Perhaps he was in the middle of writing a contract out or a letter, per request and there was a queue. Jeremiah comes to him, “Write down everything God has told me.” He does so. After all, Baruch is the scribe. Just the scribe: the penman to jot down that which he is directed to. Did his hands ache as the scroll curled by his hand and darkened with the ink of many, many words? Finally, Jeremiah’s voice must have faded into silence as the dictation was completed. Maybe Baruch breathed a sigh of relief and shook his hands to help them relax.
“Go… read…the words of the LORD in the ears of the people in the LORD’s house…” This next request from the imprisoned and disliked prophet probably didn’t cause much excitement to its recipient. After all, where had all these warnings gotten Jeremiah? Yet, Baruch followed the instructions, as given. He read it once. Then twice, when the absent princes heard they had missed out. Next, it was borrowed, read again, and then burned. Burnt!
When news got back to Jeremiah, directed by God, he called Baruch again. “Take thee another roll,” he said, “and write all…” Again the pen deftly spells the doomful, warning tones. This time, it was all that and more.
I can only imagine the thoughts that this servant of the nation may have felt, at times. He was only the scribe. Merely the penman, to write what others requested. Not even famous for his own writings.
Yet, God takes a pause, for him – Baruch, the scribe.
Perhaps this work isn’t well-honoured or prestigious, maybe you feel like a nobody.
“…seekest thou great things for thyself?” God asks.
“…seek them not.”
“I will bring evil upon all flesh… but thy life will I give thee…”
They might not notice you. But, I have.