Thank you for taking a look at this. You don't have to read all of it, just as much of it as you want. There's one thing in particular, in addition to other things, I would like you to look at, this is the development of the characters. Please tell me what you think about Jeremiah and Baruch so far. With that, enjoy!
Jeremiah stood, staring out the window before him. It was not a pleasant sight to see through the open space, but then again, was Jerusalem a pleasant place to see at all any more?
The street beside his small house was bustling with activity. A stream of people, larger than usual, flowed in both ways down the broad street. The majority of them wore torn, drab garments in shades of brown and gray that hung loosely on their bodies. This was becoming even more sadly common as the year dragged on, with the drought growing worse and the King growing greedier.
Although there were a few among the crowd with clothes that were without tears and that were slightly less gloomy than that of the locals. These people were not from Jerusalem, but from various places in Judah, where the greediness of the King had not yet affected the well-being of the people as much as in the capitol itself. They had come early to the Passover Feast that was to take place in about a week.
The people’s feet kicked up loose yellow sand that swirled in the air, making it difficult to see and hard to breath. An occasional ox-pulled cart rolled through the crowd, the beasts of burden making an assortment of noises to show their own frustration, mirrored by that of their drivers as they were forced to move ever so slowly through the growing crowd.
He could smell the scent of animal dung from the stable beside his house, mixed with that of bread cooking for breakfast in the homes across the street. It made a strange odor altogether, wonderful yet rancid at the same time, something unique; This was the smell of his home.
It was a sharp contrast to the rolling plains that surrounded the city of Anathoth, the place where he had grown up; where the air always smelled fresh, not like the dusty, humid air of Jerusalem. Anathoth had been a small place, barely earning the title of ‘city’. The majority of the population had been priests. He had trained to become a priest himself, and even succeeded before he was called to Jerusalem. That had been a simple life. This was yet another sharp contrast to his present position. However, that was the past, and it was behind him. It was the future that rested on his shoulders, not the past. Therefore, he had to focus on the present.
Pushing memories of the past and thoughts of the present out of his mind, Jeremiah refocused his attention on the busy street. The dust cleared just enough for him to spot a beggar on the street corner, crying out for the passerby to show mercy and drop a coin at his feet. He watched the beggar for a while as the man came in and out of view due to the swirling sand that erupted into the air under every man’s footsteps. The beggar’s ragged clothes must not have been washed in months, and they hung loosely on his old and frail body, as if the man had lost a lot of weight in a short period of time; the man's body was in the same condition. He was far from handsome, with his gap-toothed smile and matted gray hair that resembled an untidy bird's nest.
Suddenly, several boys pushed through the crowd and began kicking the man, beating him and calling him names, spitting on his ragged form. All the while, the boys laughed joyously as if they were playing a game. It sickened Jeremiah to see the Lord’s chosen people acting in such a way. Had Jehovah’s Satans, angel servants to Jehovah himself, gone too far this time in their testing of Israel’s faith? Was Jerusalem past redemption? No, surely not, it was foolish to think such a thing could be true.
Glancing back to the street corner, Jeremiah shook his head with sorrow. The children had fled the scene, yet what they had done was obvious to passerby. The beggar lay sprawled out on the dusty street, covered with welts and huge bruises. Blood trickled slowly from several places on the man’s body. He simply lay there, rolling slightly to one side, then back. He was an old man, and he would not survive laying there alone for long, and it was obvious that no one going about there morning chores was going to help him. He got a few sad looks of course, but not a single person even attempted to give the man aid, and Jeremiah knew that calling out for someone to help him would do no good either. The old beggar’s fait seemed inevitable.
Jeremiah uttered a silent prayer to his Father in Heaven. “Lord I ask that you bring judgment upon these sinful children for their actions, but show slight mercy, for they are not taught morals at their homes. And please put your hand of protection and your blessings upon this man beset with poverty, Lord, please favor his future. Amen."
He had no doubt that Jehovah would hear his prayer, and answer it. Jehovah had a much better chance of saving that poor beggar than he did. After all, The Lord had ordered him to rid Israel of its current sinful ways, or at least to warn it of the consequences if it would not. The Lord had made him a prophet, and Jeremiah meant to use that blessing to bring Jerusalem and even all of Israel back to its former spiritual and possibly even physical, beauty. He would do this in any way that he possibly could. But it did seem like matters were getting out of his hands, a prophet’s hands. But Jehovah had to make it right soon…..didn’t He?
