Chuck Larsen

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.

Yes, indeed, Jeremiah does not soften his language when he speaks about human ingratitude. Israel had received abundant blessings from God, yet turned their attention toward other gods. Jeremiah 5:8-9 is strikingly direct: “They were well-fed, lusty stallions, each neighing for his neighbor’s wife. Shall I not punish them for these things? declares the LORD.” Prosperity had led to luxury, and luxury had opened the door to indulgence. Willis outlines three clear charges. First, they swore by gods that were not gods, exposing the emptiness of their words. Second, they committed spiritual adultery, giving devotion to false gods while enjoying the provisions of the true God. Third, they behaved like well-fed animals still searching for more, never satisfied. The language may seem strong, but it reflects the depth of the problem. Ingratitude had not remained a quiet attitude; it had shaped their actions and their values.

That pattern is not confined to ancient Israel. It appears in quieter, more familiar ways in daily life. Blessings can become so common that they no longer feel like gifts. What once produced gratitude slowly turns into expectation. I have noticed that it does not take long to adjust to good things. We become accustomed to them, and then we begin to look for something more, as if what we already have has somehow lost its value. The human heart has a way of reaching beyond its provision, even when its needs are already met. Scripture speaks plainly about this tendency. “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21). When desires move outside the boundaries God has set, they begin to affect not only individuals but families and communities. History shows that when those foundations weaken, the larger structure begins to feel the strain.

The New Testament brings this issue into clearer focus by pointing to Jesus Christ as both the example and the answer. He did not pursue what was outside the will of the Father but lived in complete alignment with it. Paul writes, “For the grace of God has appeared… training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions” (Titus 2:11-12). In Christ, we see a life not driven by restless desire but grounded in purpose. He also restores what has been damaged. Where relationships have fractured, He brings reconciliation. Where hearts have wandered, He calls them back. John reminds us, “We love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19). In Him, gratitude is not forced but grows naturally from recognizing what has already been given.