I’ve been thinking about how hope feels when everything is falling apart. I know—cheerful.
In Jeremiah 32, Jerusalem is under siege. The city’s walls are crumbling, the future is uncertain, and Jeremiah—God’s prophet—is in prison. It’s a story told in the middle of collapse. And yet, in that place of confinement and fear, God calls Jeremiah to do something wild and tender: buy a field.
Jeremiah purchases land knowing exile is coming. He signs deeds and seals them in jars—a small, stubborn act of defiance against despair. God declares: “Houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land.”
That hits deep for me. My mom used to say that, alongside kindness, creativity, and passion, she hoped to raise my brother and me to be resistant to cynicism. She wanted us to hold onto tenderness even when the world tried to wear us down. And oh, what a weary world it can be. But somehow, even in the weariness, Christ still breaks through.
This story from Jeremiah makes me wonder: what does it mean to long for home in a world that tries to shut the gates? What does it look like to plant roots in places others have written off? I carry that longing in my body—I dream of a church and a world where all of us can belong, breathe, and build something lasting.
This passage reminds me that justice is rooted in land, in community, in acts of restoration. Justice has a story, and it’s full of cracked jars holding deeds for a future not yet seen.
Sometimes justice looks like organizing or protesting. Sometimes it looks like tending a garden or setting the communion table. Sometimes, it’s simply choosing to stay rooted—to believe in what God can grow, even when the ground looks barren.
This week, I’m asking: where am I being called to plant seeds of hope? What future am I preparing for, even if I won’t see it bloom?
Justice has a story. And sometimes, it’s a story we bury in the soil—trusting God to raise it up.
Peace,
Pastor Katie
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