The trial was over, but the persecution was not.
Jeremiah knew it as he walked through the streets of Jerusalem. The looks were
notThey were words of relief. They were words of warning. Of suppressed
resentment. Of silent hatred.
He had been freed by the law, but condemned by the heart of the people.
"They won't stop," he thought. "They never do."
The temple was filling up again, as it did every day. Sacrifices. Chants. Sacred
routine. And inIn the midst of it all, Jeremiah advanced once more to that place
which was at the same time the house of God… and a battlefield.
He wasn't trying to provoke anyone. He didn't shout. He didn't stand in a
visible location.He simply obeyed.
Because the fire was still there.
Pashhur, son of Imer, the chief priest and overseer of the temple, watched from a
distance. He was a man of rigid bearing, with a hard gaze and unquestionable
authority.
He had heard the rumors. He knew about the trial. He knew Jeremiah had survived.
And that enraged him.
"That man is poison," he said through gritted teeth. "If he's not removed, he'll
contaminate everything."
By the time Jeremiah began to speak, Pashhur had already made his decision.
"Thus says the Lord!" Jeremiah said, "This people deceives itself. They honor with
their lips, but their hearts are far away."
There was no shouting. There was no commotion. But every word fell like a hammer.Pashhur advanced.
"Enough!" he ordered. "Arrest that man!"
The temple guards didn't hesitate. They rushed at Jeremiah and restrained him
withforce. Some spectators moved away. Others watched with morbid curiosity.
"They have no authority to do this!" someone shouted.
"I am the authority here," Pashhur replied.
Jeremiah did not resist.
"I knew this would happen," he thought. "I just didn't
know when." The first blow took him by surprise.
A cane struck his back hard. The air escaped his lungs. He fell to his knees.
"Learn to shut up!" one of the guards spat. The
second blow was worse. And then another.
The crowd murmured. Some looked away. Others gritted their teeth.
"Enough!" Pashhur ordered. "Take him to the stocks."
They dragged him to the upper entrance of the temple, where everyone could see
him. There stood the stocks: a wooden structure designed to immobilize and
humiliate.
They attached the arms and neck. They adjusted the wood.
The pain was immediate. The body forced into an unnatural position. Every breath.It
was an effort.
"Let him learn," said Pashhur, "what happens when one speaks against the house
of God." And he left.
Night slowly fell over Jerusalem.Jeremiah
remained there.
Exposed. Immobilized. In pain.
People walked by. Some stopped. Others laughed. Some swore.—There's the prophet of doom.
—Where is your God now?
"Speak! Prophesy!"
Jeremiah closed his eyes.
The physical pain was intense, but it wasn't
the worst part.The worst part was the
embarrassment.
"Here I am," he thought. "In front of everyone.
Defeated." Tears flowed uncontrollably.
"Is this why you called me?" she whispered. "To be a spectacle?"
Silence answered.
Hours passed.
The night
advanced.
And at that time, something broke inside
Jeremiah.Faith did not disappear.
But exhaustion did catch up with him.
"You deceived me," he whispered. "You seduced me... and I was seduced."
Her heart began to pour out unfiltered.
—Every time I speak, I shout violence and
destruction. And your word has brought me
reproach and mockery all day long.
She clenched her teeth to stifle a sob.
—I said I wouldn't speak on your behalf
again.That he wouldn't mention it again.
But he couldn't.
—There was in my heart like a burning fire…
locked in my bones. His
body trembled."I got tired of suffering it," she
confessed. "And I couldn't."
Dawn arrived. The
city awoke.
And Jeremiah was still there.
Finally, Pashhur returned.
"Take him out," he ordered disdainfully.
They released the stocks. Jeremiah fell to the ground, unable to support himself.
Every muscle in his body...It hurt. Every bone screamed.
Pashhur looked at him with contempt.
—Did you learn your lesson?
Jeremiah slowly raised his head.
Her eyes were red. Her face was bruised. But her voice… was firm.
—The Lord does not call you Pashhur—
he said.—He calls you "Terror
Everywhere."
The priest remained motionless.
—For thus says the Lord— Jeremiah continued—:
"I will turn you into a terror to yourself and all your friends."
A murmur rippled through those present.
—They will fall by the sword.
And you will see with your own
eyes.Pashhur took a step back.
Jeremiah got up with difficulty.
"Because you didn't listen," he said,
"because you didn't repent."
because you preferred power over truth.And
he left.Nobody dared to stop him.
That night, Jeremiah didn't speak to anyone. He hid in a dark room.Her body ached.
Her soul, even more so.
And then, it just… collapsed.
"Damn the day I was born!" he shouted.
Cursed be the womb that bore me!He
slammed his fist into the ground.
—Why did I come out of the womb to see work and pain?
Why are my days consumed by shame? He
wept like a child.
Not as a prophet.
Not as a messenger.As a
man.
And yet… God did not leave.
He didn't
speak. He
didn't
correct.
She was simply there. Holding
him in his brokenness.
Jeremiah didn't know it yet, but that night, at his lowest point, he had been
sealed.forever.
Because the prophet who survives humiliation…
He is the one who can never be silenced.