Wednesday, February 9, 2022
Jeremiah, ever the weeping prophet, received
a “not-so-veiled” threat to lay at Israel’s feet: from the throne room to the common rooms, drunk
with the power of personal choice, the hangover of exile for God’s people was
coming.
As the grandson of an alcoholic, I am aware of the results
of too much celebrating, and not enough common sense, or self-respect. My mother’s childhood was spent moving from
one rented apartment to the next. My
grandfather had a good job, but his habit consumed even the rent money. He was not a physically-abusive person, but addiction
to alcohol carries its own brand of abuse.
When my mother was asked where she lived growing up, she had lots of
addresses from which to choose. One of
those addresses she never even saw. She
had been hit by a car while walking home from school, and spent over a month in
the hospital. The family was in the
process of moving that week; they moved-in, but had to move-out a few weeks
later. Mom added a new address to the
pile, even though she never saw the front-doorstep.
Jeremiah’s prophecy was about the consequences of
drunkenness, but this hangover wasn’t really about wine filling every jar. Rather it was the confusion of why the
kingdom fell apart, and every citizen would be at odds with every other
citizen, from the palaces to the playpens.
In a massive pandemic of arrogance, Israel assumed the role of
bad-chilld, leaving the Father no other choice but the woodshed from the
North. Destruction was on its way like a
juggernaut of grief and mourning. The
rent money was due, and it wasn’t there; it was too late.
For You Today
It is
impossible for me to read any of the prophets and not make the mental leap from
Jerusalem in Judea, to Washington D.C. I
pray every day for the leaders of our nation in that jungle of self-importance
called “government”.
That for
which I pray is an awakening, and the resultant sweep of revival. Because, without revival in the lives of
leaders, and without it spreading to the board rooms, businesses, schools, and
every main street, back street, and dirt street, our drunken stupor of anger
and violence, with its accompanying wrecking of the homes across the land, will
make us a ripe, low-hanging fruit for a trip to Babylon’s jail. In the darkness of national disaster, we won’t
even know what happened.
You chew on that as
you hit the Rocky Road; have a blessed day!
[1] Title and Other Images: Pixabay.com Unless noted, Scripture quoted from The New Living Translation©