Jeremiah’s right hand moved subconsciously to his lips as he remembered the Lord’s words to him before he had come to Jerusalem many years ago. As Jehovah had surrounded him, encompassing him in majesty, the Lord had put forth his righteous hand and touched Jeremiah’s lips, saying, “Behold, I have put My words in your mouth”. Jeremiah remembered this every time he began to doubt his own ability, which seemed to be far too often of late.
The elderly prophet shook his head sadly. No, Jerusalem was not becoming a very pleasant place at all.
He realized that sweat was beginning to bead on his face despite the early time. It seemed that it was always hot in Jerusalem, especially since the recent drought had struck the land. Well, it had also been hot in the other parts of the Holy Land that he had visited for that matter.
He turned away from the window with a heavy sigh, forcing the image of the poor, beaten beggar out of his head. Jeremiah observed the room around him that was ever so familiar.
The room was Jeremiah’s study, and a rather small one at that. Plane gray stones made up its walls, and its floor was covered with a large red rug that was fairly worn from its years of use. He would have been perfectly content with the simple dirt floor that was used in so many other homes in Jerusalem, but Baruch, his secretary and personal scribe, had insisted that a rug be put in and that Jeremiah was just being stubborn when he tried to combat the idea.
Baruch himself sat at a small wooden desk towards the corner of the room, scribbling intently on a large scroll with his quill that he seemed to carry with him everywhere he went. The man must have slipped into the room while Jeremiah was observing the street. Good, he did enjoy Baruch’s company. Well, after so many years he had really come to rely on it some might say. He did give good advice, Baruch did.
Everything about the man was scrawny, as if Jehovah had grabbed him and stretched him as he had been formed. His medium length, curly black hair was unwashed, strange for Baruch; the man was very “clean”, what seemed to be all the time. But, then again, the drought was causing the residents of Jerusalem to use water for absolute necessities only. His small jaw was set; his hooked nose wrinkled, as if he smelled something foul. Baruch’s nose was very keen, and he could smell things that many others could not. It was a strange ability, and Jeremiah did not know how Baruch had inherited it, but it was actually useful sometimes, although it caused Baruch to wrinkle his nose almost constantly, with their home being beside a stable.
Since Baruch was intent on his work, Jeremiah decided to let him work silently, and walked quietly across the room to where a pitcher of water sat on a squat little table.
The vision of the beggar, lying battered and beaten on the street corner, pushed itself back into his head. He tried intently to remove it but it seemed to stay fixed in the back of his mind, beside others.
He began to speak to himself inside his head. “You cannot prevent every beggar and ill-fortuned man in Jerusalem from being touched by the sin that has been ravaging the city for years now! It would take every minute of your life, with another problem popping up as soon as one would be rectified! The Lord needs you for more important things, for destroying the sin at its roots and giving the people a role model that they can observe besides yourself; King Jehoiakim. You just need to calm down and get a little water before people begin swarming your home with wishes of blessings and meetings with the “mighty” prophet.”
Jeremiah did not feel mighty at all as old age crept up closer to him every day, it seemed that even walking across the room now used up too much of his energy. He felt full of the might and even partially of the wisdom of his Lord, but certainly not mighty alone. But the people believed him to be mighty, well some of them at least, so he let them believe; let them keep up their hope.
Baruch spoke without taking his eyes off his work as Jeremiah began pouring water from the pitcher into one of the two cups set out beside it.
“There are already near a dozen men and women at the front door to see you, Jeremiah, and they seemed to think you were going meet with them soon.”
“Did I not make it clear to them that I am to have no visitors this early in the day? How urgent could their problems possibly be, Baruch?”
Baruch looked up from his task and smiled. He smiled often, Baruch did. “Oh, they will wait, for hours if they must. They simply know that you can solve all of their problems. They were seated comfortably on the benches outside when I left them.”
Jeremiah sighed heavily. He found himself doing that far too often of late. “Can they not simply pray to Jehovah and ask him themselves? They act as if I am the Messiah, Baruch! I hope that they do not truly believe that. That could have dire consequences.”
The smile remained on Baruch’s face. “They think you’re the next best thing, my friend. As to why they seem incapable of praying, I have no idea.”
Jeremiah took a long swallow from his water. It was lukewarm from the heat and it did little to quench his thirst. Did nothing stay cool for more than seconds in the Holy Land?
“Try keeping that smile when you are forced to deal with them. They’re like wild animals once they get a hold of me, Baruch!”
Jeremiah was surprised to find that his voice held a slight amount of anger. Not at Baruch, not even at the crowds that never left him time to think, but at the problems and the sin that infested Jerusalem like a deadly disease. Only, this disease brought far worse than death. It seemed to be infecting the hearts and souls of God’s chosen people. It was reducing them to the idol-worshipping heathens that surrounded the Holy Land, and he, Jeremiah the “mighty” prophet who could barely cross the floor of his study, was the only cure; The only thing that could save a once flourishing nation.
