Woe to the clay! You're arguing with your maker?
The pot doesn't question the hands that formed
it. Before there was a sermon, there was a summons.
Arise, the Lord said, and go down to the potter's
house. not up to the palace, not over to the
temple courts, down into the low place where
clay stays wet, wheels keep turning and hands
don't flinch when something collapses mid -spin.
Jeremiah stands there watching a vessel lose
its shape, watching failure happen in real time
and waiting to hear what God might say about
a life that didn't hold together the way it was
supposed to. No moral lesson, just motion, pressure,
hands that didn't let go. And now here we are.
You're tuning into a small town church on a Sunday
morning. Candlelights flickering, coffee that's
been on too long, people carrying weeks that
didn't go as planned. No spectacle, no polish,
just a word spoken slow enough to matter. If
you've ever wondered whether collapse disqualifies
you, stay with us and I'll see you on the other
side. So let me begin this morning by saying
today's sermon is by request. And I take requests.
So if you've got a sermon request, I'd love to
hear it. The person wanted to do the wheel, the
potter's wheel and the clay. And tell me which
part of the Bible, because it's talked about
once, which part of the Bible they wanted me
to preach on. So I decided I'll just preach on
all three of them. But the good thing is I know
what I'm doing. So we're not doing three sermons.
We're just doing one, and you'll be out in time
for lunch. But you're going to get all three
today. And this morning, I want to start off
by picturing what really is a holy place. But
this place doesn't smell like incense. There's
no choir practicing down the hall. No polished
wood, no gold trim, no air conditioning humming
in the ceiling tiles. Picture a low building
near a water source. Because potters need water.
And lots of it. The Hymnon Valley, maybe, south
side of Jerusalem. It's where the trash fires
burn and the craftsmen work. Mud on the floor,
clay dust hanging in the air like a fog never
seems to quite settle. The steady, patient groan
of a wheel turning, not the electric kind, the
kind you have to kick with your foot while your
hands stay wet and your back stays bent. A man
leans forward, his sleeves rolled up, his hands
already dirty before the work ever begins. This
is where God sends Jeremiah. Not to a throne
room where a king makes policy. to a temple where
priests are making the sacrifices, not to the
seminary where the scribes are making arguments.
Arise, the Lord says, and go down to the potter's
house. Down. God doesn't say go over or go visit.
He says go down because the potter's house sits
low near the water. Near the place where the
city throws what it doesn't want anymore. Formation
doesn't happen on a pedestal. It happens in the
dirt. And Jeremiah walks in, educated, prophetic,
temple credentialed man. And he sees something
that would never make it onto the brochure of
the Jerusalem travel board. He sees a pot fail.
Mid -spin, the wall starts to wobble. The center
loses its hold. The whole thing slumps sideways
and caves in on itself. It becomes a sad lump
of what it almost was. And nobody panics. Potter
doesn't curse the clay, doesn't throw it across
the room, doesn't blame the wheel or the weather
or the prior owner of the clay pit. He simply
presses it back together, leans in, and starts
over. That is the sermon God preaches before
Jeremiah ever opens his mouth. The whole theology
in one motion. Collapse, gather, build again.
There's a reason God doesn't send Jeremiah to
watch a carpenter or a blacksmith. Wood, once
cut, stays cut. Iron, once cooled, holds its
shape and breaks trying. But clay... Clay is
the only material that gets second chances built
into its nature. Before the fire, clay can always
go back to the beginning, can always be made
again. That's not a flaw in the medium. That's
the point. So my dear friends, Tune your ears
to the reading of Holy Scripture. A scripture
this morning comes from the prophecy of Jeremiah,
the 18th chapter of his prophecy. The word which
came to Jerusalem from Yahweh saying, Arise and
go down to the potter's house, and there I will
cause you to hear my words. Then I went down
to the potter's house, and behold, he was making
a work on the wheels. When the vessel that he
made of the clay was marred in the hand of the
potter, he made it again another vessel, as seemed
good to the potter to make it. Then Yahweh's
word came to me, saying, House of Israel, can't
I do with you just as this potter? Behold, as
the clay in the potter's hand, so are you in
my hand, house of Israel. This is the word of
the Lord. Notice what isn't said. Text never
tells us that the clay was rebellious. It never
says the clay was sinful. It doesn't even say
the clay had done something wrong. The Hebrew
word there is shakat. It means marred or spoiled
or ruined. But here's the thing, shakat doesn't
carry moral weight in the passage. It's not judgment,
it's description. The vessel was marred. In the
hand of the potter, not on the shelf, not in
the firing, not because someone had dropped it.
