Sermon - The Rev. Michael Reed, Oct. 12, 2025

Faith Takes Root

Sermon on Jeremiah 29:1, 4–7 by Rev. Michael Reed

Given at St. Paul’s Church, Brookline on Oct. 12, 2025

Learn more about Massachusetts Interfaith Power and Light at www.massipl.org

It’s a joy to be with you this morning at St. Paul’s, to share with you the lesson we have received from the Holy Scriptures, but also to greet you on behalf of Massachusetts Interfaith Power and Light, where I serve as Executive Director, and a collection of some 200+ congregations — churches, synagogues, and other faith communities working together on climate change and environmental issues — of which St. Paul’s has for years been a member.

I myself am a United Methodist pastor. I have to say: when I step into a service like this, I feel like I’ve leveled up, liturgically speaking. And that’s all the more where I started: at the other end of the church spectrum, as a nondenominational Christian. When I was an undergraduate, I attended an evangelical Bible college. We were required to read the Bible every day and attend chapel four times a week. We loved the Bible. We obsessed over it. In fact, I remember the President of the school standing up one morning in chapel. He was talking about how this world compares to heaven. I’ll never forget: he said, “Remember: at best, this earth is just a clean bus stop.”

Even then, that didn’t sit right with me. The idea that this world was something temporary, disposable—nice if things were neat and tidy—felt wrong. Ironically, I could have found it in my Bible. “The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it.” Or today’s psalm in praise of natural science: “Great are the works of the Lord, studied by all who delight in them.”

I could have done worse than to pay attention to today’s reading from Jeremiah 29, where the prophet Jeremiah writes to a people in exile and tells them: “Build houses … plant gardens… seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you… for in its welfare you will find your welfare.”

That doesn’t sound like a “clean bus stop.” It’s a call to root—to build, to plant, to seek the good of the place where you are, and the people with whom you are placed.

This is a shining moment for Jeremiah, and Jeremiah doesn’t have a lot of shining moments. He isn’t usually associated with hope and happy endings. More often he is the prophet of doom and gloom. His name even gives us our English word “jeremiad”—a long, thunderous denunciation. Jeremiah earned that reputation the hard way. He spent years warning Jerusalem that Babylon would come and destroy everything. People mocked and ignored him. They got so fed up they threw him into an empty well and left him for dead. In fact, a whole group of anti-Jeremiahs, false prophets, started peddling conspiracy theories: “This is all alarmist nonsense. There’s no danger. Everything’s fine.”

The tragedy is: Jeremiah was right. The Babylonians did come. The walls fell. The temple burned. The people went into exile, strangers in a strange land. And it’s in that very moment—when everything he predicted has come true—that Jeremiah does something unexpected. He doesn’t say “I told you so.” He doesn’t just preach doom. He executes an abrupt turn. He says, “Seek the good.” He tells the exiles: You are still God’s people.

This is still God’s world. And there is work to be done.

Right here, the world of Jeremiah meets our own. We know what it feels like to live in exile—maybe not in geography, but in spirit. We find ourselves dislocated not only by the lack of compassion and human decency—that we have gotten used to by now—but by the open delight in division and cruelty. For those who care about creation, it can feel as if the Babylonians are running the show—so much good progress being gleefully stripped away. We find ourselves asking: What do I do when I no longer recognize the world around me? How do I live faithfully when I feel like the future is uncertain?

That’s the question Jeremiah’s letter answers: How do we live faithfully in uncertain times? His message speaks directly to us today, as we wrestle with big questions about our future. Climate change, in particular, stands as a case study for all of us who feel in exile, uncertain about what’s to come. It forces us to confront the realities of a changing world and challenges us to seek the good, even when the path forward seems unclear.

#1 – Faith Takes Root Where You Are (“Build houses and live in them…”)

That’s the first act of faith—to take root where you are.

I often wonder if so much of the chaos that we’re observing is symptomatic of a spiritual sickness. I wonder if the 24-hour news cycle, if the nightmare screens we carry around in our pockets, which glow and vibrate with the outrageous deeds of our enemies, then mollify us with trinkets and cheap consumer goods—I wonder if it all isn’t designed to pull us away from the fundamental call of Scripture: even while the Babylonians rage, you must be rooted. You must plant your garden. You must build a life, for yourself and for your children, that seeks the good of the city, the good of all. The great call of the gospel is that my very life is bound up with that of my neighbors, with every creature and all creation.

