Introduction

Some of us walked in today with a smile that covers a storm. Bills stack up like bricks. Family tensions tug at your heart like a riptide. News cycles churn, and your soul feels thin. You’re doing your best, yet your best feels brittle. Have you ever wondered, “Where do I place my weight when the ground keeps shifting? Whose words hold me steady when mine keep wavering?” The prophet Jeremiah paints a picture for tired hearts: two ways of living, two kinds of landscapes. One is cracked and crusty, like a shrub scraping by in the salt flats. The other is lush and lively, like a tree beside a steady stream, leaves whispering with life even when the heat rises.

Friend, God knows the ache of a parched heart. He also knows the quiet confidence of a heart that leans into Him. He speaks to both. He speaks to the person who has tried to hold it all together and to the person who longs to hear, “You don’t have to carry that alone.” He speaks to the place inside you that no one else can see—the place where your real trust lives, the place where fears grow loud and faith grows louder still.

J. I. Packer wrote, “Once you become aware that the main business that you are here for is to know God, most of life’s problems fall into place of their own accord.” (J. I. Packer, Knowing God) Isn’t that what we long for? Not a life without heat or hardship, but a life anchored in Someone who is not tossed by heat or hardship. A life that draws from a hidden stream—quiet, faithful, endlessly fresh.

Jeremiah helps us name the tug-of-war inside us. We want to be strong. We want to be wise. We want to be enough. Yet there’s a better way—a holy reliance, a steady confidence, a settled hope. In these verses, God offers a clear and kind word about trust and about the truest part of us: the heart. He tells us what becomes of trust that clings to human muscle, what flourishes when trust rests in the Lord, and why it matters that He alone sees the inner life with perfect clarity.

Before we read, would you allow your soul to take a breath? Let your shoulders fall. Let your mind grow quiet. Imagine the sound of water nearby, a stream that never runs dry. God is near. He is speaking. He is good.

Scripture Reading: Jeremiah 17:5-10 (KJV) 5 Thus saith the LORD; Cursed be the man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm, and whose heart departeth from the LORD. 6 For he shall be like the heath in the desert, and shall not see when good cometh; but shall inhabit the parched places in the wilderness, in a salt land and not inhabited. 7 Blessed is the man that trusteth in the LORD, and whose hope the LORD is. 8 For he shall be as a tree planted by the waters, and that spreadeth out her roots by the river, and shall not see when heat cometh, but her leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit. 9 The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? 10 I the LORD search the heart, I try the reins, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings.

Opening Prayer: Father, we come thirsty. You know our frailty and our fears. Speak to us through Your Word. Tilt our hearts toward trust in You. Uproot the lies that leave us dry and plant within us a steadfast hope. Search us by Your Spirit; show us what You see, and heal what we cannot fix. Let Your living water refresh weary places. Make us like trees by the stream—steady in the heat, green in the drought, fruitful in every season. We confess that You are our confidence and our crown. In Jesus’ name, amen.

The Curse Of Trusting In Human Strength

“Cursed be the man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm, and whose heart departeth from the LORD.” That sounds harsh at first. It is also kind. It names what happens when we put the full weight of our lives on human power. “Maketh flesh his arm” means we grab the nearest strength we can see. We bank on it. We treat it like a shield. Skill. Systems. Savings. Charisma. Networks. Willpower. These are gifts, but they make poor gods. This trust forms a habit inside us. We reach for what we can manage. We hold tight to what we can count. Over time, the inner compass shifts. The verse says the heart moves away from the LORD. It does not always look loud. It can be steady and quiet. More emails. More plans. More pressure. Less prayer. Less listening. Less surrender. The shift is subtle, but it is real. And the text says it carries a weight. A weight we cannot bear.