It failed whilst being made. And I just want
to pause here from a Bible nerd standpoint. We
have just talked about the word Shekat. I don't
know if you guys were with us, but if you remember
the time not too long ago when we talked about
Noah and the ark not. being built with a rudder
or a steering wheel or sails. Does anybody remember
that one? We talked in that one about why God
sent the flood. It's because he saw the world
and it was Shekat. It was ruined from the inside
out. It had to start over again. Same Hebrew
word here. Sometimes though, failure isn't a
moral one. Sometimes it's pressure. Sometimes
it's timing. Sometimes it's an air bubble trapped
inside that nobody can see. Sometimes it's life
leaning too hard in one direction for too long.
And still, still, Potter doesn't quit. He made
it again, another vessel, as seemed good to the
Potter to make it. Not as it seemed fair to the
clay. Not as seemed logical to the vessel. Not
as seemed good by anybody but the potter. And
let me ask you a question here early on, and
I want you to sit with it before you answer yourself.
When is the last time you might have felt yourself
losing shape? Not sinning. Not rebelling. Just
sagging. The walls that used to hold started
wobbling. The center you thought was set started
to drift. And you didn't have a dramatic reason
for it. You just... Looked down one day and thought,
I don't know what I'm becoming anymore. Maybe
it was a diagnosis. Maybe it was a kid who stopped
calling you. Maybe it was a job. Used to mean
something and now it just means a paycheck. Maybe,
maybe it was a faith that felt like fire 20 years
ago, but now feels just like maintenance at 50.
You're not alone in that room. Jeremiah is standing
right there with you, watching a pot collapse.
And then God says, watch what happens next. And
here is where we usually flinch. Because we want
Jeremiah 18 to be comforting without confrontational.
We want it embroidered on a pillow, not preached
to us as a warning. We want the Hallmark version.
You're clay, God's the potter, right? Isn't that
sweet? But hear me carefully. Jeremiah 18 is
not primarily about personal self -esteem. It's
about national repentance. It's about a people
so convinced that they were already finished
products that they had stopped letting God do
God's work. God is speaking to the nation of
Israel at a moment when they think the shape
is set, temple standing, rituals intact, identities
secured. They've got the right ancestors, the
right address, the right credentials. And God
says, you're still on the wheel. That's the offense.
We like a God who saves us. We get nervous about
a God who keeps shaping us. Jeremiah's audience
doesn't object to God being powerful. They object
to God being hands -on. They want blessing without
pressure, promise without reshaping, election
without alteration. And God says clay doesn't
get to lock in its own design. Isaiah, another
Old Testament prophet. Heard this argument long
before Jeremiah ever walked downhill. Listen
to what he says in chapter 9, verse 45 of his
prophecy. Woe to him who strives with his maker.
A clay pot among the clay pots of the earth.
Shall the clay ask him who fashioned it, what
are you making? A clay pot amongst... Clay pots.
Hear what Isaiah is doing here. He says, you
are going to stand in a field of broken pottery,
shards and fragments, things that used to be
vessels and are now just evidence that vessels
once existed. And you're going to argue from
that position. You're going to demand an explanation
from the one who created you. That's not God
being thin -skinned. That's God naming the absurdity
of that reversal. Creation trying to interrogate
the creator. The formed object critiquing the
former. And here's the thing. Isaiah doesn't
condemn the questions. The Psalms are full of
questions. Job is one long question mark towards
heaven. What Isaiah exposes is pretension. The
clay pretending it offered itself. The pot acting
like it chose the curves. And that's where this
sermon starts to sting a little. Because religious
people are especially good. at thinking we've
graduated from the wheel. We say things like,
that's just how I am, or God knows my heart,
or I've already been through enough. All true.
None of them, though, veto the potter. Stay in
the room with Jeremiah for just a moment. Watch
the wheel. Potter's foot keeps a steady rhythm.
Push, release, push, release. The clay rises
between his hands. Doesn't choose its height.
It doesn't negotiate its walls. The potter presses
in and the clay yields. And that's the whole
relationship. There's no bargaining with the
wheel. And here is what Jeremiah sees that we
keep trying to unsee. The clay cannot shape itself.
