Pain and Promise: Acts of Hope

 Psalm 30 is what we call a song of thanksgiving. It is what the Hebrew calls a “new song,” a song that is sung after a person or a people have been delivered by God from crisis, whatever that crisis may be. 

Our Jeremiah text this week names one of those crises. An existential crisis for Judah and, particularly, for Jerusalem. Our story opens in the tenth year of King Zedekiah of Judah. Jerusalem is under siege by the king of Babylon. Jeremiah, once again, is imprisoned for harsh and difficult words he has spoken to Zedekiah: they are words of the demise of Jerusalem and its king, both of whom will be taken into exile. We are at the point of death that is coming in many forms.

Our reading is from Chapter 32. Its placement is odd, because surrounding this chapter are chapters from the second part of Jeremiah, what is often called the Book of Comfort. Chapters 30, 31, and 33 are all chapters that promise Israel’s return from exile. Set into these words of restoration is this odd story, a story about a real estate transaction.

We read now from Jeremiah, chapter 32.

Jeremiah received the Lord’s word in the tenth year of Judah’s King Zedekiah, which was the eighteenth year of Nebuchadnezzar’s rule. At that time, the army of the Babylonian king had surrounded Jerusalem, and the prophet Jeremiah was confined to the prison quarters in the palace of Judah’s king. Judah’s King Zedekiah had Jeremiah sent there after questioning him.

Jeremiah said, The Lord’s word came to me: Your cousin Hanamel, Shallum’s son, is on his way to see you; and when he arrives, he will tell you: “Buy my field in Anathoth, for by law you are next in line to purchase it.” And just as the Lord had said, my cousin Hanamel showed up at the prison quarters and told me, “Buy my field in Anathoth in the land of Benjamin, for you are next in line and have a family obligation to purchase it.” Then I was sure this was the Lord’s doing.

So I bought the field in Anathoth from my cousin Hanamel, and weighed out for him seventeen shekels of silver. I signed the deed, sealed it, had it witnessed, and weighed out the silver on the scales. Then I took the deed of purchase—the sealed copy, with its terms and conditions, and the unsealed copy— and gave it to Baruch, Neriah’s son and Mahseiah’s grandson, before my cousin Hanamel and the witnesses named in the deed, as well as before all the Judeans who were present in the prison quarters. I charged Baruch before all of them: “The Lord of heavenly forces, the God of Israel, proclaims: Take these documents—this sealed deed of purchase along with the unsealed one—and put them into a clay container so they will last a long time. The Lord of heavenly forces, the God of Israel, proclaims: Houses, fields, and vineyards will again be bought in this land.”

Jeremiah has received a word from Yahweh, from God. "Your cousin, Hanamel, will come to you in prison and offer you the opportunity to purchase a piece of property.” Jeremiah has first dibs on this property. He has the right to “redeem” this family property according to Jewish law that provides for the next of kin to buy back property that is in danger of being lost to debt. Jeremiah is that next of kin. 

When his cousin arrives, Jeremiah is now sure that this is the work of God. The story continues with surprising technical details of that transaction. Jeremiah prepares the deed, with the help of his personal secretary and scribe, Baruch. He gathers the necessary witnesses for the transaction. Then, Jeremiah weighs out the money, seventeen shekels of silver. He signs the deed, seals it, gets witnesses, and, again, weighs the money on scales. He takes the sealed deed of purchase that contains the terms of the agreement and gives it to Baruch in the presence of his cousin, charging Baruch with putting them into a clay container - the safest of places - so that they will last a long, long time.

Like the witnesses to this transaction, we are likely questioning in our thoughts the wisdom of investing in land which, at that very moment, is being besieged and destroyed by a large foreign power. It makes no sense. As if Jeremiah can read their thoughts, and ours, he responds with a word of hope. Someday, he says...someday, there will again be fields and houses and vineyards on this land.

It’s an act of hope. A symbolic act of hope that proclaim Jeremiah’s words through action. At this worst moment in Judah’s life, Jeremiah’s act of hope - his land deal - shows that there will be a future. A hopeful future for God’s people. It is an action taken in the face of what seems impossible. Proclaiming in the thick of captivity that there will be life again in the land of Judah. That not only will Jeremiah survive, but the land will, too. 

We’re a lot like Jeremiah, I think. As I’ve been reflecting back over these past 15 months, I’ve been thinking about similar acts of hope that I’ve engaged in myself or seen others engage in. Planting a garden in the midst of a pandemic is an act of hope. Sewing masks for healthcare workers is an act of hope. Birthday parades are acts of hope. Assembly and delivering gift baskets to nursing home residents, isolated from their families, is an act of hope. Recognizing and cheering for frontline workers is an act of hope. Creatively changing an entire curriculum to teach online is an act of hope. Acts of kindness, of volunteering, of charitable giving are all acts of hope. Learning a new way of gathering online is an act of hope. Joining a protest for change is an act of hope. Walking in a Pride parade is an act of hope.

All of these acts that we witnessed and, perhaps, engaged in ourselves are symbolic actions that say that no matter how hard and difficult things are, no matter how important it is that we sit in our grief, no matter our need to process our grief and pain in a healthy way, we believe the God will bring us through this. And that God will not only bring us through this, but that God will be us to a new day. To a new way of being.

This is what Psalm 30 speaks to. This song of thanksgiving. Or what Brueggemann calls psalms of reorientation, or new orientation. It bears witness to the surprising gift of new life when none had been expected. It recognizes that we have made it through the storm and reached a new place. Yet, having reached this new place, there is no going back to what was before. That we can no longer pretend that all will always be well and that all is as it should be. And yet, that even in the midst of our Saturday - as we have sat for a very long time in Saturday - we have not lost the hope that despair will not win out. And that evil does not have the last word.

This is what Jeremiah’s act of hope proclaims. This is of what Psalm 30 sings. That those who have walked the darkest valleys, who have stood in the midst of shaking mountains, who have experienced life when the bottom drops out, will, with creation, in time experience new life and grace. Together. As God’s beloved people. 

This is our hope. This is God’s promise. Amen.

Preached June 27, 2021, online with Third Lutheran, Louisville, and Grace & Glory, Goshen.

5th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15, Psalm 30

Pain and Promise: God Stoops Down

Last week, we began our six week series through Jeremiah and, accompanying this, the Psalms because, just as with us, the songs of the people often express their experience.

