For Colombia; Jeremiah 14:1-6

 

Rev. George Miller

Aug 16, 2026

Jeremiah 14:1-6

 

“Faith isn’t faith until that is all you have left.”  These are the words spoken by a Holocaust survivor that have stayed with me for 25 years.

 

“Faith isn’t faith until that is all you have left.”

 

Words that got me through Search and Calls when churches were too scared to call me; when the eye of a hurricane spun over my home.

 

And now, as Viktor’s family in Colombia keeps vigil for a niece named Catalina who is trapped in the basement rubble of her apartment 3 days after the earthquake.

 

To be so far away, on another continent, concerned about a person I never met, knowing how it is hurting an entire family, and all one can do is listen, pray, reach out via WhatsApp and an AI translator.

 

It’s one thing to preach about Jesus walking on water towards the disciples 2,000 years ago; it’s another when you want that same Jesus to be clearing the rubble for a young woman who is scared, hungry, and trapped.

 

Faith.

 

“Faith is not faith until it’s all you have left.”

 

The words of this message are being written during a time when a woman a world away awaits to be saved…

 

This morning’s scripture has held a special place in my heart since 2024 when someone submitted it, saying “Isn’t it amazing that life keeps repeating itself…but why?”

 

Why indeed?  Why natural disasters and droughts?  Why cities full of people dismayed?  Why farmers worried about their livelihood and crops wellbeing?

 

If God cares about the sparrow and Jesus seeks out the lost lamb, why are there deer and donkeys hungry, panting, suffering? 

 

What has happened to the green pastures and still waters?

 

“Faith isn’t faith until it’s all you have left.”

 

This week, the suggested Gospel in the Revised Common Lectionary is Matthew 15: 10- 28.

 

In it, Jesus explains to the disciples that it’s not what we eat that defiles us, but what we say.  Jesus connects our words to the contents of our heart. 

 

This includes slandering a person’s reputation, stealing, telling lies about others, and intent to harm.

 

Think of how words and actions can bring about mini-deaths and deserts of ill will.  How words can create a drought or a sense of stagnation in the life of a person, a family, a community.

 

Then think of the opposite, how words of goodwill, empowerment, words of sharing, truth, uplifting has an opposite effect. 

 

How words, instead of defiling, can bring about the rains of well intentions, flourishing, new life, and overcoming of obstacles.

 

If defiling words create a dessert, uplifting words create an oasis.

 

After this lesson, Jesus encounters a foreign woman with an ill child.  She asks for mercy; the disciples only want to send her away.

 

This distraught mother kneels before Jesus asking for help.  At first, he resists. She holds her own, argues her case, and astounds Jesus, who says “Woman, great is your faith.”  Her daughter is healed and the family is restored.

 

Faith is not faith until it is all you have left; our words have a way to bring forth life.

 

So why are there deserts and droughts?  Why, after thousands of years, do we still hear how the land, animals and people suffer?

 

It’s like Ecclesiastes again and again- vanity of vanities, all is vanity, the sun rises, the sun goes down.  

 

But it is not vanity, and it is not hopeless, if we hold onto our faith and we hold onto one another.

 

For just as Eve walked beside Adam, and Ruth stayed beside Naomi, and Paul was intertwined with the Philippian church,

 

we were never made to walk alone, nor meant to face droughts and damaged basement by ourselves, but with one another.

 

The ministry of Jesus was rarely just him; the prophetic work of Moses included his sister and brother, even Elijah had the ravens that fed him.

 

Droughts and deserts and nieces who are trapped and daughters who are sick will always take place as long as humans are alive.

 

The difference is being united and not alone, working together and not apart, speaking humanely with and not defiling to.

 

That’s why it is fitting this week that the world is acknowledging Humanitarian Day on August 19, a  day set aside to honor aid workers and those who risk their lives to help people in crises, facing disaster, and caught up in conflicts.

 

Begun as a response to people killed at a UN headquarter in Baghdad, Humanitarium Day advocates for the safety of civilians and aid workers who come to care for people in chaos.

 

Since 2008, it’s a day to say that no one assisting in aid should have to worry about being killed, abducted, injured, or have food and medical supplies blocked.

 

It is a means to support life even in the face of the uncertain and death.

 

I wonder- how Jesus would feel about Humanitarian Day? 

 

Can we discern where Christ would be when it comes to allowing caregivers to give care without worry of death or threat?

 

Can we wonder where hope and faith would be for those who are doing what they can to provide life and medicine, breathe and food to those in scary times?

 

How does Jesus and the church stand in solidarity with those who step into deserts and droughts, into earthquakes and rubble?

 

Right now, a continent away is a young woman we have never met, who’s family is praying for her. 

 

How is Christ manifesting in the hands and feet, the tools and the machines of the rescuers, medics, fire fighters, neighbors, and ordinary volunteers who are racing against time brick by brick?

 

Jeremiah asks us to think about a land in pain, a city crying out, animals that are panting, and a God who seems to be a stranger, confused (Jeremiah 14:8-9).

 

The person who submitted today’s readings states in amazement how life keeps repeating, and why?

 

There is no satisfying answer to give at this moment, as my heart is swollen up and tears are in my eyes, but momentarily comfort comes in this-

 

That through Jesus, empowered by the Holy Spirit, none of these events have to be faced alone.

 

There are the actions of our hands and feet; there are the gifts of our wallets and pocketbooks.

 

There are the life-giving breaths in our words and prayers.

 

At the very least, there is our faith.

 

And often times, it is when we have nothing left to cling to, and nothing left to offer, it is our faith, and it is our words, that can make even the dryest desert a bit easier to navigate.

 

It is our faith in Christ that brings us calm.

 

Amen.