Jeremiah's Blessing

sermon by Carrie Eikler
Jeremiah 1:4-10

It has been a little over a month since I have seen most of you. What with denominational gatherings and meetings, vacation, and the death of two of our grandparents, we have been flying, literally around as far as St. Louis and Minneapolis, driving to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and taking a first bus ride to Suncrest Primary for all day pre-school.

As much as I want to say it, I’m convinced it’s folly to say “when things settle down…” Things never really settle down, do they? There are periods of calm in the storm of life, but we always know there’s more on the horizon. And unfortunately, if you are anything like me, those periods of calm are treated somehow, if not subconsciously, simply as times to recuperate and prepare for the next storm to hit: secretly plotting our defenses, worrying about what could in fact come our way: Who will die next? What if this job isn’t here in a year? What if I am simply too burned out to continue with what I’ve been called to do?

Sometimes, it seems like the busy times are better than what we might call the “calm” times. What really destroys us is not dealing with the crises of life, but worrying about the possibility of them, like watching for the hurricane making its way up the coast. Will it really reach you where you are?

And let’s remember there are those among us who constantly live in turmoil: constant fear of lack of income or resources; fear of persecution for what they believe or who they love; chronic health conditions, and a lifetime of warfare. Where do they find calm in the midst of storms?

And yet, out of crisis comes calling. Doesn’t it always seem to work like that? Prophets never seem to be called during a down time. Living in exile, social calamity, anarchy…these are the sure grains of yeast for the rising up of a prophet! It seems like people never call on us, or need us, or want something from us when we have been properly rested and rejuvenated—it never seems to come when we have everything in order and now ready to proceed with an orderly amount of call.

Jeremiah exhibits our resistance to call in the time of calamity. Kingdoms were falling…and who does God pluck out of the rabble? A youth. We don’t know exactly how old Jeremiah is, but he calls himself a boy. I can’t do it! I’m too young, the problems too big. But before he can get more persuasive arguments out, God wipes them away with what I can only hear as a divine “tisk, tisk.” “Don’t say I am only a boy! Don’t say I’m not trained, I don’t have enough time, I get too flustered, I’m too scared.”

Like the seed that formed Jeremiah in his mother’s womb, the seed of God’s words were planted in him. And they are planted in us too, somewhere deep within us. But we can understand Jeremiah’s reluctance. It seems like God would want someone with more confidence, who can speak really loudly, not with reticence. Someone on fire for God. But I’m more reluctant when it comes to hearing a call. How about you?

“A reluctant prophet may be the only one worth calling” muses Martin B. Copenhaver. “A reluctant prophet may be the only one worth calling because he or she is likely to be the one who knows what is required to be a faithful prophet.” Most of us won’t be given authority over nations and kingdoms, like Jeremiah. But we are called, in our own ways, to pull down empires and plant new ones. The empires that control us, that guide our daily decision making, that keep us trapped in old patterns of acting and thinking and living.

And while it may seem simple and small, we know that the very least it takes courage to face ourselves. We may feel only like little girls and little boys as we face our own lives.

I love September because it brings the promise of cooler weather. Not that these first few days are any indication of that, but I know that by the end of the month, it will be cool. Leaves will begin to change, abundance will be redefined not by the massive amounts of tomatoes on the vines, but by the tomatoes in the jar keeping cool in my basement. Fall is a wonderful time to reacquaint ourselves.

This September I feel a different convergence of season in my life. We are currently in the midst of the Muslim holiday of Ramadan, when Muslims fast, pray, abstain, give extra, and work at reacquainting themselves with Allah, God. This month also brings the Jewish Holiday of Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, of asking forgiveness and setting straight one’s path. It’s kind of like the attention we might give at Lent as we explore the state of our souls.

For Christians this September doesn’t bring us any holiday calling us to repentance, confession, or forgiveness. Yet the call is there nevertheless. It comes as we remember September 11. It comes as we observe International Day of Peace on September 21. It comes as we embark on a study on human sexuality. It comes as we kiss the heads of our young children as we send them off to school. What comes? Life comes. Everyday life, whether calm or crisis, mundane or magical, every waking morning is the call of God-waking us with an urging to claim the call to everyday acts of love and compassion, even when we are reluctant, or ill-chosen, or don’t have the time.

Responding to the call to ministry was a reluctant one for me. I was rarely told that as a woman ministry was a viable option for me. I didn’t feel compelled to memorize scriptures in order to convince people I was well read in the Bible, which I wasn’t. I didn’t want to tell people how to live their lives, like I saw so many pastors doing.

What I did feel, however, was a call to accompany others through life, everyday life, the life that comes. That to me is ministry and that is why I love being part of an Anabaptist tradition because we believe that is all our call. We are all called to be priests, ministers, walking with others through crises and calm.

And the beauty about this call is for most of us, it doesn’t require us to relocate, or to change jobs, it doesn’t even require special equipment. It is a call to be a minister, maybe even a prophet, by giving daily blessings to others: through our words, our actions and decisions, our prayers. What if we attuned ourselves to listen, not just to those big calls in our lives—those infrequent, monumental changes that thrust us into something entirely new—but what if we gave equal weight to a simpler call: being in our everyday lives in a new way. Interacting with others in a new way. Living on earth, in a new way. Praying with God…in a new way.

If we gave weight to this call, we could take who we are, where we are as an answer to God’s calling—you are here, now walk with others, bearers of blessing.

And yet it takes courage and we can still be reluctant, I’m sure. It is uncomfortable to think about reacquainting our lives with God, rather than simply towards ourselves. And contrary to what we might think I’m not convinced that feeling uncomfortable is bad. I’m pretty sure that when we are uncomfortable in what God might be calling us to, it is only the beginning of God’s blessing. Like the labor pains of birthing the call that God plants within us, out of pain and resistance, comes new life: for ourselves, for God, and for others. And all are called to claim it.

Brian McLaren, theologian an author of the popular book A Generous Orthodoxy, likes to think of the church as a dojo. Any of you familiar with martial arts, or at least familiar with the original Karate Kid move (classic!), you know that a dojo is a place where people learn martial arts. It literally means “a place where one learns the way.” That’s what he thinks churches should be, but not only learning the way by listening to the pastor ramble on. Dojos are places where students learn by putting into practice. We practice here, what we learn here in order to be out there what we have formed in here.


So we are here to practice. We are now going to practice being bears of blessing, here in our “Jesus dojo.” Or maybe our, “Jeremiah dojo.” Many of the young children in our congregation are facing new experiences and new challenges with the new school year and we are going to practice our being bearers of blessing as we bestow them with our love and support. Some of you, grown children are also experience new experiences and challenges: starting school yourself, or a new job, or new family situations. Maybe you would like a spoken blessing as well. If that sounds like what you are experience, I’ll invite you to share that with us if you like, after we bless the children.