Going Home

Luke 3:4-6; Luke 1:68-79

 

        Imagine living in a world where rushing toward the waters of chaos is a more sensible alternative than being home. Images of mothers and fathers urging their children into boats to escape oppression is burned into the back of my eyelids, yet I have no starting point to comprehend their pain, their rationale, or their terror. I grew up within the confines of a safe community where my most radical act was daring to listen to shaggy haired poets sing about a brave new world.  Ironically, a few years later as I sat in my Quonset hut in Korea the words of my more radical songsmiths were trumped by an unremarkable Jewish kid from Queens named Paul Simon who wrote:

                Home, where my thought’s escaping,

                Home, where my music’s playing,

                Home, where my love lies waiting,

                Silently for me.

                     

        There is something about going home. For many the holiday season offers just the excuse needed to suffer all kinds of inconveniences for a day or two with family or friends.   Deb and I are no exception. As much as I preach the good news, sing the blessed carols, and faithfully script the holiday greetings, if both Martina and David aren’t around the tree on Christmas morning, the glorious day is tinged with sadness. Christmas never feels quite right if everyone hasn’t made it home.

        An often forgotten piece of Luke’s Christmas story is the song of Zechariah. In every way it is about coming home. Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth had grown old but not content. They had not been blessed with children. The poor man gave up hope of ever having a child, much less a son. Then completely out of the blue, an angel of the Lord announced Elizabeth would have a child. Zechariah, instead of rejoicing, mocked the announcement. Gabriel responded, “What is impossible for man is never impossible for God.” Then, as a reminder of his lack of faith, the old man was left speechless. Eight days after the birth of the child, Zechariah finally, speaks. What does one say after nine months of silence?

        For nine months, and eight days, Zechariah thought about the promise of Gabriel, “Your son will prepare your people for the Day of the Lord.” Zechariah, being a priest, knew exactly the implication of the inspired words. The Messiah was coming. He would be the one to lead God’s people home. Zechariah also understood that his son was not the Chosen One but rather the one who would announce the Messiah’s arrival.

        For nine months, and eight days, Zechariah must have gone through a silent agony. One day he would rejoice the homecoming was near. The next he would lament that his son was playing second fiddle. What a complex and combustible concoction of fear and joy. Eventually Zechariah began to remember the story of God’s people. Moses played second fiddle when God brought the Hebrews out of Egypt. Cyrus may have defeated the Babylonians but no one doubted who orchestrated the movement of Israel coming home to Jerusalem. 

        After nine months, and eight days, Zechariah spoke. “Blessed be the Lord. God has remembered the covenant and raised a mighty savior for us. We will be rescued from the hands of our enemies. My son will prepare the way for the Messiah. His message will be this. “By the tender mercies of God, the dawn will break, giving us light and guiding all into the way of peace.”   Sometimes going home begins when we remember the tender mercies of our God.

        Last week I was making my monthly visit to Dillwyn prison to visit Dane Roberts. Dane has completed 16 months of his three year sentence. Because he has stayed out of trouble he was moved to a new pod designated for prisoners within eighteen months of released. In our conversation he remarked how different the new section is. On the one hand, everyone wants to stay out of any trouble that would land them back in the general population. On the other hand, the existence of drugs, particularly meth, is very prevalent in this section.  I asked Dane, who is a meth addict, what he was doing to resist temptation. He held out his right hand. “Once I had a wife and a daughter.” The he held out his left hand. “I lost both of them because of what meth made me. I’ll never see either again because once in my life I could have chosen home, but I chose drugs. Today I have that choice again. I can choose meth or I can choose home.”

        Dane and I have grown close and can be very honest with each other so I said, “Dane, you are right. You will never see your wife or daughter again. They have moved on. So where is home now?”  

        He hesitated for a moment then responded, “It is more than Pricilla. It is you, and Mr. Clark, and all the folks at your church who are praying for me. I believe with all my heart when I see your church again, I will know the way home.”

        Is that the gibberish of a convict telling a minister what he wants to hear, or the words of a re-born man who honestly believes God is working to make the way home possible by filling his valleys and making his hills low?

Years of ministry have made me a bit suspicious, yet years of ministry have also taught me that Advent remains that season we need to open our hearts to the words of Isaiah and remember the glorious deeds of our God.

Comfort ye, comfort ye my people.

Speak tenderly of home,

Your term has been served.

        Within your wilderness,

                In the midst of your loneliness,

                        God has already made a highway straight.

        Every valley has been be lifted up,

                Every mountain and hill has been made low.

                        Softly, tenderly,

God’s glory has been revealed.

                                        Come home,

Come home.

                                Ye who are weary,

        Come home.