Sermon:
May 16, 1999

Scripture:
Jeremiah 32:6-25

While we still, as of this moment, have two open positions on our program staff, absolutely no one has come to Gary Morris or myself suggesting that we interview Jeremiah. Jeremiah wouldn't fit here. For the fact of the matter is, Jeremiah never fit anywhere. Not in his time ... which was 600 years before the birth of Jesus. Not in his place ... which was the kingdom of Judah (roughly half of present-day Israel). And not in the pages of scripture ... where scholars admire him, but pastors seldom preach him. Much of which can be laid off to his stubborn refusal to let any of us proclaim, "Peace, peace, where there is no peace." For which of us, on the way to a pension, wants to risk the wrath of the congregation on our heads, the way the wrath of his congregation came down on his? For Jeremiah was a denouncer. He denounced the king. He denounced the clergy. He denounced recreational sex and extramarital affairs. He denounced the rich for exploiting the poor. Then he denounced the poor for submitting like victims and taking it. He denounced the fickleness of the faithful for sniffing, like dogs in heat, after every new god or goddess that came rambling down the road. And while standing at the gates of the Temple ... the great, magnificent, to-die-for Temple ... he told them that if they thought God was impressed by all the mumbo-jumbo that went on inside there, they ought to have their heads examined.

And dramatic. Oh, was he dramatic. Nobody had sermon illustrations like Jeremiah had sermon illustrations. Once, when he got wind of the fact that some of the folks were "into" human sacrifice on the side, he appeared with a huge clay pot ... smashed it to smithereens by throwing it to the ground ... and said: "You think those are a lot of pieces? Just wait `til God gets done with you and yours." Wow ... to be able to preach like that.

Jeremiah even denounced God for saddling him with the job of trying to reform such a group of degenerate ninnies. "You have deceived me," he cried to God ... shaking his fist so as to punctuate his words. "You are like a deceitful brook ... like waters that fail" (15:8). And God took it. So the next time you feel like yelling and screaming at God, turn to the prophets. They'll give you both permission and example.

But while God took Jeremiah's ranting and raving with a grain of salt, the congregation didn't. When he told them that the Babylonians (under Nebuchadnezzar) were going to march into town, kick the stuffing out of them, sack their beloved Temple, and drag them (not kicking and screaming, but whining) off to Babylon ... and what's more, they wouldn't have a leg to stand on, nor would God lift a finger to help them ... they worked him over and threw him in jail. And when the Babylonians did exactly what Jeremiah said they would do, they threw him into the nearest cistern that happened to be handy. Luckily, the cistern had no water in it. But there was lots of muck ... into which Jeremiah sank (up to his armpits) ... until an Ethiopian eunuch pulled him out with a rope.

This being the same Jeremiah who once told them that if they were so gung-ho in favor of circumcision for children, they (as adults) ought to set their sights (and their knives) above the belt, the better to circumcise the foreskins of their hearts (4:4). That way, he reasoned, God might have half a chance of taking his Law out of the books ... off of the tablets ... away from the rabbis ... and writing it on their hearts. Someday. Somehow. Which is kinda how it turned out. But they couldn't see it at the time. And subsequent vindication didn't do him any good, seeing as how Jeremiah eventually got himself stoned to death. By his own people ... which is not in the Bible, but which is very much in the legends, however accurate they might be.

So why am I telling you about him today ... seeing as how we have no plans to hire him ... and seeing as how there are relatively few Babylonians camped outside our door? The only people camped outside our door are Presbyterians. And they seem harmless enough ... most days.

Well, there is a reason for bringing him up. It has to do with a deal. A land deal. Which is certainly not my specialty. In fact, I have a friend who is fond of saying that some people are so heavenly minded that they are no earthly good. When he says it, I think he means preachers. Although I hope he doesn't mean me. I try to work on my practical side. I try to sharpen my business savvy. I did take a couple of courses in economics. And I did buy a lot on Grand Traverse Bay which has turned out to be a pretty good investment. I do occasionally glance at the business section of the paper. And I regularly listen to Mark Thomas, Sue Allen, Kathy Dalton, Jim McRitchie, Joy Morris and Janette Engelhardt, every time they try to drum it into my head that there are only three factors to be considered in assessing a piece of real estate ... and they are (say them with me): "Location, location, location." I'm not stupid. Lillian Ritter didn't raise any dumb children and Kristine Larson didn't marry one, either. In real estate transactions, where it is determines what it's worth ... far surpassing how wide it is, how wet it is, how wooded or weedy it is, or whether it perks.

But back to Jeremiah. Moments ago, I read a story about how Jeremiah broke every rule of real estate by buying a very undesirable piece of property ... in a very poor location ... at a very inappropriate time. The year was 587 BC. The kingdom of Judah was reeling on the verge of collapse. The Babylonians were poised at the edge of the city, ready to move in for the kill. Occupation was imminent. Deportation was inevitable. And Jeremiah was in prison for saying: "See! See! I told you so. I told you so."

But, at this tumultuous moment, Jeremiah received an offer from his relative, Hanamel, to exercise his family right and purchase a piece of the family estate. At issue was a field at Anathoth. And Jeremiah considered it. Because he felt it to be a word from the Lord.

