On Trial

“But now, O LORD, You are our Father; we are the clay, and You our potter; and all we are the work of Your hand.” Isaiah 64:8

I served on a jury trial once. We tried a high-profile child abuse case that made the front page of the newspapers for weeks—newspapers we weren’t allowed to read because news reporters are paid to uncover and report on “dirt,” and we were only allowed to consider what was carefully presented in court. One morning upon our return to duty, the judge asked if anyone had read the newspaper that day, and one man, hoping to get off the jury, said that he had. He got off, all right—he got thrown in jail for three days!

Amy Carmichael tells the history of the word trial from the Oxford Dictionary. The word has come to mean many things, but the original meaning, from way back in the year 1526, is the action of testing or putting to the proof the fitness, truth, strength or other quality of anything. This is largely the reason for a court or jury trial today. It is a test of the fitness, truth, and strength of one person’s testimony against the evidence that has been found, such as discovered weapons, DNA, or the testimony of witnesses.

We have heard the story of the potter and the clay many times. The usual teaching point is that the potter is sovereign over the clay; God, the potter, molds individuals, nations, and history itself. It is His choice, and the clay cannot wish it was some other vessel than what He made it to be, because He knows what will best serve His purpose, and what the vessel is best suited for.

Another teaching point is that the vessel can and will be tried for its fitness to serve reliably. Is it cracked and mended? Has it been fired and strengthened? Does it crumble under pressure? These interpretations we have rightly considered for our lives.

I want to suggest a third aspect to consider about the potter and the clay. When a clay pot is put to the test, doesn’t that also prove the ability of the potter? Isn’t the potter on trial as to his ability to make a useful, reliable vessel? Isn’t his skill with the clay, his knowledge of the vessel’s dimensions and shape, his understanding of how thick or thin, how tall or short, to make the vessel, and where to put its handle, all on display?

Consider the interaction between God and Satan in the Book of Job. The point isn’t that Job was being accused of only loving God because God had put a blessed hedge around him—it was that God was being accused and put on trial. Could God make a vessel that would withstand the pressure of intense pain and sorrow? The pain and sorrow did come, as it does to us all. It did prove that Job’s faith was real—but it also proved that God is, indeed, a faithful, involved, intelligent Master Artist, with the ability to make a sound, strong vessel.

I don’t know if we can say Job was aware of God walking with him through the fires of affliction. God, in fact, seems to have disappeared from the scene, though Job cries out to Him and begs Him to show Himself. But we can be sure, because we know God’s character, that He never took His eyes off His beloved child.

Father, we have put You on trial. We ask if You are able. We wonder if You know what You are doing. We complain against how You’ve made us, where You’ve put us and what You’ve done to us. Today we declare that You are the Potter. It isn’t about the clay, or the clay’s ability to be or do anything good; it is about Your ability to make us. You are able. Amen.