Am I really no more than a lump of clay?

Jeremiah 18:1-11; Psalms 139:1-6

 

The Psalmist writes, “God, you have searched me and known me.” Then the prophet Jeremiah adds, “You are just a lump of clay.” In the eyes of God is that all I am? I am not particularly thrilled with this evaluation of my professional or personal talents. Certainly I am much more than a slab of mud sitting in the way of others dreams.  Yet, Jeremiah’s imagery hauntingly observes God’s imagination against our imperfections. I have sat in a potter’s chair. I have spun the wheel and felt the clay rise and fall within my fingers. I have sought to create a beautiful vase and ended up with an ash tray. To call a lump of clay hideous is to have never sat at the wheel. In the hands of an expert amazing things happen. But left to the expertise of a novice, perhaps the clay should have never left the river bank. Endless potential ends up wasted.

How many of you felt like a lump of clay this week? Early Monday morning I was riding my bike down Cedar Meadow Drive and suddenly had no idea where I was. Granted if one must get lost, Cedar Meadow is an excellent choice. It has only one entrance and turns into a circle. If you stay on it long enough eventually you end up where you started. But for brief moment I had absolutely no idea where I was. Such is the power of grief.

Every so often, perhaps more than I want to admit, I need to place myself on the potter’s wheel and be molded by the hands of God. I need to feel my soul caressed, massaging away the deep pain that has broken my heart. I need to hear the Potter’s reassuring words, “I have searched you and known you. It was I who formed you in your mother’s womb. It is I who will restore you.” Sometimes, only God can mend our brokenness.

The very nature of this confession frightens me. Admitting that I am solely dependent on something I can only see through the eyes of faith challenges my rational mind. Furthermore, when the sun is shining and my direction is clear, I quickly forget that I might not be the master of my universe. How easy it is to become the farmer played so masterfully by Jimmy Stewart in the movie Shenandoah. All of the family is summoned to the dinner table. Stewart prays, “Lord, we cleared the land, we plowed the field, we planted the seed, we harvested the crop and we cooked what we are about to eat. We did it all without your help but we thank you just the same. Amen.”

When life is good, I fool myself into thinking I don’t need God. Actually that is not true. When things are going well I seldom think of anything but myself. I am proud of who I am and what I have accomplished. I suspect I am not the only one in this room who feels this way.

Then we hit a bump in the road. Actually this week it was more like the road completely disappeared. Is it any wonder so many of the Psalms begin, “God why did you let this happen to me?” When the darkness surrounds us we often do our best Dylan Thomas, “And rage against the dying of the light.” We believe the same hand that molded us is capable of tearing us from the wheel of life and discarding our hopes and dreams into the blob from whence we were conceived. Perhaps this perception of God is as farfetched as our previous illusions of grandeur.    (stop)

This table that occupies the center of our sanctuary cries out to define our understanding of God. The One who knows us is the One who was broken for our sake. The One who molded us was broken for our sake. The One who loves us was broken for our sake. The physicality of this image is critical to our understanding of a God who is present in the midst of our suffering.

 One of the ancient chants of our faith is “Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again.” The suffering of God allows us to say, “We have died, we have risen, we will come again.”  My friends your pulse can be 100 over 60 and your heart still be dead. We sometimes fall so low we actually believe life has no meaning. Then the Potter, who knows our brokenness, takes us in those strong yet tender hands and begins to once again mold life into our very being.

Working with clay is a messy business. Jeremiah invites us to envision God completely covered with mud in our making and remaking. Hop back on the wheel and allow the hands of the Potter to reshape your brokenness. Hop back on the wheel and allow your heart to be restored.     Amen.