It can't decide what it's becoming. It can't
say, I'd rather be a wine jar than a lamp stand.
It can't say, I'm almost finished, don't you
dare start over. It sits on the wheel and the
hands do what hands do. It's not cruelty. That's
the nature of the material. And here is the key
phrase. Don't miss this. As seemed good to the
potter to make it. Not as seemed fair to the
clay. Not as logical to the vessel. As seemed
good to the potter. Goodness precedes explanation.
And that is where often modern faith stumbles.
So often we demand clarity before our surrender.
We want to see the blueprints before we sit on
the wheel. We want to know what we're becoming
before we consent to the pressure. But God offers
surrender before clarity. And the wheel turns
either way. The question is whether you stay
centered or you try to fight the spin. And now
the New Testament, Paul shows up. And this is
where folks have been sweating through their
Sunday clothes for a long time. because Romans
chapter nine doesn't soften the image, sharpens
until it cuts. But indeed, oh man, who are you
to reply against God? Will the thing formed ask
him who formed it, why did you make me like this?
Or hasn't the potter a right over the clay? From
the same lump to make one part a vessel for honor
and another dishonor. And people have read that
and they hear tyranny. They hear a God who's
drunk on control playing favorites with the clay.
But Paul here is actually talking about mercy.
And here's how I can show you. Romans 9 sits
right in the middle of an argument Paul has been
having with these people who are furious about
whom are now getting into heaven. The Gentiles,
the pagans, the outsiders, people who didn't
know the Torah from a takeout menu are being
welcomed at the table now. And Paul's opponents
are livid. They've got the credentials. They've
got the bloodlines. They've kept the commands,
observed the feasts, maintained the traditions
for generations. They did everything right. And
now the potter is making room for people who
showed up late with nothing but open hands? And
that's the scandal. Not that God has power. Everybody
already knew that. Scandal is that God uses that
power to include people we'd rather exclude.
Paul reaches for the potter because he needs
a metaphor big enough to say God's mercy doesn't
answer to your scorekeeping. And again, when
we press, here is where it gets uncomfortable
because there might be someone in this room playing
the role of a scandalized Israelite and you don't
even know it. You've been faithful. You've been
here. You've stayed when others left. You've
tithed when it hurt. You've held your tongue
when you've wanted to scream. You've done the
work. And then you walk, someone waltz in, someone
who's wandered, someone who has wasted years
of their life, someone who didn't pay the dues
you've paid. And they got the same grace, same
welcome, same seat at the table. And something
in you went cold. Something in you whispered,
not fair. That whisper? That's the clay telling
the potter the categories are wrong. God's mercy
is bigger and freer than your categories. And
that means this. The person you have secretly
decided doesn't deserve a second chance, God
might be reworking them on the wheel right now.
The one you wrote off, still on the wheel. And
if that offends you, you might have more in common
with Paul's opponents than you want to admit.
Potter doesn't consult your list as to who's
worthy. He just keeps making vessels. Jeremiah
says you can be reshaped. Isaiah reminds us you
are not self -made, and Paul says God's mercy
is freer and bigger than your categories. Same
wheel, same hands, different generations discovering
the same uncomfortable truth. We are not finished
until God says so. Here's the pastoral turn in
the sermon, and I want to say this plainly. Because
some of you are mad at God because the shape
didn't hold. The marriage sagged under its own
weight. The calling you were so sure about when
you were 30 collapsed somewhere about the age
47. And you have been staring into the rubble
ever since. The faith you thought was fired and
finished, sealed and solid. Started wobbling
under pressure you didn't expect nor ask for.
And you assumed that meant failure. You assumed
God had walked away. You assumed silence in your
chest was the sound of abandonment. Jeremiah
18 says it might be reworking. But reworking.
It's not painless. Let's not pretend that it
is. Clay has to be pressed back together. Air
bubbles have to be exposed. That means pressure
in places that already hurt. Edges have to be
softened. The center has to be found again. And
none of that happens gently. Potter's hands aren't
gentle the way we want them. them to be gentle,
they're present. There's pressure in every motion,
resistance and yield and pressure again. Nobody
volunteers for that. But listen, this is crucial.
Potter never once takes his hands off the clay.
Even when it collapses, it collapses in his hands.