Listen: of course this “clean bus stop” theology—this apocalyptic worldview, that treats the cosmos God loves as a disposable thing—of course that is wrong and unchristian. I don’t have to tell you that. Here at St. Paul’s, you’ve put solar panels on your roof, are caring for creation. That’s not just environmentalism; that’s good theology. You are seeking the good of the city, your neighbors, with love and justice. Keep it up.

As we care for the earth, we now must guard against another kind of apocalyptic thinking: the fear that things are already too far gone. A recent survey of 100,000 young people across the globe shows that three-quarters of those under twenty-five say the future feels frightening, and more than half believe humanity is doomed. Too many have heard messages that sound like modern-day Jeremiads: moralizing lectures about human failure, followed by apocalyptic pronouncements that it’s all over. No wonder so many people are turned off. Some retreat into denial, latching onto modern-day false prophets with conspiracy theories—this is all alarmist nonsense. Others are overwhelmed by guilt and anxiety. Why bother?

One of the things I’ve learned in my work with Massachusetts Interfaith Power & Light is that what people of faith need to do right now is hold out a little faith. It’s not all bad news. There’s enough good news to get us moving.

Did you know that per-capita emissions peaked a decade ago and are now declining? That coal is dying in country after country? That the cost of solar has fallen ninety percent in the past ten years, and batteries ninety-eight percent since 1990? Every second, the sun pours enough clean energy onto the earth to power all of humanity for a year. The future isn’t only judgment and ruin. It’s also abundance waiting to be embraced.

Faith takes root where you are.

#2 – Faith Invests Itself in a Better Future (“Multiply there, and do not decrease.”)

Jeremiah tells the exiles not only to plant gardens, but to raise families, to build community, to have children and teach them how to hope. That’s an act of defiance. It’s God saying: “You may be in exile, but you are not finished.”

Faith doesn’t just talk about hope; it acts on it.

Here’s why I love the work that MassIPL does: For twenty years, we’ve been helping congregations live out their faith by caring for creation. Drafty sanctuaries are insulated. Churches are switching to heat pumps. Synagogues are installing solar. Just last year, more than 135 congregations took concrete steps through our programs, qualifying for millions in clean-energy incentives. Together, they’re now saving hundreds of thousands a year on their utility bills, freeing up money for mission, and protecting the earth. We’re also working on projects related to climate justice — because we know that those most affected by climate change are those who suffer first and worst. It’s a matter of equity. Those most vulnerable are bearing the brunt, and it is our responsibility to advocate for them and future generations.

#3 – Faith Seeks the Good of the Whole (“Seek the welfare of the city… for in its welfare you will find your welfare.”)

This may be the most radical command of all. God tells the exiles not to give up or give in, but even after the worst has happened, to seek the welfare of all. Look within your sphere of influence, but also your own immediate interests. You can’t fix all the problems of society, but you can learn the names of your neighbors, and their kids and grandkids, to strengthen the social fabric for whatever may come. You can learn the kinds of trees between your house and your grocery store. You can attend a public hearing and speak up for batteries, wind, and solar. You can give and bless and plant and build. You can love the world in everyday ways. Which is, I think, the way the world is restored. It’s a call to collective action, to the common good.

I think of a story from our work at MassIPL. Our treasurer, Susan, was helping her grandson unpack his backpack when she found a flyer inviting kids to join the school’s Green Team. She asked, “Jamie, do you want to join the Green Team?”

He said, “Grandma, I already did.”

She laughed, “You did? How?”

And he said, “I raised my hand.”

I love that. I raised my hand.

Because isn’t that what it takes? If the problems of this world are ever going to be healed, somebody has to raise a hand. You and I have to raise our hands. We can’t wait for someone else to fix it. We can’t depend on the high and mighty to do it. But we can say yes to the opportunities right in front of us—in our homes, our communities, and our churches. That’s how we seek the welfare of the city. We pray for it, work for it, and advocate for it. Because in its welfare, we find our own. It’s no longer just about me and God; it’s about us and our neighbors. It’s about the systems we inhabit—the cities, the schools, the climate, the shared life we build together. When Jeremiah says, “Seek the welfare of the city,” he’s saying your fate and your neighbor’s fate are bound together. Your flourishing depends on theirs.

So, friends, what do we do when we feel like exiles in our own land? We remember Jeremiah.

We remember that God’s call is not to escape, but to engage. To be rooted where we are. To invest in a better future. To seek the good of the whole. Because the God who spoke to the exiles in Babylon still speaks today—not with a promise of easy escape, but with a call to faithful presence.

For in the welfare of this world—this fragile, beautiful, endangered world—we will find our own. Amen.