A Portrait of God’s Compassion
About a dozen years ago, Jill Lepore (born in Worcester) wrote a book entitled The Name of War: King Philips War and the Origins of American Identity. Metacom (or King Philip as he was known to the English) became Sachem of the Pokanoket and Grand Sachem of the Wampanoag Confederacy after the suspicious death of his older brother. The son of Massasoit, Metacom began negotiating with other Native American tribes after the death of his father to deal with the continued incursion of settlers into their native territories. To the settlers, King Philip became an enemy to be destroyed. To his own people, he was their hope for holding on to their dignity as a people and their land that was their home. The book covers the events of the late 17th century war between the settlers and the Wampanoag tribe that encompassed much of southern New England (even Worcester County). The premise of the book is that war is defined by the person who is telling the story. The Wampanoags had a different interpretation than the settlers and vice versa.
History has a way of capturing the life of public figures that, once presented, is indelibly printed in our collective conscience, names like Washington, Churchill, or Nixon. We see in our mind’s eye, figures of great prominence whose iconic images have ready recognition.
The prophet Jeremiah in many ways is such a figure. Prophets were often not “painted” in the best of light. They appear as “off the wall” characters, rough and abrasive, often tragic. Jeremiah is stereotyped in traditional prophetic fashion. Here was a prophet who from the outset, did not see himself worthy of God’s call, who attempted to back away, and who much later after fulfilling his prophetic calling, mourned the very day he was born. He appears as anything but an uplifting character. He is even branded in our English language by the word “jeremiad” referring to a long, mournful complaint or lamentation; a list of woes.
Jeremiah lived in day when, as the scriptures revealed, everyone did what seemed right in their own eyes. As a prophet with a divine mission, he had pleaded to the point of reprimand, making a spectacle of himself but to no avail. He along with his people witnessed what he had warned about—the fall of Jerusalem.
Imagine, watching the destruction of everything you had known. Jerusalem and the temple burned to ruins. If his ultimate goal as a prophet was to convince his people to turn from their ways, he had failed. Even if it was not his fault, he carried the weight of his people and their lot.
The story of Jeremiah’s life is captured in Rembrandt’s classic 1630 oil painting. With Rembrandt’s father serving as a model of the prophet, Jeremiah is presented as a man with the angst of rejection and disappointment—one who was given the unenviable task of warning a rebellious people to turn back to God, only to see his words and life work rejected. He witnessed the fall of Jerusalem and subsequent disappointment of his life’s work. In the portrait, his head rests on one hand. A few pieces of gold and silver vessels are at his side, seemingly symbolizing a remnant from the temple that is burning in the darkened background. Jeremiah is not looking at the city in flames but downward. He does not have to see what he warned would happen if his words were not heeded.
But Rembrandt has this ingenious way of playing with light and dark. Jeremiah’s figure is outlined by light that also brightly reflects upon the face of this rejected man. It would appear as a fulfillment of God’s promise to Jeremiah in his youth when he promised: Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you…
Even in Jeremiah’s rejection, Rembrandt captures the faithful presence of God.
Even though the central character in the drama is the prophet, it is really a story of the human condition and God’s call to all of us as his children. Jeremiah’s lament captures the pain of our human experience, the broken relationships, the angst of parents over their children and decisions gone bad, hopes dashed in a moment in time. We have seen such angst in the pictures of the Haitian people, fathers and mothers looking for children, children who have been orphaned, a spouse digging in desperate hope for a wife or husband. We identify with the angst of Jeremiah, of a life lived but upon looking back, wonders if it was worth it.
In Jeremiah’s despair, however, the prophet holds to his tattered faith.
We affirm in his story a central truth of the scriptures: God never withdraws his call from us nor does God ever withdraw the promise of his presence.
Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you…
Just as an artist captures human emotion and interprets by color and light and shadows—our lives, like a canvas, capture a reflection of God. Who we are, what we do, how we love, how we forgive, how we persevere through disappointment and rejection and grief—all of these reflect the compassion of a loving and merciful God who weeps with us but never abandons us. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you…
In George Bernanos’s novel, Diary of a Country Priest, the young priest keeps a diary to unburden himself to God, to cultivate a sense of brutal honesty with himself, and to record “the simple trivial secrets of a very ordinary kind of life.” He describes his rural parish as bored and boring, at times petty, and often indifferent. He loves his people deeply, prays for them, and visits every home at least once every three months. But like Jeremiah, Moses, and Isaiah, his candor and introspection lead to deep disillusionment. He knows that he is physically clumsy and socially awkward. He ponders the absurdity of prayer. He agonizes over his loneliness and sense of isolation. When he shares the gospel he sometimes feels like he is merely play-acting and parroting clichés. He likens his restlessness to “a hornet in a bottle.” His subsistence diet and inadequate salary aggravate a chronic sickness that causes him to loathe his body. He admits that he himself is responsible for some of his bitter disappointments. Reflecting upon his “wretched weakness,” he struggles with a deep sense of total failure, that “my best is nothing.” From a merely human perspective the priest is not wrong to draw this conclusion. And so he frets about his call: “Am I where our Lord would have me? Twenty times a day I ask this question.”
The priest’s elders gave him wise advice about persevering amidst questions about his call. “Keep saying your lessons. Go on with your work. Keep at the little daily things that need doing, till the rest comes. Concentrate. Think of a lad at his homework, trying so hard and his tongue sticking out. That’s how our Lord would have us be when he gives us up to our own strength. Little things—they don’t look like much, yet they bring peace. Like wild flowers which seem to have no scent, till you get a field full of ‘em.” (http://www.journeywithjesus.net/Essays/20070122JJ.shtml)
The apostle Paul refers to “the fragrance that comes (from) knowing (God). (2 Corinthians 2.14)
We reflect God’s faithfulness, even in the simplest of things.
God’s call is upon each of our lives—Listen to that call again as it came to Jeremiah.
Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,
and before you were born I consecrated you;
I appointed you a prophet to the nations.’
Think about that call that we all share. No matter where we are in our lives, young or old, no matter our disappointments, no matter the concerns we carry for the moment, no matter how inadequate we may feel—God’s hand is upon us.
“…thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads in every place the fragrance that comes from knowing him.”
-Rev. Fryholm
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