Chuck Larsen

God gave the Israelites a land flowing with milk and honey. He gave them wells they did not dig, houses they did not build, and crops they did not plant. They were to be His people, and He was to be their God. Yet they turned from the great Giver of good things to pursue the favor of other gods. They wanted success in this world, or the power of money, or pleasure, instead of the blessings already placed in their hands. Jeremiah explains that God’s judgment is perfectly just because they are without excuse. God even prepares Jeremiah for the inevitable question. In Jeremiah 5:19, He says, “And when your people say, ‘Why has the LORD our God done all these things to us?’ you shall say to them, ‘As you have forsaken me and served foreign gods in your land, so you shall serve foreigners in a land that is not yours.’” It is a sobering reminder that misplaced devotion carries consequences, even when it hides beneath a familiar religious routine.

It seems Israel had learned to live with a divided heart. They maintained rituals and traditions, but their lives were drawn toward other interests. That pattern feels uncomfortably familiar. It is possible to say the right things and still live in a different direction. I have noticed that it is easier to attend to outward habits than to examine inward motives. The schedule may look respectable, while the heart quietly wanders. The story behind Harry Chapin’s song “Cats in the Cradle” captures this tension. “When you comin’ home, dad? I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then.” According to Ravi Zacharias, Chapin himself intended to slow down and invest more in his family, but never found the time. His life ended before that intention became reality. It is a difficult illustration to ignore. Something can be known, believed, and even spoken about, yet never truly lived. Scripture echoes this concern: “This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me” (Matthew 15:8). Words and actions do not always travel together.

The New Testament brings clarity by pointing to Jesus Christ as the answer to this divided life. He did not merely speak truth; He lived it perfectly. In Him, there was no gap between word and action. Paul writes, “Examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith” (2 Corinthians 13:5), not as a harsh demand, but as an honest invitation to alignment. Jesus also said, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” (John 14:15), linking love with lived obedience. In Christ, we see what it means to have a whole heart, not divided between competing desires. He reveals that true devotion is not a performance but a relationship grounded in love. Through Him, the distance between what we say and how we live begins to close, not by effort alone, but by a life reshaped from within.

I was probably eight years old when my neighbor and best friend, Butch, got into a fight with the two Krum brothers down the street. Their mother ran us off, and as we left, the boys called us some pretty ugly names. Together, we shouted back all the way up the block, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me!” It sounded convincing at the time. As I grew older, I learned that words can leave marks that no bandage can cover. A punch in the nose fades faster than a sentence that lingers in the mind. Words spoken by those closest to us, parents, teachers, spouses, and friends, can either steady us or quietly undo us. I still find it curious that we try to shrug off words as harmless, even while remembering things said years ago with surprising clarity.

When God speaks, His words do far more than describe reality; they create it. His voice brings order out of chaos, light into darkness, and life where there was none. Yet when His words are rejected, ignored, or dismissed, the result is not neutral. Jeremiah captures this with striking imagery in 5:14: “Because you have spoken this word, behold, I am making my words in your mouth a fire, and this people wood, and the fire shall consume them.” Words can warm or burn, depending on how they are received. That truth settles into daily life in ways we often overlook. We speak constantly, sometimes carefully, sometimes carelessly. I have noticed that it takes far less effort to say something sharp than to say something helpful. The tongue seems to have a quick reflex, and wisdom occasionally arrives a few seconds too late. Scripture reminds us, “Death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21), a truth that feels both simple and challenging.

The New Testament reveals that God’s final and clearest Word is not merely spoken but embodied in Jesus Christ. John writes, “In the beginning was the Word… and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:1, 14). In Him, God’s voice is heard not just in sound, but in life and action. The story of Steve Henning, who heard for the first time after decades of silence, captures something of this wonder. The first words he heard from his wife were, “I love you.” That moment reflects the heart of the gospel. Paul writes, “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). Jesus is the Word spoken to reach us, to be understood, and to be received. In Him, words are no longer empty; they carry the fullness of God’s love into human hearts.