We also talked about trauma. And how, after an experience of trauma, it is natural for people - and us - to try to make sense of what has been experienced, to make meaning of it. Much of scripture is an attempt by God’s people to make meaning out of trauma and traumatic experiences. If this is not done - if time is not taken to make sense of the experience, it can have devastating effects. Leaving people isolated and suffering. Leading to the breakdown of community and the broader society. And even leading to a loss of faith. 

Jeremiah and the Psalms offer a way. A way by considering the story of Israel’s exile to help us make sense of our traumatic experience that can help to lead us out of the chaos to a new way of being and a new understanding of God. 

Last week, in our opening texts from Jeremiah, we heard about Jeremiah’s call - two aspects of what God had called him to do. The first could be identified as the problem or the cause - what caused God to call Jeremiah as prophet to Judah.  The people have been going after other gods. They have been oppressors, particularly, of the alien, the orphan, and the widow - those who represent the most vulnerable members in society. The second aspect we heard was the nature of Jeremiah’s call. The reason he was selected by God and sent to the people. A twofold call. First, to dig up and pull down, and to destroy and to demolish. But, then, to build and to plant. 

Today, we move to the potter’s shed. And read from Jeremiah, chapter 18.

Jeremiah received the Lord’s word: Go down to the potter’s house, and I’ll give you instructions about what to do there. So I went down to the potter’s house; he was working on the potter’s wheel. But the piece he was making was flawed while still in his hands, so the potter started on another, as seemed best to him. Then the Lord’s word came to me: House of Israel, can’t I deal with you like this potter, declares the Lord? Like clay in the potter’s hand, so are you in mine, house of Israel! At any time I may announce that I will dig up, pull down, and destroy a nation or kingdom; but if that nation I warned turns from its evil, then I’ll relent and not carry out the harm I intended for it. At the same time, I may announce that I will build and plant a nation or kingdom; but if that nation displeases and disobeys me, then I’ll relent and not carry out the good I intended for it. Now say to the people of Judah and those living in Jerusalem: This is what the Lord says: I am a potter preparing a disaster for you; I’m working out a plan against you. So each one of you, turn from your evil ways; reform your ways and your actions. --Jeremiah 18:1-11 (CEB)

It might be hard for us, with our 21st century sensibilities, to accept the image of God as some remote potter, up in heaven, molding and shaping our destiny. Yet, the word in Hebrew used here for “potter” has the same root as the word in Genesis for “creator.” Just as God shaped every beast of the field and the birds, the heavens and the earth and all aspects of creation, so, too, God shaped humankind. From the very dust of the ground.

So, perhaps, it’s not such a stretch for us to imagine God as potter. Molding and shaping us. Sometimes needing to start over because of a flaw or blemish in the clay. There are no specifics as to what the blemish is. Just that, for whatever reason, the potter remakes the piece into another that is pleasing to his eyes. Do you notice, though, that the potter never tosses the defective clay away? But, continues to work it. To mold it and shape it with his hands. To form it into a thing of beauty.

This what God desires for our world and for each of us. That it and we might be things of beauty. That we might be fully transformed and made whole, and then serve in the world to share the fullness we have been given. A wholeness and a fullness that comes Christ. That is offered to each of us. And to everyone. Graciously so. 

But, too, often, as with the people of Judah, we turn to other “gods.” Money, prestige, power - those things that draw us away from God and often result in oppression, as we seek to preserve what we have with no regard to the fullness or lack thereof for others in our world. It’s why at the end of our reading today, there is a call to repent. To turn back from the evil that not only separates us from God, but that separates us from each other. God is affected by this evil. Both the Jeremiah text and the psalm report that God is impacted by the actions of God’s creation - displeased with the defects. Towering above the nations, the psalmist writes, yet stooping down to correct the injustices perpetuated by humankind. 

How do we turn back? How do we center ourselves in the midst of the pull of the world and, particularly, that which would pull us away from God and from God’s desire? This, too, is suggested by the psalmist in the opening words. “Servants of God, praise, praise, the name of the Lord!”

Each week, when we bring our worship, our attention, our ears, our hearts to God in this centering space, we can clear space in our heads and our hearts to discern that which pulls us away from God. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, we can turn back to God and be re-centered again. Reminded, once again, that God is present. That God is not some distant, unmoved creator. But that God comes to us into the chaos. Restores us. And works to bring us and all people into relationship and into community. Because this is God’s plan. It is the purpose of the Great Potter - a purpose that supersedes all others. A plan to mold and shape and create out of our flaw and defect and trauma, a world, here on earth, that is a thing of beauty.

How can we not say, “Hallelujah!” Amen.

Preached June 6, 2021, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Goshen, KY, and Third Lutheran, Louisville, KY.

2nd Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Jeremiah 18:1-11, Psalm 113.

The Hope of the Messiah - Return, Rend, Restoration

Our text this morning comes from the prophet Joel. As you hear the reading, it may seem odd to hear these words during the Advent season. We more typically hear the first part of our reading on Ash Wednesday. And the second part on Pentecost Sunday. 

Our reading this morning is from Joel, chapter 2.

Yet even now, says the Lord,

    return to me with all your heart,

with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;

    rend your hearts and not your clothing.

Return to the Lord, your God,

    for he is gracious and merciful,

slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love,

    and relents from punishing.

Then afterward

    I will pour out my spirit on all flesh;

your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,

    your old men shall dream dreams,

    and your young men shall see visions.

Even on the male and female slaves,

    in those days, I will pour out my spirit. --Joel 2:12-13, 28-29 (NRSV)

The first chapter of Joel, preceding today’s lesson, opens with a lament. It describes a country overrun by a horrible infestation of locusts. The swarm has completely devastated the countryside, leaving it in ruins. The situation is dire. Not only is there environmental calamity and devastation, but the people are experiencing famine and starvation. There is no food. Not even enough to offer a sacrifice to God. There is nothing with which to worship.

Then, in the second chapter, the prophet Joel switches the metaphor. To an invading army that in the same way as the locusts that preceded it. These images of invasion and destruction are a familiar story for the readers of Joel. The people of Israel have lived this story over and over again. It goes like this…

In Genesis, God promised Abraham and his descendants that they would inhabit this land called Canaan. Canaan is sandwiched between the vast Mediterranean Ocean to the west and the desolate desert to the East. After years of being enslaved by Egypt, God frees Israel and makes a covenant with them in Exodus. Here, God promises to be with them. And that they will become a holy nation. A royal priesthood.

God gives them instructions to build a tabernacle that will represent the Garden of Eden and God’s relationship with all humanity. King Solomon will eventually build a beautiful and magnificent temple to replace the Tabernacle and will establish it in the city of Jerusalem. This temple was to remind the people that the Spirit of God filled their covenant with God. That they planted like a vineyard so that the world could taste the love of God. Through them. 

