When Truth Is Hard to Find: Lessons from Jeremiah 5

There’s a sobering moment in Jeremiah 5 where God tells the prophet,

“Roam through the streets of Jerusalem, look and take note; search her squares to see if you can find one person who deals honestly and seeks the truth—if you can, I will forgive this city.”
(Jeremiah 5:1)

That verse has echoed in my heart more than once. Jeremiah was told to walk through a city overflowing with religious talk, worship routines, and sacred traditions—but not a single person could be found who truly sought truth. It wasn’t that they lacked religion; they lacked sincerity.

I read that passage and can’t help but think of the times I’ve looked around, whether in business, church, or even my own circle of friends—and felt that genuine integrity was becoming rare. Even among ministers, I’ve seen people cling to their convictions publicly but privately admit they couldn’t change their minds because it would cost them their position of influence. Some pastors I’ve met, though passionate, seemed to have only a surface-level grasp of Scripture. It’s hard to understand how that happens when studying God’s Word is their full-time calling.

But then, there are those who quietly live out faith in ways that few notice.
One of them was Uche, a man I met when I was still a new believer. I once walked into his room unexpectedly and found him praying—no stage lights, no audience, no microphone, just him speaking with the Lord in secret. It was the first time I realized that other people really do pray to God not to be seen, but because He is real to them. That moment marked me deeply. It showed me that integrity is not about what people see but what happens when no one else is watching.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found honesty to be costly but freeing. Early in my real-estate career, one of my first deals had an appraisal come back lower than the contract price. My sellers wanted to walk away, frustrated and ready to cancel. I remembered telling them earlier that if we hit any major issues, I’d personally help resolve it. So, I gave up part of my commission to make the deal work. It wasn’t easy; I needed that income. But I also knew keeping my word mattered more than padding a paycheck. That’s what Jeremiah 5 reminds me—truth isn’t convenient; it’s costly. Yet, it’s what God looks for.

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The Vineyard That Must Be Pruned (Jeremiah 5:10–19)

After God laments that He can’t find a single righteous person, He tells Jeremiah to go through His vineyard and destroy, but “do not make a full end.” That phrase—“do not make a full end”—has become a lifeline for me. God doesn’t destroy His people for the sake of judgment alone. He prunes so that truth can grow again.

There was a time when God pruned my life by taking away a title I had wrapped my identity around: pastor.
I had earned my Master of Divinity, spent years in ministry, and grown accustomed to people calling me “Pastor Chad.” When that season ended, it felt strange at first to be known as “the real-estate broker” instead. For almost nine years now, I’ve lived without that formal role—but in hindsight, that pruning was necessary.

The truth is, I’ve always felt more like an evangelist than a pastor. My heart has never been primarily for counseling or organizing; it’s been for reaching the lost. I loved being in public places, talking to strangers about Jesus, seeing the Spirit move in ordinary conversations. Losing the title didn’t mean losing the calling—it just meant God was reshaping it.

When I left ministry, I thought maybe I was walking away from what God wanted for me. Sometimes I even wondered if I was a Jonah, sailing toward Tarshish while He was calling me to Nineveh. Yet over the years, I’ve seen that He never stopped using me. He gave me a desire to keep writing—Christian blogs, devotionals, poems, and reflections. Through Conform to Jesus Ministries, I’ve reached over 250,000 people.

That’s God saying, “I’m not done with you, but I need to prune the branches that aren’t bearing fruit.”

I’ve gone through many changes since those early ministry days: medical school, rehabilitation work, launching a grocery-delivery service, becoming a Realtor®, and eventually starting my own brokerage. But through it all, the one consistent thing has been writing about Christ. That’s the vineyard that still bears fruit.

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Forgetting the Provider (Jeremiah 5:20–25)

Later in the chapter, God says of His people,

“They do not say in their heart, ‘Let us fear the Lord our God, who gives rain in its season.’”

That verse strikes me because I’ve lived it.

When I was in medical school back in 2020, my life revolved around ambition. I studied ten hours a day. Eat. Study. Sleep. Repeat. My entire focus was on medicine—on achieving something I thought would make me valuable in God’s eyes. I never stopped to thank Him or even ask if this was His will. I was so caught up in striving that gratitude disappeared.

Ironically, that ambition didn’t lead to success. I failed. Yet that failure was one of the best things that ever happened to me because it forced me to slow down and remember why I wanted to help people in the first place. God used that season to show me that the Provider is greater than the provision.

