Chuck Larsen

Jeremiah, along with many of the prophets, confronted both the northern and southern kingdoms of Israel with their sins. Yet Israel could not see their wrong and certainly would not admit it. Even when the blood on their hands exposed their guilt, they refused to acknowledge their faults. Huey observes, “Since Adam’s sin and denial of blame (Gen 3:12), the human race has become skilled at sidestepping guilt. The most difficult words to form on human lips are ‘I was wrong; I am guilty.’” This stubborn refusal led to shame and failure. The Northern Kingdom experienced the consequences when Assyria scattered them throughout the world in 721 before Christ, carrying them away as captives. Judah still had an opportunity to repent, and Jeremiah was sent as the final prophetic voice to warn them. In Jeremiah 2:36 he declares, “How much you go about changing your way! You shall be put to shame by Egypt as you were put to shame by Assyria.” Their unwillingness to confess would eventually lead to disgrace.

The charge against Judah included inconsistency and disloyalty. The phrase “changing your way” reveals a nation shifting allegiances whenever convenient. They trusted Egypt one moment, Assyria the next, and later Babylon. They moved from one idol to another, abandoning the Lord who had delivered them from Egypt. Hughes writes, “Loyalty is indispensable to the survival of friendship. How many once-prosperous friendships have faded because of disloyal talk? Pascal put it pointedly: ‘I set this down as a fact, that if all men knew what each other said of the other, there would not be four friends in the world.’ You will never know a deep friendship unless there is mutual loyalty and trust.” Disloyalty inevitably produces shame. This pattern feels familiar in everyday life. It is easy to shift commitments when circumstances change or to place confidence in whatever promises immediate security. The human heart can change directions with surprising speed, often while insisting it has remained steady all along.

The New Testament exposes this same tendency and offers a clearer path. James writes, “A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways” (James 1:8). Jesus taught that divided loyalty cannot endure: “No one can serve two masters” (Matthew 6:24). Yet Christ also embodies the loyalty humanity lacks. Paul reminds believers, “If we are faithless, he remains faithful” (2 Timothy 2:13). While people often search for meaning in shifting alliances, the gospel points to a Savior who remains constant. Willis notes that Israel should have looked to the Lord, the One who delivered them with a mighty hand. The New Testament echoes that truth, declaring that salvation is found not in earthly power but in Christ, “the same yesterday and today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8).

During the days of the prophet Jeremiah, the nation carried “blood on their hands” and “blood on their skirts” as they twisted the law to steal from and destroy the poor. The evidence of injustice was visible to everyone except those committing it. Still, there was no remorse and no repentance. Jeremiah indicts them again, this time not merely for their sin but for their refusal to acknowledge it. In Jeremiah 2:35 the Lord declares, “Yet in spite of all these things you say, ‘I am innocent; surely his anger has turned from me.’ Behold, I will bring you to judgment for saying, ‘I have not sinned.’” They insisted they were innocent and assumed their prosperity proved divine approval. Their self-assurance blinded them to reality. Constance observes, “Their moral blindness was so great that they were not conscious that their sin violated all God’s requirements. They felt they were innocent and imagined that God would wink at their wickedness and that his anger would pass away.” Sin had so seared their conscience that right and wrong were reversed. They believed themselves righteous even while standing guilty.

The same tendency lingers in ordinary relationships. During years of pastoral counseling, it was often difficult to help people see their own part in a broken relationship. The repeated refrain sounded familiar: “He did this,” or “She did that.” Fault was always easy to locate in someone else. Rarely did anyone rush forward to claim responsibility. The consequences of refusing to acknowledge personal failure are severe because they prevent forgiveness and restoration. Many relationships crumble not simply from mistakes but from stubborn hearts unwilling to admit them. The Cornerstone Commentary notes, “Israel claims she has not sinned. Failure to see evil for what it is, is itself an evil.” That observation feels uncomfortably accurate. It is remarkably easy to justify ourselves while quietly drafting closing arguments for our own defense. From Adam onward, humanity has demonstrated a talent for self-justification that would impress any courtroom attorney.

The New Testament addresses this condition with clarity and grace. John writes, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (1 John 1:8). Yet he also declares, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us” (1 John 1:9). Jesus told of a Pharisee who confidently declared his righteousness and a tax collector who simply admitted his guilt; only the latter went home justified (Luke 18:14). Christ came not for those convinced of their innocence but for those aware of their need. As Paul explains, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners” (1 Timothy 1:15). Where denial hardens hearts, honest confession opens the door to mercy, revealing the depth of grace offered through Him.

God moved Jeremiah to speak to His people about their sins, using the familiar visuals of love and marriage to reveal their spiritual infidelity. Israel is portrayed as the Lord’s bride, yet an unfaithful one who has forgotten her covenant partner. In Jeremiah 2:32, God asks, “Can a virgin forget her ornaments, or a bride her attire? Yet my people have forgotten me days without number.” Willis comments, “He should have been treated as most precious, guarded and cherished like a woman’s wedding trousseau; yet she has treated him like some cheap trinket, placed in the back of some drawer and forgotten.” The image is both tender and piercing. The covenant God, who should have been treasured above all, had been pushed into the dark recesses of Israel’s memory. Even the law of the Lord had been neglected, lying forgotten in the temple cellars until discovered during Josiah’s reign. That rediscovery sparked revival, yet, as history often records, such awakenings faded. The phrase “days without number” may be rendered “over and over,” revealing a pattern of revival followed by forgetfulness. Craigie observes, “That love should have been lasting, the perpetual hallmark of the covenant relationship. Yet it had been a fleeting emotion, soon forgotten; love and commitment had been replaced by arrogance and an overweening sense of self-sufficiency. Such was Israel’s rebellion.” Still, God’s love remained undiminished.

