I sit with the ache of it: even among those who call upon the name of the Lord, fear has claimed a kind of victory. We who have tasted the Fountain of living waters still bend low over broken cisterns, digging with eager hands for the next headline, the next warning, the next monster the world insists we must dread today. Jeremiah’s ancient charge lands heavily—two evils we commit. We forsake the Source, and we hew out for ourselves vessels that cannot hold water.
The news cycle becomes our psalmist, chanting fear in place of praise. Brothers and sisters who once stood firm now carry tightness in the chest and restless watches through the night, as if the God who calms storms and numbers hairs on our heads has suddenly stepped away. We quote “Fear not” in our gatherings, yet live as though the waves have the final say. How easily the heart that once sang of deliverance trades its song for the low drum of anxiety.
And yet—
This is not the end of the lament. For the same Lord who spoke through Jeremiah still speaks. He who promised a new heart and a new spirit has not grown weary of calling His people home. The Fountain still flows, pure and abundant, waiting for the thirsty to turn. In the quiet return, fear loses its throne. Not because the dangers vanish, but because the One who holds both the highway and the headlines is greater than them all.
Come, Lord. Overturn the broken cisterns in us. Teach us again what it means to fear You only, and in that holy fear find the freedom our hearts were made for.
