and to the left of his position.  If I do not watch myself I will regard all who make their adjustments to my right as fanatics and all who make them to the left as cowards.  There is a silly egotism about such an attitude.  But it is difficult to be pedagogically effective if you do not hold pretty resolutely to some position.

A reasonable person adjusts his moral goal somewhere between Christ and Aristotle, between an ethic of love and an ethic of moderation.  I hope there is more of Christ than of Aristotle in my position.  But I would not be too sure of it. 

(Reinhold Niebuhr, Leaves from the Notebook of a Tamed Cynic, Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1990, pp. 131-32, originally published San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1929.)