Jeremiah sighed again, even more heavily than before, when Baruch said nothing and stopped smiling to return to his work. The man had more courage than that of any soldier serving in Israel’s army, yet he was as meek as a mouse when Jeremiah spoke firmly to him- which was almost never- even though they had become close friends over the years.
What was Baruch working on anyways? He thought. It was more than likely the note that Jeremiah had dictated to him to write last night; a letter to King Jehoiakim. It was yet another request for a meeting to discuss Jerusalem’s present state. However, it seemed that Jehoiakim was infected by the growing sin of Jerusalem, and he had become as sinful as the heathens that influenced Jerusalem’s people. The King surrounded himself with women and luxuries while his people, and his nation, slowly dwindled away to nothingness. The man was a fool!
“How do you think Jehoiakim will respond to my request, Baruch? Do you believe he will toss it aside and forget it like he has with the others?”
“Probably, although the Lord put you here for a reason, Jeremiah, and you can hardly do Jehovah’s work by simply praying with those who have faced ill-fortune. I do believe this is the most eloquent of your notes to our King yet, however, so perhaps he will decide to hear the words of the mighty Prophet Jeremiah.”
“Perhaps”, Jeremiah agreed sullenly.
Silence ensued for a moment. The only sound in the room was the scratching of Baruch’s quill, barely audible over the noise from the city street outside.
Jeremiah took a long swig of water, even warmer than the last, before he broke the silence. “If only we had King Josiah back, Baruch. Do you remember those days? Our lives were much simpler then, when Jehovah was the true ruler of Israel. Jerusalem was so much more peaceful. The people actually loved one another.
“Then the poor man had to go off and get himself pierced by an arrow. Right through the heart, do you remember? They said the Egyptians cheered in recognition of their victory as he was being pulled off the battlefield in a chariot, an arrow jutting from his chest.
“I remember seeing him on his deathbed in the palace here in Jerusalem. He was already dead by the time they got him to the palace, of course, although I could have sworn I saw despair in his eyes as they stared at me, lifeless. He had known that none of his sons were fit to rule God’s chosen people, whether he had been dead or not.”
Baruch set down his quill and faced Jeremiah. “Yes, Jeremiah, I do remember those times. It was only two a year ago. The time when Jerusalem was what our Lord intended it to be. That’s why we have to return it to the way it was before Josiah’s sons helped sin turn it into a city of heathens and idol worship.”
Jeremiah finished the last of his cup’s contents and then replied, “Yes, we must make Jerusalem as it once was, my friend, and send sin running like the cowardly beast it is.”
Baruch nodded in agreement before picking up his quill and continuing his work.
Jeremiah refilled his cup from the pitcher as he spoke up. “I suppose I’ll take the first of the day’s visitors now, Baruch. I don’t think we should leave them at the door for too long.”
“As you say Jeremiah, I’ve just finished you’re letter to Jehoiakim if you wish to look over it one last time before I take it to the palace.”
“I’ll see it after I’ve met with the ill-fortuned at the door,” Jeremiah said as Baruch rose swiftly from his desk and exited through the door at the far end of the small room.
Jeremiah began mentally bracing himself for what was to come. He would have to meet with countless people about menial things that had nothing whatsoever to do with him, yet he must listen. He had to listen and seem strong to those he spoke with. These people had to bring word of Jeremiah the mighty prophet’s words to those they met, not Jeremiah the old, frail, hallucinating man who believed the Lord spoke to him. He had to make these visitors believe that Jehovah was ready to bring punishment down on them, and that the Prophet Jeremiah would be right there at his side; he had to make them believe the truth.
Suddenly, Jeremiah began to feel a tingling sensation at the tips of his toes. It felt as if they were vibrating rapidly, yet it was a soothing feeling, something impossible to explain. It crept slowly up his legs to his knees. He did not fight it, as he had the first time it had happened; instead, he embraced it warmly, letting it move slowly through him to the top of his head.
His entire body tingled strangely with the unexpected sensation now, a feeling that made Jeremiah want to cry out, and laugh aloud with joy.
Then an unbearable light began to fill the room. It was as if the sun itself had suddenly appeared inside his small study, blazing with its majestic fury.
Jeremiah fell to the floor and prostrated himself there, for he knew he was in the presence of Jehovah. He tried to keep his senses about him and concentrate, but it was difficult with the Lord Jehovah so close. He felt as if he could reach out and touch the Holy One that he had been serving for so long. Jehovah was so near!