This relationship with God was to be the source of the rivers of life for all nations, for all humanity.

Things went fairly well, at first. Under King David, the twelve tribes of Israel were united into one kingdom. But, then, King Solomon built the temple. And he did it by over-taxing the people and by using slave labor. The kingdom was torn apart. A civil war led to two separate nations: Israel in the north. And Judah in the south. 

Immediately, Israel repeated the story of the Golden Calf from Exodus and established two golden calves to replace the temple. Judah wasn’t much better. The majority of her kings led like tyrants: oppressing the people, driven by greed, gluttony, and violence. They brought the gods of Canaan into the very temple itself. 

Eventually a series of invading armies destroyed the nation. The people of Israel, in the north were completely destroyed by Assyria. The people of Judah, in the south, were carried into captivity by the Babylonians. Solomon’s beautiful temple lay in ruins.  The people lived in exile - torn apart from their land, their communities, from the temple - the center of their worship, and from everything they knew. 

Yes, the readers of Joel knew the story of the invading locusts all too well.

Things were bad. Devastated. Left in ruin. The people far away. And yet...

...even now…Even in the midst of all of the betrayal and corruption, God stands ready to receive them. Return to me with all your heart, God says through the prophet. Return to me with fasting, with weeping, with mourning. Rend your heart and not your clothing.

You see, the traditional symbol of mourning in Israel and even today was to tear one’s robe open or to rip one’s clothing. Like wearing black to a funeral or having ashes smeared on our foreheads on Ash Wednesday. These outward symbols are good. But, they can become meaningless acts. What matters most to God is not the outward ritual - the ways or the places in which we worship. What matters most to God is our hearts. What God desires is hearts that are rendered. That are broken wide open in all honesty. In all of our anguish and grief. Hearts torn open, revealing the pain, the sorrow, the regret, the shame that each one of us carries deep inside. To rend our hearts is to break them wide open and pour everything out to God. 

To God. Who is gracious. Merciful. Slow to anger. Abounding in steadfast love. A god who relents from punishing. A God who is good. Who desires to be the center for us. To be the source of our well-being, our shalom.

This verse in Joel is a quote from Exodus 34. It’s one of the most repeated verses in the Bible. It’s the way in the Exodus story that God describes God’s very self to the people who have just betrayed the covenant at Sinai. God is not some cruel tyrant who wants oppressed servants to obey his every whim. God is a loving parent - father and mother - who longs to be in relationship with God’s children. Who longs to see God’s children thrive in God’s beautiful garden, created just for them.

When we allow our hearts to be opened by the Spirit and allow ourselves to be turned back to the grace, mercy, and loyal, never-ending love of God, our hearts, broken and hurt as they may be, connect with God’s heart. And, then, the love begins to flow...

...the Spirit of the LORD flows freely through our lives. Flowing through everybody, not just the elite or the chosen. But, through all flesh. Anyone who’s heart resonates with the heart of God - the heart of love - can flow in the spirit of God.

The readers of Joel longed for the day when the Messiah would come to restore the kingdom of God on earth as it is in heaven. We, on this side of the Advent, know that this Messiah is Jesus. This is what Peter proclaimed in Acts 2. That Jesus was God in the flesh. That Jesus was the picture of what it looks like when humanity fully resonates with the heart of God. 

Jesus. Who spoke truth to power. Who called out corruption and the abuse of the weak. Who touched the poor, the sick, the exiled. And who reconciled all things with his own self-sacrifice and forgiveness. Who inaugurated God’s kingdom here on earth. Who promises restoration that begins with the rebuilding of the natural world, which is where the story of creation first began - restoration and re-creation. 

And then the outpouring of the spirit and the embracing of all nations. All humanity. Living in abundance and well-being, with silos full of grain and no worries for anyone about where their next meal will come from. This was what the people of Joel’s day dreamed of. This is the unfolding vision in which we live, in this post-Advent world even in the midst of what may seem to be the darkness of the present time. So, come, people of God. Turn back to God. Here. In this place. In this time. Break open your whole heart. Pour out all the anguish, all of the sorrow, all of the confusion, all of the anger that has characterized our world and our lives in this time. Your lament is welcome before God, who is waiting there for you with a promise of new things and new possibilities. That there will be a future. And a future future. And, when you do, know that the Spirit will not be withheld from your broken heart. She will bind up your wounds, replace your doom with visions of what can be, and help us hear each other into being and into continuing to do the work of God in building up the kingdom of God here on earth. This is God’s promise in Joel. A promise for you and me. A promise for everyone. Amen.

Preached online Sunday, December 6, 2020 with Grace & Glory/Third Lutheran churches.

Advent 2

Readings: Joel 2:12-13, 28-29; Luke 11:13

Promises Made, Promises Kept: Joy and Sorrow

In the first year of King Cyrus of Persia, in order that the word of the Lord by the mouth of Jeremiah might be accomplished, the Lord stirred up the spirit of King Cyrus of Persia so that he sent a herald throughout all his kingdom, and also in a written edict declared:

“Thus says King Cyrus of Persia: The Lord, the God of heaven, has given me all the kingdoms of the earth, and he has charged me to build him a house at Jerusalem in Judah. Any of those among you who are of his people—may their God be with them!—are now permitted to go up to Jerusalem in Judah, and rebuild the house of the Lord, the God of Israel—he is the God who is in Jerusalem; and let all survivors, in whatever place they reside, be assisted by the people of their place with silver and gold, with goods and with animals, besides freewill offerings for the house of God in Jerusalem.”

When the seventh month came, and the Israelites were in the towns, the people gathered together in Jerusalem. Then Jeshua son of Jozadak, with his fellow priests, and Zerubbabel son of Shealtiel with his kin set out to build the altar of the God of Israel, to offer burnt offerings on it, as prescribed in the law of Moses the man of God. They set up the altar on its foundation, because they were in dread of the neighboring peoples, and they offered burnt offerings upon it to the Lord, morning and evening. And they kept the festival of booths, as prescribed, and offered the daily burnt offerings by number according to the ordinance, as required for each day.

When the builders laid the foundation of the temple of the Lord, the priests in their vestments were stationed to praise the Lord with trumpets, and the Levites, the sons of Asaph, with cymbals, according to the directions of King David of Israel; and they sang responsively, praising and giving thanks to the Lord,

“For he is good,

for his steadfast love endures forever toward Israel.”

