Jeremiah 29:11

Estimated Reading time: 8 minutes · Written by Judy moore

I have always been intrigued by the kinds of sayings that people stick on fridge magnets. They are small, everyday reminders, often humorous or comforting, and sometimes a little too simplistic. Recently, I came across a few that made me smile: one that read, “Every family has one weird relative. If you don’t know who it is, then it’s probably you” and another that cheekily claimed, “In every relationship, there’s one person who stacks the dishwasher like a Scandinavian architect, and one who stacks it like a raccoon on crystal meth.” They’re funny, light-hearted, and yet they reflect something of the everyday tensions and humour of life.

But not all fridge magnet sayings are funny. Some are serious. Some attempt to summarise life’s challenges in a neat, pithy phrase: “I need a day between every day to recover from the day before and prepare for the upcoming day.” Or even more sobering: “Due to the current workload, the light at the end of the tunnel will be turned off until further notice.”

These sorts of sayings can resonate deeply, because life is often hard. There are times when we struggle to believe that there really is light at the end of the tunnel, let alone that God might be present in it all.

That thought led me to reflect on one of the most famous “fridge magnet verses” from the Bible: Jeremiah 29:11—“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” It’s a verse that many people hold close to their hearts. Some have it framed on their walls; others received it as their baptism verse; many have carried it as a source of encouragement in dark times. I understand why it is precious. But I’ve also learned that verses like this need to be read in their context if we are to understand their true power.

Living in Exile

Jeremiah spoke those words to a people who were broken, displaced, and in exile. The people of Israel had been carried away from Jerusalem into Babylon. They had lost their home, their place of worship, their sense of identity. They were asking themselves: “Why are we here? Why has God abandoned us? Surely this is not where we are meant to be?” Their prayers were desperate cries of longing for deliverance: “Get us out of here!”

But God’s word through Jeremiah was not what they expected. Instead of promising an instant escape, God told them: “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have children…seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.” (Jeremiah 29:4–7)

This is not the quick fix they had hoped for. Instead of escape, God was calling them to settle in. To live fully even in exile. To be fruitful even in hardship. To pray for the city that was not their home. And then, in the midst of this long, painful season—one that would last seventy years—came the promise: “For I know the plans I have for you…”

The hope of Jeremiah 29:11 is not a quick remedy, but a long and slow promise. It is hope in the midst of hardship. It is a call to trust God not only for a future deliverance but also in the present reality of exile.

Misusing Scripture

I know all too well how easy it is to pluck verses out of context and use them to justify our own desires. Years ago, in a relationship I desperately wanted to rekindle, I stumbled across a verse in Nahum: “Disaster will not come a second time.” I seized upon it as divine confirmation that I should take the person back. It suited what I wanted. I even showed my sister with excitement, insisting, “Look, God says it will be different this time!” But as time passed, the relationship unravelled painfully again, and I had to confront the truth: I had twisted Scripture to fit my own will. I hadn’t surrendered to God’s leading; I had manipulated a verse to soothe my own desires.

Looking back, I realise that Scripture demands to be read carefully, in context, and with humility. Jeremiah’s audience, too, may have been tempted to interpret his words as an immediate promise of deliverance. But Jeremiah made it clear: this was not about instant results. It was about trust in God’s slow and redemptive work.

Living as Exiles

The truth is that we are all, in some way, exiles. Both Peter and James describe Christians as resident aliens in the New Testament. We are people living in a world that is not our ultimate home, carrying within us a longing for God’s kingdom. That means we often feel unsettled, uneasy, out of place. We may look around at our world and our cities and think, “This is not how it should be.” But exile does not mean purposelessness. Just as God instructed Israel to build houses, plant gardens, and pray for their city, so we too are called to live faithfully where we are, even when it feels uncomfortable.

I remember moving to Dudley years ago and looking out of the window with tears, crying, “God, not here. Please not here.” But over time, as I prayed for the people of Dudley, my heart softened. I grew to love the place and the community, not because the circumstances changed overnight, but because prayer reshaped my perspective. Exile can become a place where love grows.