The word “cursed” here is not a random blast. It is a verdict on a path. It is the end result of a pattern. When trust rests on flesh, we stand under strain we were never meant to carry. We try to be our own source. We must be enough. We must keep it all afloat. We must fix the cracks. This strain does something to the soul. It tightens. It hardens. It chases control. It makes every setback feel fatal. It makes every success feel fragile. The heart drifts, not with rage, but with tired logic. “I will handle it.” “I will push through.” “I will find a way.” The Scripture is not shaming effort. It is warning us about worship. Where trust lives, worship lives. When trust moves, worship moves. And when worship lands on flesh, the soul bends under a curse-like load it cannot hold.

“He shall be like the heath in the desert.” The picture is stark. A small bush in a wasteland. No shelter. No steady supply. The next line cuts deeper: “and shall not see when good cometh.” The burden is not only thirst. It is blindness. Good visits, but he misses it. Rain falls, but he does not feel it. Help stands near, but he cannot receive it. That is what misplaced trust does. It blurs sight. It turns mercy into a threat. It turns gifts into guesses. It turns people into tools or rivals. It calls safety “too risky.” It calls manna “not enough.” The mind learns to scan for danger, not grace. The nerves learn to brace, not breathe. Even when a door opens, the heart stays shut. Not because it is stubborn for sport, but because it is trained by fear.

“Shall inhabit the parched places in the wilderness, in a salt land and not inhabited.” The scene widens from a dried plant to a dried address. This person lives where life cannot grow. That is haunting. It speaks to place and pattern. A calendar full of motion, yet no rest. A bank account with funds, yet no peace. A house with people, yet deep alone. Salt kills growth. So do certain habits of trust. Cynicism salts the soil. Chronic self-protection salts the soil. Constant comparison salts the soil. Over time, the inner world becomes low on wonder. Low on tenderness. Low on praise. Even pleasures feel thin. Even wins taste flat. That is not because there is no good around. The text already said good arrives. The problem is the place the heart lives. It has moved into dry country and signed a lease.

“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” Now we see the engine under the hood. The deepest problem is not the economy or the enemies or the odds. It is the heart that misleads us. Deceit does not always shout. It whispers. It uses polished reasons. It baptizes fear as wisdom. It calls control “responsibility.” It calls isolation “boundaries.” It calls prayer “a last resort.” It can even use religious words to keep God at arm’s length. This deceit is not simple ignorance. The text says the heart is sick. It is crooked in ways we cannot map. We think we know our motives. We tell ourselves clean stories. We edit out what we do not want to face. Then we wonder why our life tastes like dust.

This is why the warning matters. When trust sits on flesh, the heart cheers it on. It will quote past hurts. It will replay worst-case scenes. It will draft a case brief for self-reliance. It will dress up pride as prudence. Left alone, we cannot correct it. We cannot self-diagnose what we cannot see. We cannot heal what we will not name. We need a truer witness. We need a wiser Physician. We need someone who sees the real map of the inner life and can tell us the truth without crushing us.

“I the LORD search the heart, I try the reins, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings.” Here is the voice we need. God sees what we hide from others. He sees what we hide from ourselves. He tests the reins, the seat of desire and will. He weighs what we trusted, not just what we did. He knows when the good deed came from fear. He knows when the bold plan came from pride. He knows when the quiet refusal came from faith. His judgment is exact. It is also fair. “According to the fruit of his doings.” Trust always bears fruit. Flesh-trust bears thorns. God lets that fruit show. Not to mock us. To wake us. To make the diagnosis clear.

This searching is mercy. He is not confused by our spin. He is not fooled by our resume. He is not swayed by our panic. He speaks to the deep places we ignore. He names the fault line. He points to the true source. He shows how our confidence migrated. He shows where the soil turned salty. He brings the inner life into light. And when He does, the curse is no longer a vague cloud. It is a traced pattern. It is a path with markers. It can be left. It can be replaced with a better trust. He alone can say where the water is. He alone can make the heart clean and clear.

The Blessing Of Trust In The Lord

“Blessed is the man that trusteth in the LORD, and whose hope the LORD is ... View this full PRO sermon free with PRO