And all the people responded with a great shout when they praised the Lord, because the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid. But many of the priests and Levites and heads of families, old people who had seen the first house on its foundations, wept with a loud voice when they saw this house, though many shouted aloud for joy, so that the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people’s weeping, for the people shouted so loudly that the sound was heard far away.  --Ezra 1:1-4; 3:1-4, 10-13 (NRSV)

Grace, mercy, and peace to you, from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

As most of you know, I spent Thanksgiving week with my son and daughter-in-law in St. Paul, Minnesota. Although I was with my family and we had a wonderful time together, I still wasn’t completely home. Home for me, even after all these years of being away - home for me is Timber Lake, South Dakota.

How many of you are going home this Christmas? What are some of the things that you look forward to when you go home? 

Today’s story is a story of going home. Since September, we’ve been following the stories of the people of Israel in the Hebrew scriptures. At times, these stories have been difficult. We heard of separation and division. Of battle and loss. Of good kings and evil leaders. And, then, last week, we heard of the story of the exile of God’s people. Carried away from home by their Babylonian captors. Scattered across the empire. All of God’s people taken away from home. From the place they love, the place promised to their enslaved ancestors, the place given to Israel after the exodus. The people of God exiled.

But, today’s story is one of going home. We heard this possibility promised last week in Isaiah - that God would raise up a Messiah to return Israel to their land out of exile. We know that, from the theological perspective of Israel, this Messiah was Cyrus the Great, emperor of Persia. We heard, in our opening verses, the official proclamation of Cyrus, issued throughout the empire to all of the diasporan Jews: Go home! Go back to the land of Judah, your home. To Jerusalem. And rebuild the house of God. 

But this wasn’t all that Cyrus commanded. He also commanded those living among the dispersed Jews to send them off with silver and gold, with goods and livestock, and with other gifts for God’s house in Jerusalem. Everything they would need to return home, to restore their lives, and to begin to rebuild the temple. Our reading tells us that the whole assembly together totaled 42,360, not including the 7,337 male and female servants, the 200 male and female singers, the 736 horses, the 245 mules, the 435 camels, and the 6,720 donkeys - a total of 57,373 men, women, and beasts. What a procession this must have been as Israel went home!

It was in the seventh month after their return, that all of them gathered in Jerusalem at the temple - or what was left of the temple - this place had been the center of their religious life, where they had experienced the presence of God. They gathered around the ruins of the temple as one. Then, they rebuilt the altar on the very spot where the original had been built. And then, as one people, they worshiped God. Home. Together. Giving thanks to God for their return.

The next step for them was to rebuild the temple. They hired masons and carpenters. They bartered with neighboring people to bring cedar wood by sea. All of this had been authorized by Cyrus - this promised Hebrew Messiah. In two years time, they were ready to build. Once again, all of Israel gathered in Jerusalem to mark this new beginning. When the builders laid the foundation stone of God’s new temple, our story tells us that the priests, clothed in their vestments and carrying trumpets, and the Levites with their cymbals - all of them rose up to praise the Lord, using the very words or words similar to the psalm we spoke earlier. “God is good. God’s graciousness for Israel lasts forever.”

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had this experience. But, I know that when I went home for the first time after having moved and lived away for a few years in a very different place, things were not the same. Even though they may have looked the same and the people were the same, for me, things felt different. Perhaps it was because I had changed. Perhaps it was because I had experienced so much in those few short years. Isn’t that often what it’s like? That as time passes and our life happens, we change. Maybe what we remember from the past isn’t quite what it was. Maybe we’ve learned to think in a different way as a result of new experiences. Maybe we’ve gained a new understanding about life. Maybe we’ve lost things or loved ones. Or shed old ideas. For whatever reason, when we’ve returned home, thinking we would get it back, that things would be the same, it’s not. So much so that coming home doesn’t feel like coming home.

This is what was happening to many of the Israelites in our story, particularly, those who were older. Who had experienced loss and sadness. Who had felt the pain of exile. Who had known the grandeur of the previous temple and could easily see that this new temple was not like the old. That it was much less. That is wasn’t the same, but that it was very different.

And so, as the others shout with joy and thanksgiving, they weep with sadness and other bittersweet emotion. The sounds of joy and sadness intermingled. So much so that they could not be distinguished from each other. Heard at a great distance. With shouts and weeping mixed all together.

For many of us, Advent can be a very similar time of mixed emotion. As we anticipate Christmas, it’s hard not to feel somewhat bittersweet. To feel as though joy and sorrow are wrapped together. Intermingled. Almost hard to separate. Because life now is not what it was. What or whom we’ve lost will not return. What we remember in our pasts are no longer how things are. 

Nevertheless, like Israel, we are invited into this place - into worship with all of our emotion, with our joy and laughter and with our sadness and tears. That we might experience the presence of God. That we might remember God’s faithfulness. And that we might trust that God is working to make all things new.

Because this was God’s promise for Israel. This is God’s promise for us. Amen.

Preached Sunday, December 15, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Advent 3
Readings: Ezra 1:1-4; 3:1-4, 10-13; Luke 2:25-32; Psalm 102:12-22.

Promises Made, Promises Kept: Comfort, Comfort!

Comfort, O comfort my people,
    says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
    and cry to her
that she has served her term,
    that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand
    double for all her sins.

A voice cries out:
“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
    make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
Every valley shall be lifted up,
    and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
    and the rough places a plain.
Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
    and all people shall see it together,
    for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”

A voice says, “Cry out!”
    And I said, “What shall I cry?”
All people are grass,
    their constancy is like the flower of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
    when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;
    surely the people are grass.
The grass withers, the flower fades;
    but the word of our God will stand forever.
Get you up to a high mountain,
    O Zion, herald of good tidings;
lift up your voice with strength,
    O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings,
    lift it up, do not fear;
say to the cities of Judah,
    “Here is your God!”
See, the Lord God comes with might,
    and his arm rules for him;
his reward is with him,
    and his recompense before him.
He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
    he will gather the lambs in his arms,
and carry them in his bosom,
    and gently lead the mother sheep. --Isaiah 40:1-11 (NRSV)


Grace, mercy, and peace from God, our Father, and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

After the orchestral overture, every performance of the Messiah begins with this Tenor solo. “Comfort ye. Comfort ye my people.” 

This past week, along with a couple of our members, I attended a Messiah sing-along at Our Savior’s Lutheran. If you’ve never participated in one, I encourage you to go.  I’ve both heard and sung the Messiah a lot. In high school, our choir performed parts of it. In college, I sang in several performances of it. And, since then, I’ve listened to it numerous times, as well as participated in sing-alongs in California, Texas, and, now, here. One could say that I know this piece of music well.