Jeremiah covered his eyes with his hands and tried to bury his face in the red rug under him to escape the blinding light, but there was no escaping it. No matter how many times Jehovah appeared before him, he would never become accustomed to the light that always enshrouded the sight of the Lord from humans. It was so bright!
It was at that moment that Jehovah began to speak, a sound that seamed to resonate throughout all the Earth, filling Jeremiah with joy to the point of ecstasy. Its holiness made Jeremiah begin to weep.
“Jeremiah, do you hear me, my good and faithful servant?” The booming voice said.
“Yes, my Lord Jehovah, I hear you and am ready to be commanded!” Jeremiah answered between sobs of joy.
“Good. Listen to my words, Jeremiah, and obey Me.”
Jeremiah simply nodded, for he was now weeping too intensely to speak.
“For four years I have allowed Jehoiakim, the son of my faithful servant Josiah, to ignore my people, and to engage in idol-worship and other heathen things in hope that he, unlike his brother before him, may repent of what he has done without strong pursuation. It has become clear to me now, with my nation on the brink of destruction by sin, that this will never happen.
“So, therefore, you, Jeremiah, will be my voice to the people. Here is what you shall do…..”
Baruch walked slowly through the small rooms of his and Jeremiah’s home leading an elderly woman behind him and wishing that he had something to cover his nose in order to keep him from smelling that foul odor from next door. The woman had somehow recently lost her two middle-aged sons to a wild beast and she wanted the prophet’s condolences. He was not sure how Jeremiah dealt with all these menial things without nearly going insane.
The woman was smiling so widely now as she hobbled down the hall behind him, that Baruch almost thought she expected Jeremiah to bring her sons back from the grave. She had waited outside his house for hours in the scalding heat and yet still walked through the halls grinning like a fool. It amazed him.
He thought about the many others that were now waiting patiently in the main room of the house for a visit with Jeremiah. One of them had been missing a leg, calling out for Baruch to heal him as he had walked into the room. Another had a daughter with her that looked sick enough to be near death, the mother looking expectantly at Baruch with gentle, pleading eyes; all forgotten by King Jehoiakim; substituted for material pleasures.
He had taken this elderly woman first because he had always brought the earliest to arrive to meet Jeremiah first, and this woman had slept on his porch last night, refusing to leave, stricken with grief about her sons. Baruch had felt sorry for her, but if they had taken this woman then, word would have spread, and Jeremiah would have been forced to take others whenever was convenient for them, leaving him no time to work on what was important; The destruction of sin through making Jehoiakim see reason.
As Baruch approached the doorway leading into the study, he stood aside and let the elderly woman enter first, only, she did not enter, she simply stood in the doorway looking shocked. Puzzled, Baruch squeezed past her and entered the room.
He knew what had happened immediately. Jeremiah lay on his back, staring at the wall and sobbing, not tears of sadness but tears of joy, Baruch could tell the difference in his master.
He rushed to Jeremiah’s side and lifted him into a seated position.
“Has Jehovah appeared to you, Jeremiah?”
Jeremiah got his sobs under control with a little effort. “Baruch, we may yet have hope. It is a small hope, but it is one none the less.”
Baruch looked back towards the woman in the doorway whose face was turning a pale white color now, having seen the Mighty Prophet Jeremiah reduced to a sobbing wreck, not to mention all the talk about an encounter with Jehovah. “After you meet with your visitors for a time, I hope you can tell me all about your encounter, Jeremiah.”
Jeremiah looked up at the woman, tears still dripping down his face, and Baruch saw the same compassion fill his eyes that always did when he looked upon someone in need.
Despite all of his talk about those who visited him wasting his time; being a distraction from his true purpose, Jeremiah actually had a soft heart, he just tried to cover it with a hard shell to guard against his many enemies in this stressful time.
Baruch could remember how, back in the reign of King Josiah, Jeremiah had been a lover of every person, and had showed compassion to even the lowliest of criminals. Now, Baruch thought, he seemed to be trying to convince himself that the problems of trivial people were not of importance, and that only the command of Jehovah to free Israel of sin mattered, but Jeremiah’s caring side shone through at times.
Wiping the remaining tears from his face with his brown tunic, one of the few seen on the streets of Jerusalem without any holes or tears, Jeremiah addressed the woman with a hospitable voice.
“May I know your name”, he said.
Having recovered her composure from the strange scene that had been before her, the woman replied “Atara is my name, Mighty Prophet”
As he beckoned Atara to a seat, Jeremiah faced Baruch with a wide grin on his face. “We must begin making preparations as soon as I have seen those who’ve come. There is hope for Jehovah’s people after all, my friend.”
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