After the death of Solomon, the kingdom of Israel splintered into a shadow of what it had been. A nation once delivered from slavery and sustained by God’s provision began to drift into denial. They acted as though consequences no longer applied, as if they were free to live without accountability. When Jeremiah confronted them with the reality of sowing and reaping, they did not pause to consider his words. Instead, they pushed back. Jeremiah 5:13 records their response: “The prophets will become wind; the word is not in them. Thus shall it be done to them!” In their view, Jeremiah was just another voice in the noise, a man full of hot air announcing trouble that would never come. They dismissed both the message and the messenger, assuming that what they could not see or measure could not possibly be real.

That same instinct has a way of appearing in everyday life. A radio series on honesty once described three common excuses people use when they are confronted with wrongdoing. The first is outright denial. The second shifts blame to someone else. The third admits the action but quickly attaches a “but” to soften the responsibility. I recognize all three more easily than I would like to admit. It is remarkable how quickly the mind can assemble a defense. I have even seen how a simple question about personal responsibility can stir strong reactions. Once, while sitting at my kitchen table with a young Vietnam veteran, I asked whether his own actions might have contributed to his situation. He responded by throwing a glass of lemonade in my face. That moment stayed with me, not only because of the sticky aftermath, but because it reflected something deeper. It is not easy to face the possibility that we might bear some responsibility for where we are. Denial often feels safer than reflection.

The New Testament brings clarity to this tendency by pointing us to truth that cannot be dismissed as mere wind. Paul writes, “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap” (Galatians 6:7). The principle Jeremiah spoke of remains in place. Yet the story does not end with judgment alone. Jesus enters the picture as both truth and grace. He said, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32). Unlike the voices that were ignored in Jeremiah’s day, Christ does not merely warn; He also restores. In Him, we see a truth that is not harsh for its own sake, but honest for the sake of healing. What we are often tempted to dismiss as uncomfortable may, in fact, be the very word that leads us back to life.

According to the prophet Jeremiah, the wicked deny the reality of sowing and reaping. They live as though God is not watching, does not care, or perhaps does not exist at all. Life becomes a matter of chance, a roll of the dice rather than a moral order. In that sense, there are really two kinds of people. The first believes there is a sovereign Creator who oversees human life and holds each person accountable. In this view, good and evil are not forgotten but are ultimately addressed with justice. The second sees only randomness. There is no guiding hand, no final accountability, only the here and now. People take what they can, do what they wish, and hope for the best. It is a simple philosophy, though it often becomes complicated when consequences begin to appear.

The children of Israel, despite their history with God, drifted into that second way of thinking. They had seen His works, yet chose to treat Him as irrelevant. Jeremiah confronts this mindset directly in 5:12: “They have spoken falsely of the LORD and have said, ‘He will do nothing; no disaster will come upon us.’” They believed they were exempt. That idea still finds a comfortable place in modern thinking. It is easy to assume that consequences apply in general but not necessarily in our particular situation. A radio commentator once described three common excuses: denial, shifting blame, and the familiar “I did it, but…” approach. I recognize those patterns more quickly than I would prefer. There is a quiet confidence that suggests the rules might bend just a little in our favor. The life of Chris Farley offers a sobering illustration. Despite success and awareness of his struggles, he admitted, “I used to think that you could get to a level of success where the laws of the universe did not apply…But they do.” His conclusion was clear: “I am not exempt.” It is a difficult lesson, and it often arrives later than we would like.

The New Testament brings this truth into sharper focus while also offering something more. Paul writes, “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap” (Galatians 6:7). The principle remains unchanged. Yet alongside that reality stands the grace found in Jesus Christ. He does not dismiss justice, but He steps into our situation with mercy. Paul explains, “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 6:23). In Christ, we are reminded that while no one is exempt from truth, no one is beyond the reach of grace.