The word of the Lord came to Jeremiah in the stillness of the morning.
—Get up—he told him—and go down to the potter's
house.There I will let you hear my words.
Jeremiah asked nothing.
She wrapped herself in her cloak and left the city as the sun began to rise. The
streets were still half empty. The smell of freshly baked bread mingled with the
dust raised by the first footsteps of the day.
He walked downhill, away from the
temple.That in itself was a sign.
The potter's workshop was near the valley, where the soil was more humid. Before
entering, Jeremiah heard the rhythmic sound of the wheel turning: a constant
hum,almost hypnotic.
He entered in silence.
The potter worked intently. His hands were covered in clay. The wheel turned as
a vessel slowly took shape under his steady, patient fingers.
Jeremiah
observed.He
didn't speak.
The mud rose, obedient, yielding to the precise pressure of the hands that...
They were shaping it. Little by little, the vessel looked beautiful… until something
went wrong.
A crack appeared.
The potter stopped.
He looked at the vase for a moment, without anger, without frustration. Then, with a
movementDetermined, he flattened the mud and returned it to a shapeless mass.Jeremiah held his
breath.The potter didn't
throw it away.
He kneaded it again.
His hands pressed, turned, and adjusted. The potter's wheel spun again, and the clay
began to rise once more, this time in a different shape.
Jeremiah felt a shudder.Then the
voice of the Lord spoke.
"Can I not do with you as this potter has done, O house of Israel?"
Jeremiah closed his eyes.
—Like clay in the potter's hand —the voice continued—, so
are you in my hand.
He opened his eyes
slowly.The scene was still
there.
The message… too.
—If I speak against a nation to uproot, destroy, and ruin—said the Lord—,But
that nation turns from its evil ways,
I will repent of the harm I intended to do to
him.Jeremiah felt hope.
But the voice didn't end there.
—And if I speak to build up and plant—he
continued—but he does evil in my sight,
I will regret the good I thought I was doing for
him.Jeremiah understood.
It was not arbitrary.
It was an answer.
The clay didn't dictate the design…
but it could harden.He left the workshop with a racing heart. The sun was already high when he returned
to Jerusalem.
I knew what I had to say… and I knew it wouldn't be well received.
He stood before the people.
—Thus says the Lord—he proclaimed—:
"I am plotting against you and drawing up plans."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Turn back now!" Jeremiah cried. "Each of
you from your evil way."
Correct your work.
A man shouted from behind:
—That won't happen!
We have the law!
We have the
temple!Others joined
"We will follow our own plans," they said. "Each
one will do according to the hardness of his heart."
The words fell like stone. Jeremiah felt a
chill run down his spine.
"Did they say that?" he thought.
—Do you declare yourselves
hardened clay? He raised his voice
in pain.
"Has anything like this ever been heard of?" he asked.
Does a virgin abandon her adornments?
Does a bride forget her dress?
People looked at him angrily.
—But my people have forgotten me —he
continued—. They have stumbled on their ancient
paths.
The silence was tense.Then came the threats."You're accusing us," some said. "Let's
plot something against Jeremiah."
The prophet felt the weight of rejection once
again.That night, he was alone again.
He sat on the floor, leaning against the wall of his house. The potter's message was
notIt stopped spinning in his mind.
—Until when? —he asked—.
How long will your hands hold out?
The memory of the crushed vase made him shudder.
"He didn't destroy it," he
thought. "He rebuilt it."
—But… what if the clay doesn't want to be remade?
The silence was a grave response.
Jeremiah understood that there was a
limit.
God was patient…
but not infinite in the face of rebellion.
The next day, Jeremiah proclaimed the message again.
—Remember —he said—:
They are not a finished
vessel.They can still
change.
Some mocked. Others
were enraged.
"Enough!" shouted a leader.
This man only foretells
disaster!Jeremiah lowered his gaze.
"I'm not announcing disaster," he replied, his voice breaking.
"I'm announcing opportunity."
But few wanted to listen.That afternoon, Jeremiah walked outside the city. He sat on a hill from where he
could see all of Jerusalem. The walls shone, firm, proud.
—They seem strong —he thought—.
But the mud also seemed firm…
until it cracked. She
cried.
"If only they understood," she whispered.
that judgment is not hate,
but the last tool of rejected love.The wind
blew hard.
Jeremiah felt that his heart was also made of clay.
"Don't let me harden," he prayed.
"Mold my pain."
Mold my obedience.
At that moment, he understood that his very life was part of the
message.He too was being molded.
Not for comfort…
but for faithfulness.
The potter continued working.
And the mud…
I still had a chance.