Jars of Clay

Jeremiah 18:1-10; Romans 9:19-21; Lamentations 4:2

The ancient Hebrews were completely imagist in their understanding of what it meant to be human—they used graphic imagery and language to describe us. One finds it immediately in the story of creation—the first human being is named Adam—i.e., dirt man—and he came to be as God played with the mud in Eden. In this metaphor, they found a deep understanding of who we are, and, perhaps more importantly, why we are as we are.

So, we are made of clay. So what?

Think about all that that implies about our nature and character. What is clay like?

First, clay is malleable. It can be formed and reformed. An artist working in clay does not have to be a perfectionist, but can play with it until it takes the shape she wants. If her hand slips, she can smooth it out. If she changes her mind about what she is after, she can mush the lump back into itself and start over. Clay is susceptible to outside forces. It will move and alter as something pushes on it. You wonder why public opinion is so changeable? Here is the answer. We are subject to outside influence. We long to claim it is not so, but we move with the times and the voices around us. Human beings can be manipulated. We are shaped by what we believe to be true. We carry a set of values and understandings for how the world works based on what has shaped us in our experience, learning, and interactions. Hence, we need to be extremely cautious as we enter the world, testing what shapers and influences work within us. We have to guard ourselves.

God offers us an invitation to enter his studio. Through the Word revealed in scripture, we find God’s invitation. Here is the story of the presence of God with humanity. God is the source of all that is. God formed us and shaped us into being. God stays with us and always has. God never ceases working with us. God is their with reforming grace that takes the misshapen lumps we make in missteps, misguided thinking, delusions, self-centeredness, and all other words and deeds that separate us from God and from one another, smoothing them out, reshaping us in God’s image. 

Remember that the next time you or someone you love really screws up—God ensures that the mistake is not permanent. We are clay. There can come another chance, another opportunity, and another attempt to make it right. 

But at this point, we need to think about another characteristic of clay—it can be hardened. I discovered that truth while in art class years ago. We were making coffee cups in 8th Grade art. I was new at pottery and did not know that you were supposed to constantly keep both your hands and the clay wet. I kept working and working to shape a perfect cup, but it kept getting harder and harder to do. The clay was drying out. I blithely missed the huge bowl of water in the middle of the table. I kept working. Finally, the whole mess crumbled in my hands. Then the water’s presence dawned on me. Well, that drying happens to human beings, too. We get frozen in place in opinions, habits, outlooks, works, words, and all else. Life becomes routine. Thinking becomes aphorisms. We close out voices that challenge our surety about life and other people. We resist all attempts to rework our carefully ordered lives. We do not realize it, but we are becoming like that clay I was working—we are drying out, becoming brittle, and will be easily broken. 

This message is exactly what God is trying to get across to Jeremiah (and later, Paul is trying to get across to his Roman congregation). Hardened, some pots are going to require a complete makeover. That means challenging everything about their existence—every assumption, every presumption, every prejudice—all will be called into question. A shattering is going to come.

And the ultimate shattering is Christ.

Look at the Christ event baldly—just as it comes. God saves the world through an execution. God saves the world through a Savior who cannot save himself. God saves the world through a teacher who earns universal derision and repudiation. This is not exactly the latest plan for success being propagated at the latest motivational seminar. Paul names it for what it is—foolishness. Our Gospel is only gospel through the eyes of faith that see not what it is, but what is transcendent and transformative. Faith reinterprets the loss, the emptying, and failure of Jesus into God with us, entering the full experience of being malleable clay even to the point of being completely dried out and brittle to breaking. 

To enter this final reformative act by God means being doused by the baptism of the Spirit—high theological poetry for something nearly raw in its visceral nature. To allow Christ to drench our dried out spirits, we have to let go of everything we trust, hold dear, and center our lives on to take on the presence of Christ. That means letting go of all outlooks except that of self-emptying, other-centered love. That means abandoning our culture’s complete faith in materialism (am I doing well? let’s check the car in the driveway); complete mythology of self (I am who I am because I made myself so); that ignores the interdependence of all things; and posits complete assurance that we are totally right in our judgments of all other human beings—good/bad; right/wrong; in/out; etc. In short, we let God shatter us. 

Sounds hard, doesn’t it?

Left to our own devices, it is impossible; but God does not leave us to ourselves. God surrounds us with God’s love, grace, and compassion, willing to wait with us and watch over us for as long as the transformative process takes. God never gives up on us. Again, that is the revelation of Christ—God enters every aspect of being human. There is no lonesome valley where God is not. There is no forsaken desert where God is not. There is no moment in our lives where God is not. As we empty ourselves before God, God fills us. And it goes still further—Christ taught that the praxis of faith is never an individual undertaking, but rather is always communal. As we open ourselves to God’s transformative power, God surrounds us with a community of gracious welcome—i.e., the Church in its best form. We will not be left alone. There will be friends and co-travelers walking with us every step of our way. These fellow travelers will not meet us in self-righteous judgment, nor discrimination, nor with a list of membership requirements; they will welcome whoever comes as they come, letting God meet them and transform them (if not, then a congregation needs to rethink its existence, communally accepting God’s shattering!). 

So, we are made of clay. 

That is our hope.

We can change.

God be with us.