The pattern feels uncomfortably familiar. It is possible to treasure God deeply during seasons of need and then quietly set Him aside when life stabilizes. We keep our schedules, polish our routines, and sometimes treat our faith like formal attire worn only for special occasions. The tendency to misplace what matters most does not always require deliberate rebellion. Sometimes it happens gradually, like misplacing reading glasses that were on our heads all along. The heart can grow comfortable with religious structure while drifting from the living presence of God. History shows that every revival risks fading into routine when gratitude gives way to self-sufficiency.

The New Testament reveals that God’s covenant love finds its fullest expression in Jesus Christ. Paul describes Christ’s love for the church in marital terms: “Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her” (Ephesians 5:25). Even when His people wander, He remains faithful, for “if we are faithless, he remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself” (2 Timothy 2:13). The parable of the prodigal son portrays a Father who waits and welcomes rather than rejects (Luke 15:20). Like Hosea pursuing Gomer, God’s actions aim at restoration rather than retribution. Love, not revenge, is the driving force in this divine pursuit, revealed fully in the One who came “to seek and to save the lost” (Luke 19:10).

In Jeremiah 2:30–31, the prophet describes two kinds of people. There are the “ravenous lions” who devour God’s messengers and spread their disease, and there are those whom God still addresses with tender reasoning. He pleads, “And you, O generation, behold the word of the Lord. Have I been a wilderness to Israel or a land of thick darkness? Why then do my people say, ‘We are free, we will come no more to you’?” Craigie observes that the Lord who guided Israel through the wilderness and darkness is now treated as though He were a barren wasteland offering no help or light. The people who once depended on Him for daily bread and direction now imagine themselves independent. In arrogant self-sufficiency, they think they can do without God and treat Him not as the great provider but as though He were a deserted desert with no resources. It is a tragic reversal. The God who supplied water from the rock is now accused of being a dry and empty land.

This ancient story feels familiar. Prosperity can quietly replace dependence. Religion itself can become a comfortable substitute for a living relationship with God. Max Lucado writes, “If good works save us, we do not need God—weekly reminders of the dos and do nots will get us to heaven. If we are saved by suffering, we certainly do not need God. All we need is a whip, chain, and the gospel of guilt. If we are saved by doctrine, let us study for heaven’s sake. We do not need God; we need a lexicon.” It is surprisingly easy to rest confidence in activity, knowledge, or even church attendance while quietly assuming we can manage life on our own. Our calendars fill, our plans succeed, and before long we act as though we personally keep the planets in orbit. That illusion usually lasts until the car will not start, the doctor calls, or the grandchild asks a question we cannot answer.

The New Testament gently pulls our eyes back to the source of every blessing. James writes, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights” (James 1:17). Paul reminds us, “What do you have that you did not receive?” (1 Corinthians 4:7). Cecil Sherman reflects on the American experience, asking whether prosperity comes from clever industry or from God’s storehouse of bounty. Jesus Himself said, “Apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). Yet this same Christ welcomes those who have wandered into self-sufficiency. He is not a wilderness or a land of darkness but “the light of the world” (John 8:12), patiently reasoning with a generation that sometimes forgets who led them through the desert.

The idols that captured God’s children’s attention proved useless in their greatest moments of need. That has always been the case. God confronted His children in their sin and drew them back with patient love. He strove with the wandering out of unfailing concern, yet they often found fault with His program rather than with their own choices. Sometimes even His loving discipline seemed to have no effect. They insisted on persevering in sin and went so far as to attack God’s messengers. Jeremiah 2:30 records the Lord’s lament: “In vain have I struck your children; they took no correction; your own sword devoured your prophets like a ravening lion.” The image is stark. Instead of receiving correction, they resisted it. Instead of welcoming truth, they silenced it. The situation reads like a tragic family scene in which loving warnings are met with slammed doors and folded arms. God’s love remained steady, even when His children treated His care like an unwanted Valentine left unopened on the table.

Constance observes, “Sin can so sear our conscience that all sense of right and wrong is totally distorted.” That condition was evident in Israel and feels strangely familiar today. Behaviors once recognized as contrary to God’s Word are often rebranded as admirable. The moral compass spins like a grocery cart wheel with a mind of its own, and many simply shrug and keep pushing. Discipline and correction did little to change Israel. Their hearts hardened as Pharaoh’s heart hardened against the plagues. There comes a sobering point where repeated resistance dulls the voice of conscience. As Valentine’s Day approaches, shelves fill with symbols of affection, yet genuine devotion to God often receives far less attention. The “ravening lion” described in Jeremiah paints a picture of destructive persistence, a force that devours without hesitation. History and imagination offer vivid parallels, from relentless fictional creatures to very real examples of hardened hearts. The result is confusion that breeds insecurity and a growing inability to recognize what truly gives life.

The New Testament reveals both the seriousness of hardened hearts and the hope that still remains. Jesus wept over Jerusalem, lamenting its resistance to God’s care, yet He continued His mission of redemption. He declared, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick” (Matthew 9:12). His words acknowledge the illness while offering healing. Hebrews 12:6 reminds us, “For the Lord disciplines the one he loves,” revealing that correction is an expression of divine care, not rejection. Valentine’s Day celebrates love with cards and flowers, but Christ demonstrated love in a way that cannot be packaged or purchased. As Romans 5:8 reminds us, “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Where idols fail and hearts grow stubborn, His enduring love continues to call, confront, and restore.