Jeremiah was in the thick of it; his reaction was to go back on his calling: ‘Then I said, I will not make mention of him, nor speak any more in his name’, the Lord’s name. I will not preach these things, these warnings, nor speak any more in his name, because I am not getting the promised comforts, and it is not turning out well.
It isn’t inconsistent to hear of people today saying, when I first was obliged to consider ministry for the Lord preaching the gospel, I recoiled. I didn't think it would be right for me, or that I could do it, or that I was suitable, or that I was in any way up to it in myself. But yet once called and once pressed by the Lord, many a person who started that way came to feel like this: his word was in mine heart as a burning fire, shut up in my bones. Would that all preachers felt that: the necessity to preach the gospel and to seek after souls, burning like a fire within. A terrible sense of responsibility if I fail, and a longing to win souls for the Lord by the power of the Spirit.
When we are stretched to our limit, whether we are happy or sad, whether things appear to be wrong or not, the Lord is with me. Think how much that means. If he is with me, he sees. If he is with me, he knows. If he is with me, he hears my cries. If he is with me, he can stretch forth his arm and hold me, so that I will not go down. I may not feel the touch physically – of course not – but I will feel within myself the power of God's uplifting, and the kindness and the assurance of his promises. I will hear him speak. If I read his word, I will hear his voice in the Psalms; I will hear his voice in the Gospels; I will hear it in the promises. ‘The Lord is with me as a mighty terrible one.’ In other words, he is more terrible than they are. When terror is called for, he is more powerful than they are. Whatever they can do to me, he can and will do much more to them, if there is no repentance.