There was one thing I forgot, though. While I know the words well and know that the entire work is based on scripture, I’d forgotten that the first third of it is based on Isaiah 40, which is our text today. It’s a text written from a place of exile. Or at least this part is. Because Isaiah is believed to have been written in two, perhaps even three different parts at different times. The first part, ending with chapter 39, was written before the destruction of Jerusalem. Before the defeat and exile of Judah by the Babylonians. There is a marked difference, though, between chapter 39 and chapter 40 - chapter 40 identified as the beginning of Second Isaiah. This difference was first identified by careful readers of scripture in the 12th century, who noticed that it came from a person and a time quite different from that of First Isaiah, chapters 1-39. 

Today’s text is set about 50 years after the remainder of the Jewish people have been dispersed throughout the empire. The empire itself has now been defeated by Cyrus the Great of Persia. The one whom the Hebrew scriptures call the Messiah. Not Jesus - who we, with our New Testament lenses - identify as the Messiah, but Cyrus the Great. Because it is this Persian - this Messiah - who will restore remnants of the Jewish people to their homeland.  It is this good news of a coming second exodus to the promised land that begins with Isaiah 40, our reading for this morning.

“Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.” The reading opens in the divine court. God Almighty is imagined seated on a throne, surrounded by many courtiers. Some of these are the former gods of the Canaanites. Others are specific Israelite figure who will attend the divine king. Admission to this court, to this divine council, can make one a prophet in Israel. It is to this divine council that God speaks these opening words of consolation. In the Hebrew, they are an imperative plural. A command directed to many. “Comfort my people,” God the Almighty God commands God’s court. “Jerusalem has served her term. Her penalty has been paid. Speak tenderly to her.”

One rabbi in Jewish thought argues that it was God who needed to be comforted rather than the people. He argued that, if someone owns a vineyard and thieves enter it and destroy it, who is it who needs the comfort - the vineyard, or its owner? Or, if someone burns down a house, who needs comforting, the owners of the house or the structure that burned? This rabbinic midrash argues that it is God’s house (the temple) that has been burned, and God’s vineyard (the people) who have been destroyed. We should be comforting God, not expecting God to comfort us, writes this wise Jewish rabbi.

The reading continues with a command in verse 3, from one of the members of the divine court. To prepare a way. We, in the 21st century, should easily understand what it might take to build this highway back. To knock down the mountains, to level out the valleys, to make the ground even so that the route will be smooth and even. So that it will be easy to traverse. But the meaning here in Hebrew is not entirely clear. It can be interpreted in two ways: that the way is being made for God to return to God’s people, or that the way is being made for God’s people to return to God. However one might interpret this, the meaning is clear: God and God’s people are no longer to be apart. The exodus that follows this new and level highway will once again bring them in grand procession back to Jerusalem. In a procession so grand that, in fact, “all flesh” will see it.

It is God who has engineered this return. Not human beings, whose qualities wither and face. But, God, with the power and steadfastness of God’s Word. God has made this happen. God, who is strong and mighty, who protects God’s people. God, who is also gentle and tender, caring for God’s flock as a shepherd cares for her sheep. God comes with a reward, not as God had once come with punishment. This coming will bring freedom and happiness. This coming will bring joy to the people at last.

It’s so tempting for us to interpret this text with our New Testament lenses as a prophetic text, announcing the eventual birth of John the Baptist - that messenger bringing the good news of Jesus. But, what if we were to simply let this text from Second Isaiah stand on its own? What meaning might it have for us, as God’s people in our context?

Perhaps it's a recognition that all of us, in some form, in some way in our lives, like Israel, have experienced trauma. Now we have not experienced displacement, unlike many others in our world today. But trauma still exists in our lives, however it may manifest itself. Perhaps, it's the loss of a spouse. Or a child. A health diagnosis, or an unexpected hospitalization. Perhaps it’s the loss of a job, or a house, or a way of life. Perhaps, it’s the loss of our youth, or our independence. I dare say that each one of us has experienced trauma at some point, or at many points, in our lives.

And, for a time, we may walk away from God. And from church, from the community of God’s people as we try to make sense of our hurt and our loss. Yet, eventually, God works in our hearts to bring us back. Not only to God, but, to each other. Because it is here, in this place, among God’s people, where we who need comfort receive it. Where we give it to those who need it. The command to comfort in Isaiah 40 is an imperative plural. We are to comfort. We are to receive comfort. Here. With God, among God’s people, in God’s church. It is why God is always working to bring us back.

Earlier this year, an important, contemporary theologian died. His name was Eugene Peterson. You might know him best as the author of “The Message Bible,” an influential paraphrase of scripture intended to make its message understandable for us in this time and place. At his funeral, his son Leif eulogized him, revealing that he used to joke with his father and tell him that he really “only had one sermon, one message” even though he had spent decades in creatively sharing the Bible with people in new ways. “It’s almost laughable how you fooled them,” his son wrote. “How for 30 years every week you made them think you were saying something new. They thought you were a magician in your long black robe hiding so much in your ample sleeves, always pulling out something fresh and making them think it was just for them.”

“But they didn’t know how simple it all was. They were blind to your secret,” Leif Peterson said. It was a secret he knew, though, because it was what his father had been telling him every night for 50 years. It’s a secret we know, because it’s the same message we hear in our Isaiah text today and in every part of scripture we read and listen to Sunday after Sunday after Sunday and in between.

What is this secret that Eugene Peterson whispered nightly to his son? This good news for the people of Isaiah’s day? This message for us?

God loves you.
God forgives you.
God is coming after you.
God is relentless.

Amen.

Preached Sunday, December 8, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Advent 2
Readings: Isaiah 40:1-11, Psalm 85, Mark 1:1-4

Living Whole

Ho, everyone who thirsts,
    come to the waters;
and you that have no money,
    come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
    without money and without price.
Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,
    and your labor for that which does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,
    and delight yourselves in rich food.
Incline your ear, and come to me;
    listen, so that you may live.
I will make with you an everlasting covenant,
    my steadfast, sure love for David.
See, I made him a witness to the peoples,
    a leader and commander for the peoples.
See, you shall call nations that you do not know,
    and nations that do not know you shall run to you,
because of the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel,
    for he has glorified you.
Seek the Lord while he may be found,
    call upon him while he is near;
let the wicked forsake their way,
    and the unrighteous their thoughts;
let them return to the Lord, that he may have mercy on them,
    and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.
For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
    nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
    so are my ways higher than your ways
    and my thoughts than your thoughts.
For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven,
    and do not return there until they have watered the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
    giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
    it shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
    and succeed in the thing for which I sent it. Isaiah 55:1-11 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

This morning, we have our last primary reading from the Hebrew Scriptures. Next week we will move into the New Testament. So, I thought it might be helpful for us to take a look back. To try to see the bigger story. After all, hindsight is 20/20. Right?

