Wednesday July 2nd, 2014 Jeremiah 18:1-11
Just like the clay in the potter's hand, so are you in my hand... (verse 6b)
I’ve always been mesmerized by the skill and craftsmanship of an artisan at work-and tempted to spend more than I should on those colourfully glazed and shining cups and pots. The idea of taking a lump of dull brown or greyish clay, carefully forming it, glazing and firing it into a work of art, positively fascinates me. As a child I would dream of playing with the red roadside clay and creating something beautiful. Unfortunately, my one foray into the craft produced a pathetically flawed creation that only a parent could love. (I was about 10 at the time.)
Genesis provides the account of God forming humanity out of the earth into God’s own image. In contrast, in Jeremiah we find the divine potter lamenting that the clay does not seem to be taking the divinely ordained form. It makes me think about the shape that my life is taking, and on the myriad of influences that continue to play a role in my life’s formation. The hopeful image in this text is of the infinitely patient potter who continues to work and rework the clay until it takes its intended form.
Thank you, Lord, that I can trust that you will continue to form my life according to your good purposes. Amen. — CN
Contributed by Potter’s Clay
I've always been mesmerized by the skill and craftsmanship of an artisan at work-and tempted to spend more than I should on those colourfully glazed and shining cups and pots. The idea of taking a lump of dull brown or greyish clay, carefully forming it, glazing and firing it into a work of art, positively fascinates me. As a child I would dream of playing with the red roadside clay and creating something beautiful. Unfortunately, my one foray into the craft produced a pathetically flawed creation that only a parent could love. (I was about 10 at the time.)
Genesis provides the account of God forming humanity out of the earth into God's own image. In contrast, in Jeremiah we find the divine potter lamenting that the clay does not seem to be taking the divinely ordained form. It makes me think about the shape that my life is taking, and on the myriad of influences that continue to play a role in my life's formation. The hopeful image in this text is of the infinitely patient potter who continues to work and rework the clay until it takes its intended form.