Ambassadors of Shalom

Jeremiah also calls the people to seek the “peace and prosperity” of the city. The Hebrew word here is shalom, which is far richer than the English word “peace.” Shalom means wholeness, flourishing, harmony, and completeness. To seek the shalom of the city is to work and pray for the wellbeing of everyone—socially, spiritually, emotionally, and physically.

This vision of shalom challenges me. It reminds me that as a follower of Jesus, I am an ambassador of a different kingdom. My true citizenship is in heaven, but here on earth, I represent Christ. Paul says in 2 Corinthians 5:20, “We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us.” That is both a privilege and a responsibility.

Sometimes seeking shalom is about grand gestures, but more often it is about small acts of beauty and kindness in broken places. I once met a woman in Wales who lived on a tough estate where theft and vandalism were rife. She wanted to bring a touch of beauty to her neighbourhood, so she placed two pots of flowers outside her front door. Neighbours warned her they would be stolen, and indeed they were. But she replaced them. And over time, others began placing flowers outside their own homes. A small act of defiant beauty sparked a quiet movement of hope.

We may not change everything overnight, but each of us can plant seeds of shalom in our communities. A conversation with a fearful stranger, a willingness to host someone in need, or even simply listening well can become acts of kingdom significance.

Hope That Endures

Jeremiah 29:11 is a verse about endurance as much as it is about hope. God’s promise to prosper and not harm, to give a future and a hope, was spoken into a context where suffering was real and long-lasting. The Israelites would not see their exile end quickly, yet God reassured them that His purposes were good.

I have seen both quick and slow answers to prayer. I’ve witnessed people set free from addictions overnight, and I’ve seen others walk a long, painful road of recovery with God’s Spirit gently restoring them over time. Both are miracles. Both speak of God’s faithfulness. But the slower work often shapes us more deeply. As Job said after his trials, “My ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you.” (Job 42:5)

A friend of mine, who lost his wife to cancer and raised three young children alone, once described his faith journey as moving from act one to act two of his life. After years of resilience, he found himself utterly broken when his closest friend left his church. He told his spiritual director, “I think I’ve lost my faith.” The wise reply came: “No, you’re just in the dark between acts. It’s like the lights have gone out, but you can hear the furniture being moved. God will turn the lights back on when the time is right.” That image has stayed with me: trusting in the darkness what God has proved in the light.

Freedom in Christ

True hope is not about escaping hardship; it is about finding freedom in Christ even within it. I once heard the story of a young man dragged to watch a play about Corrie ten Boom at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. He resisted, angry with his parents for imposing faith on him. But in the play’s final scene, a Nazi officer tells Corrie, imprisoned for hiding Jews, “Madam, you are more free now than I will ever be.” The young man was struck by the paradox: she was in prison, yet freer than her captor. That night, he chose to follow Jesus. He discovered that freedom is not having everything we want, when we want it, but knowing we belong to Christ, even in the hardest of places.

That is the freedom Jeremiah promised to Israel, and it is the freedom Jesus promises to us. We are no longer captives to sin. We are no longer abandoned in exile. We are citizens of heaven, ambassadors of shalom, carriers of hope.

Our Response

Jeremiah’s words remain as relevant now as they were to the exiles in Babylon. They call me to trust God’s purposes, even when life feels uncertain. They remind me that exile is not wasted time, but a place where beauty and fruitfulness can still emerge. They commission me to be an ambassador of shalom in my city, seeking the flourishing of others. And they assure me that God’s plans are always for hope, never for harm.

When I look again at Jeremiah 29:11, I no longer see it as a quick fix or a sentimental slogan fit for a fridge magnet. I see it as a deep promise that stretches across time: a promise of God’s goodness, His mercy, and His unshakeable plans. It is an invitation to live fully where I am, to plant gardens in unlikely soil, and to trust that even in exile, God is making all things new.

The original teaching has been edited for clarity and brevity; This is not a transcript.