It all began with God’s Word. With God’s living Word. In the midst of chaos and darkness, God spoke. And out of God’s living word, the darkness and chaos was ordered into a beautiful world. Water was created and formed into oceans, lakes, rivers, and streams. And land. Land was shaped into the form of mountains, hills, valleys, mesas, and plains. God simply spoke the Word and it was so. 

God loved God’s creation. Everything. And, in particular, God really loved this mysterious thing called life.

Life isn’t something we can really explain, is it? Scott and Sarah, as we prepare to baptize Reese, I'm wondering if, when she was born, her life didn't just take your breath away. That there were no words to fully describe this mysterious and beautiful new creation.

God created life in the plants and animals of earth. God created a special form of life to dwell on Earth--beings who would consciously enjoy the Creator and would help the Creator take care of earth. God called this special being “human.” Which means “earth creature” or “creature of the soil.”

These partners with God enjoyed God and they helped the Creator take care of the beautiful garden called Earth. They lived in friendship--with God, with each other, and with all creation. 

God smiled. This was working! What joy God had as God watched everything in balance--as each part fit the whole. Everyone had enough. And the partner humans loved God and helped God. It was good. It was really, really good!

And, then, it all fell apart. Humans decided that they could find joy in ways other than living as partners with God. Humans decided to find joy by becoming BIG DEALS.

How did humans know if they were BIG DEALS? They knew by bossing other humans around, by piling up stuff, by dominating nature, and by reaching glorious heights of health and beauty and knowledge. They also knew by competing with each other, by always trying to be more of a BIG DEAL than others. 

They gathered into groups--clans, tribes, and nations. Each group wanted to be better than the others. They invented oppression and war. Because, you know, to oppress and to defeat others makes you a really BIG DEAL.

God groaned. Earth groaned. All living things groaned. The whole universe wept. Sorrow filled the cosmos.

God thought about destroying everything. It would take one snap of the fingers. One word. But, this made God really sad because God loved what God had created.

So, God thought of another way. At first, God thought about acting like the real BIG DEAL. By terrorizing the humans into submission. But, the more that God thought about it, the more God realized that this would only be using their method. 

So God, in love, decided on another way. It’s a really long story--a story of friendship and passion, of promise and disappointment, of hope and of self-giving love. It is a story of God mending the universe.

It began with God making a promise to one man--Abraham. It was a promise that God would make Abraham into a large people--into God’s people. And that God would bless them so they could be a blessing to others.

For a while it was good. Everyone lived in harmony together. But, then, Egypt--another people, another nation--began to oppress Abraham’s descendants. They cried out to God. God heard them. God recruited Moses--who was a pretty reluctant guy--to help free God’s people from Egypt. 

It happened.

God’s plan was that Moses would take Israel--God’s people--to a new land. A place where they could live together as God intended. But, along the way, it began to fall apart. God’s people wanted to become BIG DEALS again.

So, God led them into the wilderness. The wilderness was God’s classroom. They learned alot there. It was also in the wilderness that God entered into a covenant with Moses. God promised to be Israel’s God and they, in gratitude, would live as God’s people. God spoke the Word in the form of the Ten Commandments. This was a covenant gift to show them how to live as God’s people on the land. How to be faithful to God and to each other.

It was also in the wilderness that God gave the gift of worship. Worship was a special time to remember, to retell, and to give thanks for God’s saving acts in history, especially the great liberation from Egypt.

Israel graduated from the wilderness school. They settled down in the land God had promised them. It was good. But, just as had happened so many times before, everything began to fall apart. They wanted to, once again, be BIG DEALS.

So God gave them a series of kings because they wanted to be like (and compete with) neighboring nations. One of these kings was David.

God loved David. And, even though he had his problems, David was faithful. God promised that David and his descendants would rule forever and ever. 

For awhile it was good. Then, it began to all fall apart. One of David’s descendants, began to oppress the people, just like the pharaoh in Egypt. This led to division. The people split in two, part in the north and part in the south. More and more, they turned from God and worshiped their own stuff and the gods of their neighbors. Except for a very few, nobody loved God with their heart and their soul and their strength.

There was catastrophe coming. God sent prophets to warn them. But, the people wouldn’t listen. First, the northern part was destroyed. Then, the Babylonians, destroyed the southern part and led the people back to Babylon in chains. They were exiles, torn from everything familiar. 

Back in the wilderness. Once again.

Since our celebration of the 500th anniversary of the Reformation this past October, the first of the 95 theses that Martin Luther posted on the church door in Wittenberg has been stuck in my mind. I’ve shared it before. It reads, “When Jesus said, “repent, he meant that believers should live their entire lives in a state of repentance.”

Repentence is a turning back to God. The realization that we can’t go it alone. That we are not enough of a BIG DEAL apart from God. Repentance is often the result of being in the wilderness. In exile. In a place that is torn from everything familiar. When it seems as if everything has fallen apart.

Yet, through the Spirit, it is in the wilderness that we are able to once again recognize our need for God. To turn to God, to cry out for God. Just like the Israelites did in Egypt. Just as they did in Babylon. Just as we do in our own lives.

When we repent. When we turn back to God, God promises to be there. Waiting. Faithful. With a plan to make everything whole again. This is both the message and invitation from God in our text today from Isaiah: 

Come. 
I have a place for you.
Come to the waters of baptism. 
Come to the feast of the Eucharist. 
Eat and drink only the best. 
Fill yourself with only the finest. 

Pay attention. 
Come closer now. 
Listen carefully to my life-giving, life-nourishing words.  
I’m making a lasting covenant commitment with you, 
the same that I made with David: sure, solid, enduring love. 
I have a plan. 
I’m about to do a new thing. 
Because when my Word goes out
--when my life-giving, life-nourishing Word goes out
--he will not come back empty-handed. 
He will do the work I sent him to do. 
He will complete the assignment I gave him. 
This Word that became flesh. 

This Word made flesh. Giving so much life that it simply takes our breath away. 

May we live breathlessly, knowing that God is faithful and that God’s Word will do the work it has been sent to do. Amen.

