“Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters… multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare [shalom] of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare… Do not let your prophets and your diviners who are among you deceive you, and do not listen to the dreams that they dream, for it is a lie… For thus says the Lord: When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord…” - Jeremiah 29: 4-11
I’ve been meditating on Jeremiah 29 this week. The context of the chapter is really the entire story of God’s people in the Old Testament: the choosing, the covenants, the deliverance, the journey to the promised land; the judges, the kings, who eventually stopped following God. The strife that led to a split into north and south; bad king after bad king; repeated sin and idolatry despite prophets’ warnings, which eventually led to God’s judgment as the northern kingdom was conquered by the Assyrians and the southern by the Babylonians.
This was undoubtedly one of the worst points in the story. The land was lost. The temple plundered. The law long ignored. Judgment had come. Those who were not part of the remnant that stayed found themselves forced into life in a foreign land and culture. I think the majority exilic thinking at the time would have been: we’re not where we’re supposed to be. It was not supposed to be like this. Life will be better when we get out, when things change. And false prophets like Hananiah (Jeremiah 28) were promising that very thing: imminent liberation within two years! You’ll get your lands and your king back!
That’s why Jeremiah’s letter is so radical. Generally the Israelites were warned not to co-mingle with Gentiles in whatever lands they were entering; here they were amongst enemies; and lastly they were hoping to get out soon—but Jeremiah says, build and live. Plant and eat. Marry and have kids. They had been told, you’ll be out in two years—but Jeremiah says, it’s going to be seventy. Most of you will die in this place. They probably thought they were seeing the last of the covenant—but Jeremiah says, the story has not ended. There will be restoration, of relationship and shalom and land, so have hope.
We are so much creatures of circumstance and expectation. It’s so easy to think, “my life will be better when…” It’s so hard to be present when we think things may change. It’s so hard to cope when things don’t turn out like we wanted. Depression, withdrawal, or resentment can creep in. I think about Jeremiah’s strange mix of good and bad news. He was basically saying, look, your current circumstances are going to be worse than you were told. But your ultimate future is going to be far better. He was saying, look, circumstances are secondary to relationship. In your worst place, God visits you. His thoughts are towards you. He hears you. Call on him, come to him, find him with all your inner self, all your understanding and will and feeling. You will have hope, not based on circumstantial manipulation, but that is given to you.
I like Jeremiah’s definition of being present. On the one hand, it’s imminently practical. Build, live, plant, eat. Grow families. You can’t do that without living in community, without engaging daily. On the other hand, it’s imminently spiritual. Don’t seek cultural norms and the dreams of the majority. Be intentional about how you define meaning and success. Seek shalom, wholeness, peace and realize that this only comes from God. Be spiritual engaged in prayer. Don’t lose your worldview.
It’s ironic that verses eleven-on are so often quoted out of context. Interpreted in our individualistic, circumstantially-focused culture, it’s often read in prosperity-gospel, self-deterministic fashion—when in reality, it’s a promise given in community, and preceded by harsh news. The more I read it, the less it seems about fortune, than about a God who is radically faithful. Who keeps all his promises to us solely because of who he is. Who is completely sovereign. Who reached out to a people crushed by circumstances, through a man who had himself suffered repeatedly for the sake of what he believed, to renew a covenant and hope. The same covenant and hope that we have now.