And why was Hanamel putting the field on the market? Come on, now. You can figure this out for yourself. With the Babylonians closing in, the field was worthless. But in the presence of two witnesses, Jeremiah bought the field. At a time when business transactions had come to a virtual standstill, Jeremiah bought the field. At a time when the bottom had fallen out of the real estate market, Jeremiah bought the field. At a time when virtually anybody could have taken over a piece of property by squatter's rights, Jeremiah bought the field. Why? Because God told him to.

This would be like me, telling you, that the voice of God was telling us to start grabbing up single family homes ... two family flats ... four family apartments ... in the general vicinity of Six Mile and John R. Which was where my grandmother once lived ... in a lovely house ... with an attached lot ... surrounded by a white picket fence ... adorned with prize-winning roses ... which she sold to a broker in the mid-eighties for $5,000. And which could be had today for half of that. That is, if somebody hadn't torched it, five years ago. Which was when it joined every other house on the block (save for five) in a decade-long disappearing act from the face of the earth. You'd call me crazy if I said: "Let's buy there." Which is what everybody said to Jeremiah about Anathoth, when he said: "I think I'll buy there."

Not that God wanted Jeremiah to look foolish. God told Jeremiah to buy the field at Anathoth, because God saw a future for Judah that she, herself, could not see. God saw the subsequent defeat of Nebuchadnezzar and an end to the deportation. God saw a return from exile and the reestablishment of family life in Judah. God saw a day when the voice of gladness would be heard ... when songs would be sung ... when grapes would be pressed into wine ... and when the voices of bride and bridegroom would be joined with those who sing while bringing their offerings into the house of the Lord. God even foresaw a future in which females would be as fertile as fields, and hopes would rise along with prayers. And because God saw such a future, God wanted Jeremiah to buy the field as a sign that hope need not be lost. For when the "For Sale" sign came down and a "Sold" sign replaced it at Anathoth, people would look at it (even as they were trudging into exile) and say: "At least somebody thinks this place has a future."

But even as Jeremiah was playing "good soldier" and purchasing the field as a symbol of future prosperity, he half believed that God was crazy. It is interesting to note how many Old Testament heroes responded to God's initial request, even though they thought it was the dumbest thing they'd ever heard.

Jeremiah: "Okay, Lord, I've bought it. I've had the deed witnessed. I've had one copy sealed away in the earthenware jar, just as you required. But look, the city is already in the clutches of the enemy."

Concerning all this, let me make three simple points and then sit down. First, real estate (and the buying and selling thereof) can make a powerful witness. Consider the impact of a corporation shutting down a plant, preparatory to moving it somewhere else. Or consider the more positive impact of new ownership reopening a boarded-up factory. Consider the symbolism of several new housing starts in a neighborhood where no building has taken place in years. Or, in a more negative light, consider the message sent by fifteen For Sale signs on a street that seldom has but one. Or consider the symbolism of a church announcing it is selling ... or closing ... a building. Boarded-up buildings suck the breath right out of a community. But the appearance of a few good contractors can bring breath back.

Second, where God is concerned, real estate and religion sometimes do mix. Everything from how we farm to what we build is important to God. Purchases of property can be signs of hope. And construction of buildings can be extensions of ministry. Not just houses of worship. But houses. Yes, houses. Our Lord Jesus may have had no place to lay his head, but he never said that everyone else should be forced to experience a similar predicament. What he said was: "Those without homes are your responsibility."

Which responsibility we accept ... one week a year ... when we say to the people who register for the floating shelter: "Come bunk on our floor." Great ministry! Great program! But now we have the chance to participate in a different kind of "homeless ministry" by putting somebody into a house. In fact, we are going to raise that house, from basement to chimney ... from pennies to plumbing ... from nickels to nails ... from dimes to drywall ... from quarters to quarter rounds ... from ten spots to two by fours ... from fifties to floor boards ... and from hundreds to hammer strokes.

What's more, we'll do it by opening our datebooks as well as our checkbooks. After all, our datebooks and our checkbooks are the two books that dare to "tell it all" about our lives. Meaning that we're going to make it happen with time and talent as well as with treasures. Why now? Because we are ready, that's why now. Why us? Because we're able, that's why us. As for being willing, I'm putting that one up for grabs, trusting that my abundant faith in you will be well-placed.

Third, when everything else seems hopeless, God is busy laying plans into which we are invited to invest. "Purchase the field," He tells Jeremiah. Which means: "Put your money where my mouth is," saith the Lord. Leading me to ponder how much Jeremiah actually paid for the field. Which is a pretty personal question, when you think of it. But one way to distinguish questions from God from questions not from God, is that the ones from God usually get personal.

Now I know that some of you are saying (along about now): "Sure, Bill ... as an idea, this `Habitat house' isn't half bad. But if you get gut-level honest about it, it's so piddly ... so minimal ... such a drop in the bucket. I mean there's all that need, measured against one small house."

True! True! But consider this. Walking down the oceanfront in the cool half-light of dawn, I saw a man hurling starfish out into the ocean. The beach was full of `em. They had been carried in and left behind by the tide. You could count them by hundreds ... possibly thousands. So I said to him: "Given the magnitude of the problem and the limitations of one human arm, why bother? You can't possibly make a difference."

To which he said (while gripping yet another between his thumb and forefinger): "I can to this one. I can to this one."

Note: This sermon was preached on the Sunday that a campaign was launched to supply funds and labor to build a house under the auspices of a program known as Habitat for Humanity. As a part of the worship service, the future occupants of the house were introduced to greet the congregation.

Background material on the prophet Jeremiah was supplied (with great creativity) by Frederick Buechner.