That's proximity. That's a God who would rather
hold you through the failure than watch you succeed
from a distance. But here's what we haven't talked
about yet. The kiln. Because everything that
I have said so far, the collapsing, the reworking,
the pressure of hands, the centering on the wheel,
all of that happens to clay when it is still
soft. Clay that can still be reshaped. Clay that
hasn't been through the fire yet. Fire is different.
Fire is what makes the shape permanent. For the
kiln, a pot can be smashed back down and started
over a hundred times. After the kiln, what you
are, is what you are. Vessel that comes out of
the fire holds its form. It doesn't yield to
pressure anymore. It carries water without being
dissolved. It is useful now. Some of you are
in that fire right now. You're not on the wheel
wondering what shape you're becoming. You're
in the heat and it's not letting up. And you're
wondering if this is punishment. You're wondering
if you've done something wrong. You're wondering
if you're being destroyed. Hear me, fire is not
punishment. Fire is what makes you permanent.
And let me also be careful here because not every
fire is God's kiln. Some fires are lit by hell.
Some fires are lit by life. Some by our own choices.
Some by people who should have protected us and
didn't. Not here to baptize your suffering as
God's plan. But I am here to tell you this. Potter
doesn't abandon the clay in the heat. Whatever
fire you're in, whether it is God lit or not,
he came and can meet you there. He can use it.
He can bring you out holding a shape you didn't
even know you had in you. There's a difference,
friends, between a vessel holding its shape and
that. which it is its shape. Before the fire,
you had potential. After the fire, you're now
usable. Kiln doesn't destroy the work, it finishes
it. I know it doesn't feel like finishing. No,
it feels like burning. Potter shaped you, didn't
put you into the fire to watch you crack. Put
you in the fire because he believes the shape
will hold. Because he's decided you're ready.
Fire's coming for all of us, friends, as it should.
Jeremiah 18 also doesn't end with comfort. If
you read the rest of the chapter sometime, God
goes on to say that a nation can resist a shaping.
Can't refuse the pressure. Harden too soon. And
that's the real danger. Not being marred, but
becoming unmoldable. The danger isn't collapsing
on the wheel. The danger is hearing turn and
say no. Hard clay doesn't bend, it cracks. Fired
too early, it shatters under stress. And church,
the saddest thing in the world is not brokenness.
It's brittleness. It's the person who decided
20 years ago that that's just the way they were
and it was sealed shut. It's the faith that stopped
asking questions because questions feel somehow
like doubt. It's the heart that said, I have
been hurt enough. and turned to stone. Soft clay
fails and tries again. Hard clay breaks. So this
morning, if your life feels like it might have
lost its shape, if what you thought you had was
solid has turned soft, if you're scared, Because
the pressure hasn't let up and you don't know
what you're becoming. Hear the good news. Potter
didn't walk away. The hands are still wet and
the wheel is still turning. You're not a finished
product. You're not a discarded failure. And
you're not a pot shard swept into a corner. You're
clay on the wheel. The God who watched you collapse
is the same God leaning in right now, pressing
you back together and starting over. Grace first,
then transformation. Presence first, then shape.
Wheel's going to turn whether you fight it or
not. But you don't have to fight it. You can
stay soft. You can stay low. You let those hands
do what they're supposed to do. And when you're
finally ready, Not when you're fixed, but when
you've yielded. Find out what you've become all
along. So as we depart from here, go in peace.
But know, you're still being made. Amen. Amen.
Something in you softened today. Don't rush past
that. If you felt pressure instead of punishment,
stay with it. A potter doesn't press to harm
the clay. He presses because he's still working.
Collapse is not the end of the story, and uncertainty
is not the same thing as abandonment. But hear
this clearly. Staying on the wheel means staying
willing. God can rework what's yielded, but hardened
clay doesn't reshape. It only cracks. Comfort
comes from knowing you're held. Conviction comes
from realizing you can still resist. Grace meets
you where you are, but it loves you too much
to leave you untouched. Now, if you heard something
today that made sense to you, if you heard something
new, if you heard something that made you feel
seen instead of sized up, go ahead and throw
that old like in the offering plate, not as payment,
just as a small witness that you were here. The
word met you somewhere real. And if you want
to keep joining us through the new year, tithe
your subscribe. That way, you'll know when we're
meeting for church again. And until we do, friend,
be blessed.