Preached Sunday, December 10, 2017, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY
Third Sunday of Advent
Readings: Isaiah 55:1-11, John 4:13-14

Living in Exile

The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. He said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?” I answered, “O Lord God, you know.” Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the Lord.”

So I prophesied as I had been commanded; and as I prophesied, suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them. Then he said to me, “Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.” I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude.

Then he said to me, “Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.’ Therefore prophesy, and say to them, Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel. And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord.”Grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen. Ezekiel 37:1-14 (NRSV)


Last week we talked about how God is with us--with all of God’s people--even in our fiery furnaces. 

Our reading today is from the prophet Ezekiel. It’s the reading of the Valley of the Dry Bones. For many of us, I think, this is perhaps the only reading we know or that we’ve heard from Ezekiel. I would guess that we know it most likely because we are familiar with the song connected to the story. Do you know which song I mean?

Yes, the song “Dem Bones.” You know it, don’t you? It's a lot of fun. Yet, it doesn’t begin to capture how truly gruesome Ezekiel’s vision really is. 

The prophet Ezekiel had been a priest at the temple in Jerusalem. He had been part of the first group of exiles taken into captivity. Actually, he and the other exiles he was with had been forced to walk to Babylon. By the time of this vision in our story today, all of Israel was now exiled. They had experienced the destruction of city and nation, the downfall of their monarchy, the loss of their temple and, as a result, the center of their religious life, and, amidst the horror of all of this, they had been forced to walk to Babylon. To the land from where their earliest ancestor, Abraham, had come.

They thought that the end of the dynasty of King David and the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem meant that their covenant with God had ended. That all hope of restoration for their country was lost. For just a moment, imagine that you are one of the Israelites in exile. God promised you that you would be God’s special people, a great multitude, as many as the stars in the sky, that you would be blessed so that you could be a blessing to others, and that God would always be with you. God promised you a king, a land of your own, and a special relationship that was developed through the rituals in the temple, in the one place where God dwelled on earth.

All of that is now gone. You live in another land. There is no Israelite nation. There is no Davidic king. There is no temple. Is there also no God? Or is this a sign that God is no longer with you? How would you feel in this situation?

The people were in deep despair. Without hope. It is no wonder then, that in Ezekiel’s metaphorical vision, they are pictured as dry bones. Bones after bones after bones in this valley. Dead. Without life. Formless and shapeless. 

But, then, God tells Ezekiel to speak to them. To prophesy. To speak to them the word of the Lord. 

Ezekiel hears it before he sees it. The bones begin to rattle. And then they begin to come together, bone to bone. And then the tendons and the muscles and flesh begin to cover the bones. Yet, as Ezekiel watches, he sees that even though the bones have been re-formed, re-created into bodies, there is no life in them. No breath.

Then God tells Ezekiel to, once again, prophesy. To tell the winds to blow and to breathe into these bodies. To breathe life into these bodies. Into this people. In the very same way that God breathed life into all humanity at creation. (Pause and unmute.)

This prophecy of Ezekiel’s is a vision of hope for Israel. It is a promise for them that, even though they now are exiled, that they have lost everything, that they are dead and lifeless, God will restore them. That God will breathe new life into them. That’s the promise. That God will return them back to their land. 

But, this vision of life does not picture a life that is exactly as it was before their exile. It is a promise of a re-created people. A transformed community. It is not just about restoration. But, it is about transformation. Because God is always creating. Always transforming.

 And yet, it is a resurrection that also has continuity. The people of God will still be the people of God. Israel will still be Israel.  But they will be a transformed people of God.

Transformation and continuity. This is also the story of the work of Father Greg Boyle. Father Greg, or “G” as the gang-bangers of east L.A. call him, is a Jesuit priest working in an area in Los Angeles that has the largest concentration of gang members in the world.

Over the past 30 years, he has witnessed the transformation of many homeboys through the ministry of his parish. Transformation. Transformation and continuity. For once a homeboy, always a homeboy. One such story is that of Bandit, a gang banger from the Aliso Village Housing Project in Los Angeles. Let’s listen as Father Greg tells his story. 

And the soul feels its worth. Isn’t this the story of Israel? Exiled. Yet, still loved by God and finding its worth in that love. Still given hope. Promised restoration, transformation.

Isn’t this our story, especially in our world today? Often feeling hopeless, despairing of difficulties in our lives or in our country. Feeling separated from each other, or from loved ones who may live far away or who are, perhaps, no longer alive. Like those dry, dry bones in the valley. 

And yet, we, like Israel, hold fast to the hope given to us. A hope that comes to us through the new life we have in Christ. A hope that is renewed this Advent as we are reminded of God coming into our world. In Jesus. Emmanuel. God with us. 

God kept God’s promise to Israel. May we continue to hold fast to hope and to that which God has promised to us--that God’s kingdom will be restored in all its fullness here on earth with justice and with mercy. And that we will be a part of it.

May God grant it. Amen.

Preached December 10, 2017 at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY
2nd Sunday of Advent
Readings: Ezekiel 37:1-14; John 11:25-26

Hope in Exile

These are the words of the letter that the prophet Jeremiah sent from Jerusalem to the remaining elders among the exiles, and to the priests, the prophets, and all the people, whom Nebuchadnezzar had taken into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon.

Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. For thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Do not let the prophets and the diviners who are among you deceive you, and do not listen to the dreams that they dream, for it is a lie that they are prophesying to you in my name; I did not send them, says the Lord.

For thus says the Lord: Only when Babylon’s seventy years are completed will I visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you. When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the Lord, and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and all the places where I have driven you, says the Lord, and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile. Jeremiah 29:1, 4-14 (NRSV)


Grace and peace to you from our Lord, and Savior, Jesus Christ, who has died, who has risen, and who will come again. Amen.

We begin today with a video. 

What does it feel like to be a refugee? To be a traumatized community that has lost everything? Loved ones. Homes. Beloved city and country. Language. Culture. The familiarity of ways to express one’s own religion, along with places of worship. Everything. Lost. 

Like the Syrians in this film who have been forced to flee their countries due to unsafe circumstances. Or those from Afghanistan or Pakistan. Or Lebanon or Iran. Or from Central America or Mexico. Or Ethiopia or South Sudan. Or, more recently, the Rohingya people from Myanmar. The UN estimates that 65.6 million people are displaced worldwide. 65.6 million. Every minute, 20 more are forcibly displaced as a result of conflict or persecution. By the time I finish my sermon today, some 200 more people will be displaced. Losing everything. Refugees in foreign lands. People in exile. Exiled in a foreign land.

