The book of Jeremiah begins with the voice of God
to a child.
“Before you were born, I appointed you a prophet.
Now I have put my words in your mouth. Today, I
appoint you over nations and kingdoms: to pluck up
and pull down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and
to plant.”
This newly appointed, freshly consecrated prophet
is sent by God to speak. The specific assignment
is more than a little daunting. Jeremiah is called to
speak the truth in an age of lies. He must deliver
divine judgement in a context of self-righteous
sufficiency. He is charged to challenge the comfort
of a status quo that is unacceptable to God. As my
teacher Walter Brueggemann has written, Jeremiah
must “utter faithful folk into the abyss too long denied
and through the abyss to newness.”
Jeremiah is sometimes called the weeping prophet.
This morning’s scripture makes the reason clear. This
young man, given the word of God to speak, takes
no pleasure in describing the depravity of his people.
In her novel Gilead, Marilynne Robinson suggests
that the difference between a prophet and a scribe is
that prophets love the people they chastise. Jeremiah
is a prophet who loves his nation enough to tell them
hard truth. It is this: God is not pleased. Exile is on
the horizon.
This morning our sermon series confronts us with
the virtue of truthfulness. The term is intentionally
chosen. Truthfulness stretches us beyond the
avoidance of lying. Honesty may deal in facts, but
truth deals in meaning.
Prophets tell the truth that possesses the power to
set free. And for this gift, they are not always wellreceived. Sometimes, they are a nuisance. Other
times, they are destroyed—for telling the truth. No
wonder Jeremiah resists the call. “Oh, Lord God, I am
only a child.” Truth-telling carries a heavy burden in a
time when lies abound.
The concept of truth is in dispute among us. We live
in an age of artificial intelligence, of deep fakes, of
persistent mistruth, and algorithms designed to lead
us down rabbit holes of disinformation and deception
with dangerous consequences—putting real people
at great risk. Particularly the marginalized and the
misunderstood. We see it in legislative maneuvers
meant to score political points by demeaning
difference. For shame.
Like all virtues, truthfulness requires the
accountability of genuine community. Afterall,
knowing the truth is not intellectual. It is not
informational. It is relational. And it can be
transformational. “The truth,” Jesus says, “will set you
free.” But first it might make you mad.
In the coffee shop where I write, there is a group of
older men that gathers most every morning. They
are friends who find it easy to move from the Colts
coaching woes one moment to the war in Ukraine
the next. A couple of weeks ago, I overheard the
discussion as it turned to politics, and one man
began to speak derisively about our neighbors who
lack dependable housing. Eventually he used an
offensive and inappropriate term, and you could
sense the tension rising in the awkward silence
that followed his words. Finally, another member of
the group spoke. He did so gently, in a measured
way, and here is what he said: “You know I love you
even when we disagree, but that’s just not true and
you know it.” Another long, tension-filled pause.
Finally, the original speaker responded, “You’re
right. I’m sorry. So…what did you think of the Super
Bowl?” It was a small moment, and yet I’ve been
thinking about it ever since. I’ve been wondering,
I’ve been praying about how we cultivate the kind
of community where the truth can be spoken in love
and heard with an open heart.
Here is what I think. I think the capacity to speak
and hear the truth in community is formed in us over
time as trust is built among us. That the capacity
is shaped by the practice of prayer and worship in
community. That it is deepened by the witness of
other truth-tellers.
For some time now, I’ve been living with a story
that complicates the narrative we tell about the
founding pastor of Second Presbyterian Church, the
renowned preacher, the great writer, the courageous
abolitionist, Henry Ward Beecher. Now, we are rightly
proud of Beecher’s legacy and his connection to this
place. What follows is a cautionary tale for me and for
all of us.
It was the Fourth of July, 1845. The congregation
of Second Presbyterian Church was gathered in
its original location on the Circle for Independence
Day worship when they heard shouts and curses in
the street outside. John Tucker, a forty-five-year-old
former slave and resident of Indianapolis, had been
walking by the church when a drunk man blocked
his path and began to shout vile, racist insults at him.
Soon, others surrounded him, and when John Tucker
tried to run, the crowd beat him to death.
By the time Rev. Beecher rushed out to the streets,
the mob had grown, and their anger turned toward
abolitionists who defended Tucker’s freedom. They
roamed the streets, this angry mob, until they found
Henry Depuy, the editor of the Indiana Freeman,
a recently established anti-slavery newspaper.
Beecher saw the rioters coming for Depuy and
guided him to safety. But the next part of the story
haunts me. After the mob dispersed, Beecher rushed
to Depuy’s office at the newspaper. He found the
editor frantically typing a special edition that would
recount the terrible violence and condemn the city’s
lack of response. And here is what Beecher did.
He pleaded with Depuy not to print the story, to
say nothing about what had happened, to remain
silent and leave it to the courts. Now, I know what
Beecher was thinking. (Man, do I know what Beecher
was thinking.) To print this story would risk more
bloodshed, more rioting. No doubt Beecher thought
he could save the city from such violence. But no
matter the rationale, what Beecher attempted to do
was withhold a truth that needed to be told. It was an
act of moral cowardice.
Why do I tell this story? Because we will all be
tempted to act as Beecher did. To remain silent in
the face of injustice. To urge others to do the same.
To justify our cowardice as an act of prudence and
moderation. I tell this story because it is part of my
story…because it is part of our story.
Jeremiah models another way. His vocation is difficult
and trying at every turn. But there is, with the call, a
promise. It comes from the voice of God ringing in the
young man’s ears, “Do not be afraid. I am with you.”
That’s all he gets, and it’s everything he needs.
Confident in God’s presence, the boy clears his
throat and pursues his vocation speaking God’s truth
with courage.
We can do the same. Indeed, as people of Christian
faith, we must speak the truth, even when such
speech is condemned, mocked, or rejected. We must
speak the truth even when such speech costs us
something. Jeremiah’s truth-telling was not free from
genuine risk and loss. But in a much deeper sense
the words of truth he spoke set him free.
The call of the prophet is to tell the truth without
fear. So, let us tell the truth. The truth that God is not
pleased with those who privilege personal power
over protection of the vulnerable. The truth that God’s
judgment falls on those who withhold from some the
freedom God gives to all. The truth that God will hold
us accountable for how we have practiced the faith
we profess, how we have offered the welcome we’ve
been given, how we’ve extended the compassion we
have received.
The truth that God’s grace is stronger than our
brokenness. God’s courage stronger than our fear.
God’s forgiveness outpaces our sinfulness. In Jesus
Christ we are free to live in the light of truth.
So let us find the courage to be a community of
prophetic witness in a world drunk on lies. Let us
tell the truth that overcomes the deceits of division,
hatred, and fear. Let us tell the truth and be set free
from the abyss of despair and the prison of denial.
Just before this morning’s passage, Jeremiah stands
at the gate of the Temple. He stands at the place
where the sacred and the secular meet. And in that
place, he speaks to the leaders of his land the word
of the Lord. “Amend your ways and your doing and
let me dwell with you in this place. Do not trust in
deceptive words. This is the temple of the Lord, the
temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord.”
Friends at Second Church, this is God’s sanctuary.
Be strong. Do not fear. Tell the truth.