Jeremiah did not return to Anathoth that night.
He wandered aimlessly through the quietest streets of Jerusalem, as if the city
might swallow him whole and make him disappear. Each step echoed in his mind
with the voices of the day: taunts, accusations, laughter laden with contempt.
The echo of those words weighed more heavily than the weariness in his legs.
—"Another prophet…" he murmured bitterly.
He stopped near a crumbling wall and slowly lowered himself down. His hands
were still trembling. Not from the cold, but from the fear that now settled in his
chest with terrifying clarity.
He had spoken.
And in doing so, he had crossed an invisible threshold.
He was no longer just a boy with visions. He was an unwelcome voice. A nuisance. A
danger.
He closed his eyes and rested his head against the rough stone.
—Lord… —she whispered—, is this what you meant by "do not fear"?
Silence answered.
But it wasn't an empty silence. Jeremiah was beginning to recognize it: that silence
wasfull of presence.
"I can't," he continued. "They look at me and only see a child. They don't respect
They don't listen to me."
The images from that day returned with stark realism. The priest frowning. The
men laughing. The women leading their children away as if Jeremiah were a bad
influence.
"I'm not like them," he said, referring to the popular prophets. "I can't speak well."
I don't know how to convince people. I just... say what you tell me.
The fire reignited, stronger than before.Not as a violent order, but as a firm statement, impossible to ignore.
"I am with you."
Jeremiah opened his eyes.
He clearly remembered the day of the call, years ago, when he had pleaded
withFear: "I'm just a child." Back then, the answer had been clear.
"Don't say: I'm a child."
Now he understood that those words were not a promise of ease, but a warning.
Her youth would not be an
excuse. Her fragility would not
be a shield. Her fear would not
nullify the calling.
At dawn, he returned to Anathoth.
His father greeted him with a mixture of relief and concern.
"Where were you?" he asked. "Your mother didn't sleep."
Jeremiah lowered his gaze.
—I had to… do something.
Hilkiah watched him closely. He had noticed the change in his son for some time.But
now it was impossible to ignore him. In his posture, in his eyes, there was a burden
that didn't belong to a young man his age.
—Come on —he finally said—. Let's talk.
They sat down in the small courtyard of the house. The sun was just beginning to
rise.
—I've heard rumors— Hilkiah began. —They say you spoke in Jerusalem. In
the temple.
Jeremiah felt a knot in his stomach.
-Yeah.
—Do you know what that means?
-I know.Hilcías remained silent for a few seconds.
"Words have consequences, son. Especially when they cause discomfort." Jeremiah
looked up.
—If I don't talk, it consumes me from the inside.
That was the most honest truth I had ever told.
Hilcías sighed deeply. As a priest, he knew the weight of tradition, the rigidity of the
authorities, the danger of challenging the system.
"Are you sure this is from God?" he asked cautiously. Jeremiah didn't
answer immediately. He closed his eyes for a moment.
—More certain than of my own fear.
That was enough.
The following days brought no calm. On the contrary, the rumor spread. "The son
of Hilkiah is speaking against the temple." Some came just to look at the audacious
boy.Others will listen with curiosity. Many will keep a close eye on him.
Jeremiah began to speak more frequently. In streets, at doorways, in
smallimpromptu meetings. He didn't raise his voice to impress; he spoke because
he couldn't keep quiet.
"Do not trust in deceptive words," he said. "God does not take pleasure in empty
rituals."
Some remained thoughtful. Most left offended.A group of young
people were openly mocking him.
"Since when does God talk to children?" they would say. "Go
play!" Those words hurt him more than he wanted to admit.
One afternoon, while I was talking near the market, an older man came forward.
"If God is so angry," he said sarcastically, "why doesn't he destroy you first?"
Laughter erupted.
Jeremiah felt his strength leaving him. He lowered his head, humiliated.Then the fire spoke.
"It won't destroy me," he replied, looking up. "Because I don't speak for myself."
The man frowned, puzzled.
—You talk like you're someone
important.Jeremiah swallowed.
—I'm not. But the message
is.The atmosphere became
tense.
That night, Jeremiah wept as he hadn't wept since childhood. He wept because of
his weakness,because of their fear, because of the hardness of the human heart.
"How long will this last?" he asked. "Until when?"
The answer didn't come in words, but with a slow and heavy certainty:
Your whole life.
The next day, news reached Anathoth: some priests in Jerusalem were upset. Very
upset. They had begun asking about Jeremiah, about his family,because of its
origin.
"Be careful," his mother warned him. "Not everyone wants to hear the
truth."Jeremiah hugged her tightly.
-I know.
And yet, upon leaving home, he did not back down.
Because now he understood something essential: God had not chosen a child to be
strong…
but to show that strength doesn't always
shout,that authority does not always impose,
and that the truth does not depend on age.
"Don't say: I'm a child."
It wasn't just a
phrase. It was a way
of life.And as Jeremiah advanced, unknowingly, his words began to unsettle
the powerful…
to seal his fate.