The book of Jeremiah begins with the voice of God

to a child.

“Before you were born, I appointed you a prophet.

Now I have put my words in your mouth. Today, I

appoint you over nations and kingdoms: to pluck up

and pull down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and

to plant.”

This newly appointed, freshly consecrated prophet

is sent by God to speak. The specific assignment

is more than a little daunting. Jeremiah is called to

speak the truth in an age of lies. He must deliver

divine judgement in a context of self-righteous

sufficiency. He is charged to challenge the comfort

of a status quo that is unacceptable to God. As my

teacher Walter Brueggemann has written, Jeremiah

must “utter faithful folk into the abyss too long denied

and through the abyss to newness.”

Jeremiah is sometimes called the weeping prophet.

This morning’s scripture makes the reason clear. This

young man, given the word of God to speak, takes

no pleasure in describing the depravity of his people.

In her novel Gilead, Marilynne Robinson suggests

that the difference between a prophet and a scribe is

that prophets love the people they chastise. Jeremiah

is a prophet who loves his nation enough to tell them

hard truth. It is this: God is not pleased. Exile is on

the horizon.

This morning our sermon series confronts us with

the virtue of truthfulness. The term is intentionally

chosen. Truthfulness stretches us beyond the

avoidance of lying. Honesty may deal in facts, but

truth deals in meaning.

Prophets tell the truth that possesses the power to

set free. And for this gift, they are not always wellreceived. Sometimes, they are a nuisance. Other

times, they are destroyed—for telling the truth. No

wonder Jeremiah resists the call. “Oh, Lord God, I am

only a child.” Truth-telling carries a heavy burden in a

time when lies abound.

The concept of truth is in dispute among us. We live

in an age of artificial intelligence, of deep fakes, of

persistent mistruth, and algorithms designed to lead

us down rabbit holes of disinformation and deception

with dangerous consequences—putting real people

at great risk. Particularly the marginalized and the

misunderstood. We see it in legislative maneuvers

meant to score political points by demeaning

difference. For shame.

Like all virtues, truthfulness requires the

accountability of genuine community. Afterall,

knowing the truth is not intellectual. It is not

informational. It is relational. And it can be

transformational. “The truth,” Jesus says, “will set you

free.” But first it might make you mad.

In the coffee shop where I write, there is a group of

older men that gathers most every morning. They

are friends who find it easy to move from the Colts

coaching woes one moment to the war in Ukraine

the next. A couple of weeks ago, I overheard the

discussion as it turned to politics, and one man

began to speak derisively about our neighbors who

lack dependable housing. Eventually he used an

offensive and inappropriate term, and you could

sense the tension rising in the awkward silence

that followed his words. Finally, another member of

the group spoke. He did so gently, in a measured

way, and here is what he said: “You know I love you

even when we disagree, but that’s just not true and

you know it.” Another long, tension-filled pause.

Finally, the original speaker responded, “You’re

right. I’m sorry. So…what did you think of the Super

Bowl?” It was a small moment, and yet I’ve been

thinking about it ever since. I’ve been wondering,

I’ve been praying about how we cultivate the kind

of community where the truth can be spoken in love

and heard with an open heart.

Here is what I think. I think the capacity to speak

and hear the truth in community is formed in us over

time as trust is built among us. That the capacity

is shaped by the practice of prayer and worship in

community. That it is deepened by the witness of

other truth-tellers.

For some time now, I’ve been living with a story

that complicates the narrative we tell about the

founding pastor of Second Presbyterian Church, the

renowned preacher, the great writer, the courageous

abolitionist, Henry Ward Beecher. Now, we are rightly

proud of Beecher’s legacy and his connection to this

place. What follows is a cautionary tale for me and for

all of us.

It was the Fourth of July, 1845. The congregation

of Second Presbyterian Church was gathered in

its original location on the Circle for Independence

Day worship when they heard shouts and curses in

the street outside. John Tucker, a forty-five-year-old

former slave and resident of Indianapolis, had been

walking by the church when a drunk man blocked

his path and began to shout vile, racist insults at him.

Soon, others surrounded him, and when John Tucker

tried to run, the crowd beat him to death.

By the time Rev. Beecher rushed out to the streets,

the mob had grown, and their anger turned toward

abolitionists who defended Tucker’s freedom. They

roamed the streets, this angry mob, until they found

Henry Depuy, the editor of the Indiana Freeman,

a recently established anti-slavery newspaper.

Beecher saw the rioters coming for Depuy and

guided him to safety. But the next part of the story

haunts me. After the mob dispersed, Beecher rushed

to Depuy’s office at the newspaper. He found the

editor frantically typing a special edition that would

recount the terrible violence and condemn the city’s

lack of response. And here is what Beecher did.

He pleaded with Depuy not to print the story, to

say nothing about what had happened, to remain

silent and leave it to the courts. Now, I know what

Beecher was thinking. (Man, do I know what Beecher

was thinking.) To print this story would risk more

bloodshed, more rioting. No doubt Beecher thought

he could save the city from such violence. But no

matter the rationale, what Beecher attempted to do

was withhold a truth that needed to be told. It was an

act of moral cowardice.

Why do I tell this story? Because we will all be

tempted to act as Beecher did. To remain silent in

the face of injustice. To urge others to do the same.

To justify our cowardice as an act of prudence and

moderation. I tell this story because it is part of my

story…because it is part of our story.

Jeremiah models another way. His vocation is difficult

and trying at every turn. But there is, with the call, a

promise. It comes from the voice of God ringing in the

young man’s ears, “Do not be afraid. I am with you.”

That’s all he gets, and it’s everything he needs.

Confident in God’s presence, the boy clears his

throat and pursues his vocation speaking God’s truth

with courage.

We can do the same. Indeed, as people of Christian

faith, we must speak the truth, even when such

speech is condemned, mocked, or rejected. We must

speak the truth even when such speech costs us

something. Jeremiah’s truth-telling was not free from

genuine risk and loss. But in a much deeper sense

the words of truth he spoke set him free.

The call of the prophet is to tell the truth without

fear. So, let us tell the truth. The truth that God is not

pleased with those who privilege personal power

over protection of the vulnerable. The truth that God’s

judgment falls on those who withhold from some the

freedom God gives to all. The truth that God will hold

us accountable for how we have practiced the faith

we profess, how we have offered the welcome we’ve

been given, how we’ve extended the compassion we

have received.

The truth that God’s grace is stronger than our

brokenness. God’s courage stronger than our fear.

God’s forgiveness outpaces our sinfulness. In Jesus

Christ we are free to live in the light of truth.

So let us find the courage to be a community of

prophetic witness in a world drunk on lies. Let us

tell the truth that overcomes the deceits of division,

hatred, and fear. Let us tell the truth and be set free

from the abyss of despair and the prison of denial.

Just before this morning’s passage, Jeremiah stands

at the gate of the Temple. He stands at the place

where the sacred and the secular meet. And in that

place, he speaks to the leaders of his land the word

of the Lord. “Amend your ways and your doing and

let me dwell with you in this place. Do not trust in

deceptive words. This is the temple of the Lord, the

temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord.”

Friends at Second Church, this is God’s sanctuary.

Be strong. Do not fear. Tell the truth.