Now, when I look at my wife and our four children, I realize they are my greatest earthly blessings. My success is not measured in listings, closings, or dollars—it’s in how I treat my family. My wife has stood by me through career changes and moments of discouragement. My kids remind me daily of how dependent I am on grace. I don’t always get it right. I’ve lost my patience, raised my voice, and then had to humble myself and ask for forgiveness. But I know what really matters now.

Work is good, but worship is better. Achievements fade, but character remains.

And even though I haven’t made a ton of money compared to others, I’ve tried to live relationally rich—being present at home, at soccer games, at dinner. In a world that runs after more, I’m learning to pause and say, “Thank You, Lord, for enough.”

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False Prophets and Comfortable Religion (Jeremiah 5:26–31)

The final part of Jeremiah 5 is one of the most haunting in all of Scripture. God says,

“The prophets prophesy falsely, the priests rule by their own authority, and my people love it that way. But what will you do in the end?”

That question—what will you do in the end?—keeps me awake some nights.

One of the biggest challenges in modern faith isn’t atheism; it’s comfort. We love messages that make us feel affirmed but not transformed. That’s what disillusioned me about parts of institutional religion. People read the Bible the way they want to read it. Some interpret Scripture to fit their worldview instead of letting Scripture shape their worldview.

I’ve seen it in both conservative and liberal circles—where intellect and debate become a substitute for obedience. Yes, there are many faithful, humble pastors doing incredible work, and I’m grateful for them. But the danger is when education or eloquence replaces dependence on the Holy Spirit.

When I began exploring the Jewish roots of Christianity, my wife leaned toward Messianic Judaism, and I started paying attention to Scriptures that spoke of the Law being fulfilled, not abolished. I realized how easy it is for traditions to drift from the heartbeat of God. Honoring the Sabbath, keeping the commandments, and seeking authenticity aren’t about legalism—they’re about relationship.

Over time, I came to believe that God values authenticity more than accuracy.

When I first became a believer, I didn’t know what “conservative” or “liberal theology” even meant. I couldn’t define eschatology or hermeneutics. I just loved Jesus and wanted to obey Him. Looking back, I was probably theologically clumsy—but spiritually alive. Somewhere along the way, the roles reversed. I became knowledgeable, but my spirit grew tired.

Leaving my old church was one of the hardest choices I’ve made. Some elders understood and respected my conviction, but others feared that my shift in theology would create division. I didn’t leave out of rebellion—I left out of conviction. I couldn’t keep teaching something I no longer believed was true to the Scriptures.

That experience taught me this: God doesn’t need my agreement with a denomination; He desires my surrender to Him.

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Rediscovery and Renewal: “What Will You Do in the End?”

Jeremiah’s closing question is one that forces reflection: What will you do in the end?

For me, it’s simple—I want to be faithful with whatever time and influence I have left.

Right now, I’d say my relationship with God feels mediocre, at least emotionally. There’s no pretending there. But the difference between now and my ministry years is that I’m no longer serving Him for approval or position. I’m serving Him out of love. Even when my heart doesn’t feel on fire, I know He hasn’t left me. It’s me who drifts, not Him.

Writing again has helped me rediscover the intimacy I used to feel with God. Journaling forces me to slow down, to think, to confess, and to thank Him. Each blog post or reflection becomes a quiet conversation with the Lord—something I can’t experience just through busyness. It’s healing.

Repentance, to me, isn’t just saying sorry—it’s a change of mind that leads to a change of action. When I lose my temper, I remind myself to breathe and trust God. When I’m tempted to covet, I choose contentment. When I get distracted by ambition, I turn my eyes back to what’s eternal.

I still believe God is writing a new chapter. I don’t know what it looks like yet—maybe a return to full-time ministry, maybe more writing and teaching online—but I do know this: His pruning is never wasted.

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Conclusion: A City of Truth

Jeremiah 5 begins with God searching for one honest person and ends with a people who prefer lies to light. But hidden between those verses is grace—“I will not make a full end.”

That’s my story too. God could have given up on me when I drifted, when I chased ambitions, when I got bitter. But He didn’t. Instead, He patiently trimmed, refined, redirected, and kept calling me back.

Maybe He’s doing the same for you. Maybe your life looks more like a vineyard that’s been cut back than one in full bloom. But pruning is proof that God still cares. It means He sees potential where others see waste.

If Jeremiah were walking through our world today—through our cities, churches, and businesses—I think he’d still be asking the same thing: Can you find one person who deals honestly and seeks the truth?

By God’s grace, may we be those people. Not perfect, not powerful—but authentic. People who pray when no one’s watching. People who keep their word when it costs them. People who repent when they’re wrong.

And when the question comes—“What will you do in the end?”—may our answer be simple:
We will seek the truth, because the Truth first sought us.