As our Jeremiah text opens today, this is the same experience that is happening to the people who are Abraham’s descendants. We are in the thick of the drama. Amos, who we heard last week, is one of several prophets to predict the fall of the northern kingdom to Assyria. Their predictions have come true. The northern kingdom has fallen and been destroyed.

In the southern kingdom, the remaining remnant in Judah watch as the Babylonians make massive inroads into their country. Closer and closer they get to Jerusalem. Although the city is still functioning, it is operating under duress. The enemy has already taken the king and some of the people off into exile. Within another few years, Jerusalem will fall.

It is to these people already in exile that the prophet Jeremiah sends the letter that is our text this morning. It is a surprising letter. After all this time that God has insisted that the people of Israel stay apart from other peoples, that they not intermarry, or take on surrounding cultures or worship other gods, one would expect to hear the same in Jeremiah’s letter. One would expect a word that is reassuring. An encouraging word. Be faithful. God will bring you back. Resist the culture where you have been exiled.

Instead, this is God’s word given to them through Jeremiah: “Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile. Pray to the Lord on its behalf. For in its welfare, you will find your welfare.” 

It’s not an instruction to rebel. But an instruction to keep the faith and live deeply into the place where you’ve been sent. To be good citizens in exile. Because you will be there for a long, long time.


As we hear this story. As we watch the video and hear of refugees across the world in exile. As we sit here in relative safety and comfort, it’s perhaps hard for us to imagine or fully understand what it means to be in exile. To have lost everything. To be fully dispossessed of all we own. Of country. Of culture. Of lifestyle.

Yet, I wonder, if we think hard enough or look deep enough into our own context, we whether we can see or think of many in our own place--our own “city” if you will--who are in exile. 

Let me share with you my experience this week of what exile might look like here in northern Kentucky. 

On Tuesday afternoon, I received a call here at the church from a young man. I will call him David. Please know that I have his permission to use parts of his story this morning.

The call was like many calls we receive here at the church. He was calling because his water had been turned off. He had been unable to pay his bill this month. He had called Eastern Area Ministries and, because they had already provided assistance to him a few months ago, they could not help him this time. Their rule, like many agencies in our area, only allows assistance once in a 12-month period.

I asked how much he would need to get it reconnected. He told me. Four hundred two dollars and 90 cents.

Now, normally, if we know this person, we will try to figure out a way to help them. We have a Good Samaritan fund here at church. Sometimes, if it's a small amount, we can help. But this fund has a total of $600 in it. Four hundred dollars would nearly deplete it. There was no way we could help him, at least not fully. And, besides, we didn’t know him.

I asked David to tell me more about himself, particularly, about how his financial situation had become so dire. He told me this incredible story. About how, 2 years ago, out of the blue he had received a call from a old friend of his, begging him to take in and care for her son. (We’ll call her son Noah.) How she had found out that her husband, Noah’s stepfather, had been physically abusing him while she had been away at work. That this abuse had been reported to the authorities. And that they were now threatening to take Noah into the foster care system and would David please take him in so that he wouldn’t end up in this dead-end system.

Now David and his partner had no plans for a family. They were living a pretty good life. Able to go on good vacations, to live well, to even buy a used Mercedes. 

Yet, after hearing his friend’s story and talking it over, they finally agreed. Within a week, Noah was living with them. And within a few more weeks, they found out that this 4-year-old little boy had not only been physically abused, but that he had been sexually molested, as well.

David told me that, because of all of this abuse, Noah was traumatized. He required extensive medical and psychological treatment, which required endless visits to doctors’ offices. Parenting this deeply traumatized little boy David required him to leave a good-paying, full-time job, to reduce his hours to part-time and to take a hourly job where he made much less money. It was this loss of income that had eventually brought him to this place. To this place of exile.

It was an extraordinary story. In some ways unbelievable. It’s hard sometimes, especially when we story after story like this, not to become cynical. To not believe this story. To wonder how a mother could possibly miss the signs of abuse. To wonder how someone driving up to our food pantry in a Mercedes could possibly need our services.

It’s hard not to judge, isn’t it? 

Over these past few weeks surrounding the celebration of the Reformation anniversary, I’ve had the opportunity to hear the Bishop speak a few times. Each time he has mentioned how he used to ask candidates for ordination what the first of Luther’s 95 theses was. (I have to say I’m very glad he had stopped asking that question by the time I was ordained.) He has been surprised at how few have known the answer.

Thesis No. 1: “In saying, ‘Repent,’ our Lord and Master Jesus Christ wanted the entire life of the faithful to be one of repentance.” 

When we judge others without fully understanding their situation or having lived it, we sin. When we become cynical and refuse to believe their story, we sin. Over and over we look at others who are not like us and we fail to see God’s image in them, to see their dignity and their worth. And, we sin. Over and over, we sin. And over and over we are called to repentance. To turn away from these judgments and these thoughts and to begin to see in the eyes of people like David, or Noah’s mother, the image of God. A person, just like us, created in God’s image, who is just as deserving of and needing of God’s grace and forgiveness as we are. A person, just like us, for whom Christ died on the cross.

It is then, after we have repented that, through the power of the Holy Spirit, we can begin to change. To move from a surface relationship into a deeper place. To believe their story, to walk beside them, to experience what their life is like, to accompany them in exile. To be Christ-like. Even if we can’t do this with refugees from Syria or Afghanistan or Sudan or any of the other countries around the world, we can do it here. We can seek the welfare of our city. Because it is in our city’s welfare, that we, just like the exiled Israelites, will find our own welfare. 

Who is the refugee in our neighborhood? Who around us is in a place or time of exile? Who in our community is experiencing displacement? How are you seeking their welfare?



It took us four days. Four days to find the $400, to push back against the water company bureaucracy that has developed to protect them from a few dishonest people and which, in return, punishes the vast majority of those who are honest. Four days to develop a plan together to improve the financial condition of David and his family and, finally, on Friday evening, to get the water turned back on. By the end of that four days, we were friends. By the end of that four days, in David’s welfare I found my own welfare. And, together, we found hope. 

“For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord,” writes Jeremiah. “Plans for your welfare and not for harm. To give you a future with hope.” This was God’s promise for the exiles of Jeremiah’s day. It is God’s promise for the exiles of our day.

From this point forward, may we open our eyes, see them among us, believe their stories and walk beside them, and together, in Christ, find a future with hope.

Amen.

Preached November 19, 2017 at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church.
Christ the King Sunday
Readings: Jeremiah 29:1, 4-14; John 14:27