Words don't fall to the ground without
consequences. Jeremiah learned that quickly.
At first, his messages provoked mockery. Then, discomfort. Now… anger. A silent,
dangerous anger that didn't shout in public but brewed in the shadows. He felt it in
the stares that lingered too long, in the murmurs that fell silent when he passed
by, in the silences that weighed more than insults.
The people could ignore
it.The leaders, no.
One morning, as he was speaking near one of the gates of Jerusalem, Jeremiah
noticed that he was no longer surrounded only by onlookers. Priests were
watching from a distance, arms crossed and lips pressed tightly together. They
didn't laugh. They didn't argue. They just listened… and memorized.
—Thus says the Lord— Jeremiah said, his voice firm despite his inner trembling—:
"If"If they don't listen to my words, I will make this city an example of ruin."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Be careful!" a woman whispered to her husband. "He'll bring us trouble."
Jeremiah closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. Each sentence was like
lifting his head.a heavy stone that I couldn't let go of.
"Do not trust the temple as if it were an amulet," he continued. "God does not
dwell in walls when hearts are far from Him."
That was too much.
A priest stepped forward."Enough!" he ordered. "Who gave you the authority to speak like
that?" Jeremiah looked at him. His eyes showed not arrogance,
but weariness.
—I don't speak on human authority.
"So you're saying God only speaks to you?" another replied sarcastically.
Jeremiah shook his head.
"God has spoken many times. You chose not to listen." The
silence fell like a blow.
One of the priests leaned toward the others and muttered something. Jeremiah
didn't hear the words, but he understood the message: he was no longer just an
annoying young man. He had become a threat.
When he returned to Anatot that afternoon, the feeling of danger followed him like
a shadow.
"They're upset," his father told him bluntly. "Very upset."
Jeremiah nodded.
-I know.
"How far do you intend to go?" Hilkiah asked. "This is no longer just preaching.
You are challenging those in power."
Jeremiah placed his hands on the table.
"I can't measure my words," he replied. "They aren't
mine." That night, he couldn't sleep.
He got up several times, paced back and forth, and sat on the floor with his back
against the wall. The fire was still there, constant, relentless. Every message he
receivedIt was heavier than the previous one.
"Why do you give me words that hurt?" she whispered. "Why not words that
comfort?"
The answer came, not harshly, but sadly:
"Because no one listens to comfort when they love their sin."Jeremiah clenched his fists.
"Then they will hate me," he said. "They will
persecute me." The silence confirmed his fear.
The next day, while walking along a path outside the village, he heard
footstepsbehind him. He turned around.
Three men were approaching. They were acquaintances. Neighbors. Even distant
relatives.
"We need to talk," one of them said. Jeremiah
felt a chill.
—Tell me.
The man lowered his voice.
—Stop talking. You're causing trouble. Anathoth doesn't need enemies in Jerusalem.
"I'm not looking for trouble," Jeremiah replied. "I'm looking for people to listen."
"They don't want to listen," another replied. "And if you continue, it
won't just affect you."The threat was clear.
Jeremiah looked at them one by one. Their faces showed not hatred, but fear. Fear
oflosing position, security, acceptance.
"If I remain silent," he said slowly, "I lose myself."
One of the men shook his head.
—You're young. You don't understand how the world
works.Jeremiah felt something break inside him.
—Precisely because I understand… I cannot remain silent.
That night, Jeremiah prayed like never before.
Not with pretty words, but with raw honesty.
—You seduced me, Lord… and I let myself be seduced —she confessed—. I am the
butt of jokes all day long.Every time I speak, I must announce violence and
destruction.Tears flowed uncontrollably.
—I said I wouldn't speak on your behalf again… but I can't. Your word is like
fire.
She covered her face.
—Will it always be like this?
There was no promise of relief.
Only one thing was certain: he would
not be alone. Days later, the warning
came true.
A messenger arrived from Jerusalem with a clear order: Jeremiah was to
appear.before the temple authorities to explain his words.
His mother turned pale.
"Don't go," she pleaded. "They might hurt you."
Jeremiah hugged her tenderly.
—If I don't go, the words will continue to burn. If I go… so be it.
When he left Anathoth, the sky was covered with clouds. An omen.
Each step toward Jerusalem felt heavier than the last. He didn't know what was
happening.
I expected: humiliation, punishment, prison… or something worse.
But as he walked, he understood a truth that would stay with him for the rest of his
life:Speaking for God doesn't make you powerful.
It makes you
vulnerable.It
exposes you.
Teabreaks.
And yet…
There is no heavier burden than keeping silent about the truth.