“Passwords of Hope”
A sermon by Sid Burgess for Edgewood PC
2d Sunday of Advent, December 7, 2008
Texts: Isaiah 40.1-11, Psalm 85
“Comfort, O comfort my people,” the opening line of our text from Isaiah, is one of the Bible’s most beloved passages. Dial back through your memory and you will likely hear some fine tenor voice singing these words from Handle’s “Messiah:” “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God.” The prophetic words of Isaiah continue, saying, in effect, ‘The worst is over; all is forgiven; come on home.’ These words were first addressed to Hebrew exiles living in Babylon, modern day Iraq. In our time, the proverbial shoe is on the other foot: 1.4 million Iraqi’s are now living in exile in Syria, Jordan, and other neighboring countries . . . Another 2.7 million have been internally uprooted--fleeing violence in one part of Iraq for only relative safety in another.
It is a shame that Arabs and Israelis are not talking to each other. If they were, our Jewish siblings could tell our Arab brothers and sisters that God has a long history of bringing exiles home. The formative faith experience of our Hebrew ancestors is the Exodus-- exiles in Egypt, led to freedom by God’s man Moses, through the Wilderness and into the Promised Land. Now here is Isaiah, promising another generation of exiles yet another ‘exodus:’
11 (God) will feed his flock like a shepherd;
(God) will gather the lambs in his arms,
and carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead the mother sheep.
If Jews and Arabs where on friendlier terms, or if we Christians had better report with our Muslim kin, we might give them what one scholar (George Steiner) has deemed the “passwords of hope.” They are these future tense verbs “shall” and “will.”1 God will feed, God will gather, God will carry, God will lead. And there is more. For exiles, for strangers in a strange land, wondering how in the world they will ever get home, here is God’s scared promise:
4 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.
Come to think of it, these passwords of hope--will and shall--can be helpful to us, too. We don’t have to worry about some invading army forcing us into exile, but we do worry about our health. Never know when a major medical malady might strike and haul us off into exile, away from all that is familiar, comfortable, and certain. You just never know when a serious accident might happen--a broken hip, a fractured leg and there you are, forced into the exile of rehab. A broken relationship can result in a person being banished, out in the cold. Then, there are the ravages of age--they can shut a person out, send a person into lonely isolation. And, for people of faith, there is always the shadow of doubt, doubt descending over our souls leaving us feeling utterly, completely alone, abandoned--feeling exiled even from the Lord God, almighty.
I would not in anyway want to leave the impression that the
normal, routine dangers and difficulties in this life can compare
with the horrible, dreadful ordeals of refugees from Iraq,
Afghanistan, Bosnia, the Sudan, and elsewhere. But I do contend that
the vulnerability inherent in the human condition-- we are mortal
and not immortal beings . . . .
All people are grass (Isaiah observes), their constancy is like the
flower of the field.
7 The grass withers, the flower fades . . . .
Dearly beloved, the vulnerability that is inherent in the human condition can send any one of us into exile without a moment’s notice--anytime, anyplace. The problem for many of us moderns--modern Christians--we don’t even know when we’ve been taken away from home. We can actually be in exile and not even know it! We look up and down and all around--see all the pretty decorations of the season, hear the familiar carols sung and see the lights all aglow . . . . What we see appears to us to be perfectly normal, even genuine, even real. Presbyterian pastor Cynthia Jarvice writes from Pennsylvania: the ‘cultural captivity’ of the Church and its members “has left us unconscious concerning our exile from God’s always hidden presence.”2 Since we don’t acknowledge our estrangement from God, sacred promises of comfort, rescue and redemption mean nothing. Where there is no sense of discomfort, a promise of divine comfort has no value. Where there is no acknowledgement of sin, forgiveness has no meaning.
But, for those of us willing to acknowledge that all is not well. That we have and we do suffer separation from God . . . . That we have and we do feel lost at times, even abandoned . . . . For those of us willing to admit that “life’s crushing load” can be overwhelming at times, Isaiah makes this trustworthy promise:
11 (God) will feed his flock like a shepherd;
(God) will gather the lambs in his arms,
There they are--the passwords of hope: God will feed, God will gather, God will carry, God will lead!
The way forward is not easy. We know this from our ancestors in faith, too. After that first rush of joy that comes with freedom, reality sets in--there is wilderness ahead. Look up and see all of the obstacles in place-- habit, inertia, opposition, even pain and uncertainty. Declaration of Faith says, “No more than Christ are we spared the darkness, ambiguity, and threat of life in the world.”3 But as people of faith we do have the passwords. We know God will; we know God shall. Despite all that has gone wrong, all that seems stacked against us, all that seems so impossible, we know God will, God shall.
5 Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
and all people shall see it together . . . .”
But what about those Iraqi exiles? What about those squalid refugee camps on the boarder of Afghanistan and Pakistan? Those Palestinian refugees herded together on the narrow Gaza strip, and millions of refugees in the Sudan, the Congo, and other regions of Africa? Is there a word here from God that is relevant to all of these terribly oppressed people?
Holy scripture, both old and new, answers with a resounding yes. In Psalm 85 our God’s intention is abundantly clear: “Salvation”--rescue, redemption, release, freedom . . . . “Salvation” for all of those who respect God, sings the psalmist, so that God’s “glory may dwell in our land.” Today’s psalm states the divine intention in no uncertain terms.
10 Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet;
righteousness and peace will kiss each other.
And look who has been commissioned to deliver this ‘Good News.”
9 Get you up to a high mountain (Isaiah insists),
Get you up to a high mountain ( O Church),
herald of good tidings;
lift up your voice with strength,
O (Edgewood Church), herald of good tidings,
lift it up, do not fear;
say to the cities of (exiles everywhere),
“Here is your God!”
Our calling as Christ’s church is to be the herald of these good tidings.
Ah, but Mr. Preacher, they can’t hear us all the way over there. Those poor refugees--most of them Muslims anyway--wouldn’t listen to this little old church even if they could! In answer to these legitimate observations, I invite you to consider this perspective contained in our Presbyterian Church “Declaration of Faith:”
1. We know that God is not confined to the story we can tell--
(not the story of Israel, not even the stories of Jesus and the
Apostles).
(But these stories do) tell us God works (God’s) sovereign will
among all peoples of the earth.
We believe God works beyond our imagining throughout the universe.
God works in and through and beyond the Church--and it is our calling to proclaim these “good tidings” to the world. God is at work in and through and beyond agencies of compassion and service. “Lift up your voice in strength (little church),” Beginning right here on our little corner of the world, “proclaim the good tidings.” Our living God is at work even in and through and beyond governments themselves when those governments promote peace and justice and provide for the needs of the poor and oppressed. “Get you up to a “high mountain” little church, and proclaim for all to hear
9 Surely (God’s) salvation is at hand for those who (respect God). . . .
Now to the Ruler of all worlds,
undying, invisible, the only God,
be honor and glory, forever and ever!
Amen
1Jarvis, Cynthia, “Pastoral Perspective,” 2nd Sunday
of Advent, Isaiah 40:1-11, FEASTING ON THE WORD, Year B, vol. 1,
page. 31f.
2Ibid.
3Declaration of Faith, IX.5.