The eastern gate of Jerusalem had become a court.
There, serious matters were resolved. There, the fate of men was decided. And
there, surrounded by authorities, priests, and an expectant crowd, stood Jeremiah.
His hands were not tied, but he was not free either.
The princes of Judah sat in a semicircle, their faces stern. Behind them, the elders
of the people watched in silence. The priests and official prophets occupied the
nearest seats, visibly irritated.
Jeremiah remained standing in the center.
The murmur was constant. Everyone knew why they were there.
"This man has prophesied against this city," declared one of the priests. "We
heard it with our own ears."
"He has spoken against the temple," another added. "That is spiritual
treason." A court prophet, dressed in elegant robes, stepped forward.
"If we allow it to continue," he said, "the people will lose faith. It will cause panic.
ThatHe deserves to die.
The words fell like a hammer.The crowd reacted with mixed reactions. Some nodded. OthersThey looked at
Jeremiah with unease.
One of the princes raised his hand.
—Let the accused speak.
The silence was
immediate.
Jeremiah raised his head. His body was tired, but his spirit remained steadfast.He
looked at each of those who were judging him, one by one.
"The Lord sent me," he began, "to prophesy against this temple and against this
city."everything they have heard.
A murmur rippled through the place.
—Now, therefore—he continued—, amend your ways and your deeds, and obey the
voice of the Lord your God.
An awkward silence fell.
"If you do that," he added, "the Lord will relent from the evil he has pronounced
against you."
Some elderly people exchanged
glances.Jeremiah took a deep breath.
"As for me," he said, "here I am in your hands. Do
with me what seems good and just to you."
Many hearts raced.
—But know for certain —he added— that if you kill me, you will bring innocent
blood upon yourselves, upon this city, and upon its inhabitants.
His words were not a threat. They were a
warning.A prince frowned.
"Do you consider yourself innocent?" he asked.
"I do not speak for myself," Jeremiah replied. "I speak for the One who
sent me." The silence continued.Then one of the old men slowly stood up. His hair was white. His voice was deep.
—In the days of Hezekiah—he said—, Micah of Moresheth prophesied against
Jerusalem, saying that Zion would be plowed like a field.
Some nodded. They knew that story.
"Did King Hezekiah kill him?" he continued. "No. He feared the Lord, and the Lord
relented from the disaster."
The words changed the
atmosphere.Another old man spoke.
"This man does not deserve to die. He has spoken in the name of the
Lord."The priests reacted with fury.
"That's different!" one of them shouted. "This Jeremiah is discrediting the temple!"
"Or is the temple above God?" the old man replied. The tension was
unbearable.
Jeremiah watched in silence. He knew his life hung on an invisible scale.Then
something unexpected happened.
A man from the village shouted:
—But there was another prophet! Uriah, son of Shemaiah! He prophesied the same
thing… and he was
executed.
The murmur returned with force.
"Yes!" some shouted. "King Jehoiakim ordered him
killed!"The memory was fresh. Painful.
The princes looked at each other. The weight of the decision crushed them.
"And why should this one be any different?" one of them
asked.A long silence followed the question.
Jeremiah felt a knot in his chest."Because not all prophets survive," he thought. "But the word does." Finally,
one of the princes stood up.
"This man will not be sentenced to death," he declared. "There is not sufficient
legal basis."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, this time different. Some breathed a sigh of
relief. OthersThey frowned in frustration.
The priests withdrew, barely containing their anger. They hadn't won… but neither
had they…
would yield.
Jeremiah wasreleased.
As she walked away from the door, her legs trembled. Not from fear, but from
theweight of the moment he had just experienced.
He had been a breath away from
death.And he knew it: it wouldn't be
the last time.
That night, Jeremiah sat alone, far from the bustle of the city. He gazed at
Jerusalem, illuminated by torches and bonfires. From afar, it seemed
beautiful. Alive. Safe.
"They don't know how close they are to the abyss,"
she whispered. She felt tears running down her
face.
"I don't want this either," he confessed. "I live here too. I love these streets too."
The fire started burning
again.Not like fury.
Like pain.
Jeremiah understood something fundamental
that night:God had not called him to win
lawsuits,
nor to convince
multitudes,nor to save
their own lives.He had called him to be faithful.
And loyalty, she was now learning, came at a high price.While the city slept, Jeremiah stayed awake, weeping for a people whoI still didn't
know how much I would cry.