reworked

The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD: “Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words.” So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel. And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do. (Jeremiah 18:1-4 ESV)


The potter’s house fascinates me.

I love how the Lord can turn our eyes into ears, placing before us common objects and occupations that become sacraments – earthy intersections of divine truths undergirding all of life.

I see the potter sitting at his wheel as it spins and spins. The clay literally rises, seemingly taking on a life of its own as his muddy hands shape and press. I watch his hand reach inside the object, this pot, this vessel that will become a unique combination of beauty and utility. It rises, it broadens, it narrows, all according to the movement of his hands. What will it be? What will be its final form? My anticipation rises. Expectation soars. I hold my breath waiting for the culmination of the potter and his spinning wheel.

And then it happens.

It is undone.

The work of beauty collapses upon itself in a heap.

Seeming failure.

A mere unformed lump.

Without form and void.

I look to the potter. Is he crushed? Is he in anguish over his collapsed work? Does he kick over the wheel and pound the clay with an angry fist? Does he throw up his hands in despair or bow his head in shame? No. With a knowing and playful smile he gathers up the clay.

And he reworks it.

He reworks it into another vessel “as it seemed good to the potter to do.”

I’m not sure which version of me we’re up to at this point. Is it Mike 2.0, 3.0, 4.0? I don’t know. But no doubt about it: I have been reworked. Multiple times. Yet no matter what the reworking might entail or into what type of vessel I might be shaped this time or next time or the time after that, the clay that is me retains a continuity, a consistency. Thankfully I remain clay! May the wheel never turn to reveal me as cement quickly hardening and set. And the thought now occurs to me: Is it not in our departure from this world that we are finally “fired”? Is it not then and only then that we reach our completed form, the final shape of beauty marked by his hands?

How happy at the time I thought I was with Mike 1.0. How at the time I wished to be “fired” and set right then for the rest of my days. But then with watery hands, he reworked me. Mike 2.0. This version of me pleases me less. I feel marred and spoiled, but still the wheel spins, still his hands shape. Why does he keep going? Why does he make me thus? I despair and cry and languish on the wheel and surrender hope in being other than what and where and how I am. But then down I come. Reworked yet again. The wheel turns again. Behold the reworking which is becoming Mike 3.0.

Onward spins the wheel.

Revolution.

Change.

Reshaping.

Reworked yet again, the latest version of me.

Have I finally learned to be clay in his hands?

Have I learned, as much as clay can learn?

Have I stopped trying to trade spots with the potter?

Have I given up trying to be the potter for others?

Am I willing to be reworked again?

And then yet again?

And onward spins the wheel…