Are You Ready for a Miracle?

Mark 1:21-28

 

        Sometimes when I read a biblical passage, I feel …… awkward.  By that I mean I am wondering exactly what I am supposed to do with the text.  Sometimes the scripture takes me out of my comfort zone.  Sometimes the text seems irrelevant for a sophisticated 21^st century audience.  This morning might be one of those times.  Jesus entered the Synagogue and began to preach.  The folks listening were astounded by his words.  Mark wrote, “He spoke as one having authority, not as one of the scribes.”  I have no problem with this part of the text. I’ve heard James Forbes preach for over r ninety minutes and by the end of the sermon Forbes had me waving my arms over my head, singing “This Little Light of Mine” and begging for more.    That is the power of someone who is filled with the spirit of God.  I have no doubt when Jesus preached, the room fell quiet as folks turned all their attention only speaking to beg for more. 

        As Jesus was preaching a man stood before him and cried, “Have you come to destroy us?  I know you are the Holy One of God!”   Even this doesn’t bother me.  I have had plenty of folks comment on my sermons.  I was preaching once in an African-American congregation and a lady in the back stood up and hollered, “Help him Jesus, help him.”   And she was right, I needed help.   A little criticism is good for the soul.

        What frightens me about this text is how Jesus responded to his critic. Jesus said, “Be silent, come out!”  Instantly an unclean spirit left the man’s body.          (stop) 

        I saw “The Exorcist” when I was 23 years old.  I had just completed Advanced Infantry Training at Fort Polk where I was instructed by our nations finest to overcome my fears and face my fiercest enemies. My instructors would have not been very proud of me that evening. When Linda Blair’s head did a 360, my stomach was performing the same feat.  Yet when I left the theatre, I didn’t jump at shadows or look under the car.  It was just a movie.  It was scary, but still it was just a movie.

        But sometimes it is not a movie. In this text we see Jesus as one who quiets the dispirited with a word,  and then tells us if we have enough faith, we can perform the same miracle. 

        There is something going on here that make me nervous.  I do not doubt that God has the power to heal, but I know there are charlatans out there who play on the emotions of folks who are hoping for a miracle.  Folks in my profession are not shy about laying their hands on the afflicted and asking that a limb, or spirit, or heart be healed.  Trust me when I say I believe in the power of prayer.  But I also believe more damage than good is often done by these unholy exercises.

        Ever see the movie, “Leap of Faith?”  It starred Steve Martin who played a faith healer.  He made the rounds in Texas creating a carnival like atmosphere where he promised healings to a people had little else to hope for but a miracle.  Martin’s line was always “Do you believe God can heal you?”  Now who in their right mind is going to say no?  We trust in the power of God, we have witnessed folks recover from cancer and heart attacks, we believe those miracle stories in the Bible yet this is a dangerous question which preys on the soul of anyone who is desperate.  “Do you believe God can heal you?”   Of course we do, but what happens if a healing does not take place.  Charlatans like the character played by Martin can then say, “Obviously your faith was lacking.”  The failure of a miracle is placed on the already burdened soul of the afflicted, doing more harm than the disease itself.

        In this particular scripture Jesus didn’t say to the possessed man, “Do you have the faith that God can heal you?’  Jesus rather said, “Be silent, and come out.”   The man is healed, not by his faith, but by the power of a word.

        At first glance this puts an incredible burden on those who are agents of healing and reconciliation.  It would seem if our faith was strong enough, if our words are spoken with enough authority, cancer would be eliminated, mental health would be restored, and wars a thing of the past.  This text causes considerable conflict within my soul because I want to believe that there is the possibility that I possess the healing touch of God but my faith is challenged by the reality of what I witness each and every day.  People get sick and people die.  That is simply a fact of life.  In a nutshell, what do we say or perhaps not say to folks like Kelly and Sam Alexander who every moment are praying for a miracle.  

        A number of years ago a middle aged stranger entered my office.  He was a bit unkempt and had a rather wild look in his eye.  Jack said, “You don’t know me and I don’t know you but a preacher down the street said we ought to get to know each other.  I have been diagnosed as schizophrenic but I am not.  I have been tossed out of two or three churches. I have no trust in organized religion. I am not about to become a Presbyterian.  But I believe in God and I believe God loves me.  Can we talk?”  

        My initial thought was, “Why did one of my colleagues send this crazy guy my direction?”  But Jack was already in my office so I asked if he would like to sit and talk.  Jack never sat down.  He ranted and raved for an hour, using language I had hadn’t heard since I left the Army.  I finally said, “Jack, I have another appointment in two minutes.  Would you like to come back?”

        He stopped, and to my surprise calmly said, “Yeah, this has been helpful.”  Twice a month, for the next five years, Jack would come to my office for an hour.  Mostly he would talk and I would listen.  Sometimes I would hear the same story over and over again.    At the end of each conversation Jack would say, “I still believe in God and I still believe God loves me.”

        I still remember the last time Jack came to office. He knew I was leaving Clinton and told me the trip to Nellysford was a little further than he wanted to travel for our bi-monthly sessions.  As we got ready to part I asked Jack the question I had wanted to ask for years.  “Jack, why did you keep coming? I’m not sure the progress you have made has anything to do with our conversations.”

        He looked at me and said, “Quite the contrary.  Each time I leave, I always say, “I still believe in God and I still believe God loves me.”  And you always respond, “Yes Jack, God does love you.”  Do you know how few times I hear those words?”

        Sometimes we forget the power of a word.  Sometimes we never realize the healing balm of a phrase especially when offered in prayer.  Many of us pray everyday that someone will recover from an illness or a difficult situation in life.  We routinely pray for miracles which may never happen.  But when we pray, we remind the recipient that God’s presence, God’s love will be with those who suffer… God’s presence, God’s love will be with the family of those who suffer… God’s presence, God’s love will be with the community that suffers.  By doing so, we offer hope not just for the moment but hope for tomorrow.     

        Is that any different than a faith healer?  I think it is.  We acknowledge that while God’s time is not necessarily our time, God remains with our wounded souls even when we feel desperately alone.  We are not faith healers, but we are dispensers of Gods Holy Words of grace and compassion.  We are not miracle workers, but we are believers, who awaken one’s willingness to be made whole again.

        Do not be afraid to speak the Holy Words.  They create spaces of freedom and places of healing and communion.  Do not be afraid to speak the Holy Words.  Transformations and resurrections happen, even if they don’t meet our particular timetable.

                                        To God be the Glory.  Amen

 

God Sticks with Those God is Stuck With

Jonah 3:1-10; Mark 1:14-20

 

        When describing the attributes of God various lists have been complied.  The great minds of the Reformation referred to God as Omniscient, Omnipresent and a whole lot of other Omni words that I have long ago forgotten. Those linking God to empires like to talk about God as all-powerful, all-knowing and again a lot of other “all-something” words. The Old Testament, a source certainly worth considering, consistently refers to God as, “gracious, merciful, slow to anger, and steadfast in love.” I would like to suggest there is one attribute consistently left off most lists and it deserves to be considered. God can work with anyone, regardless.

        Imagine you are God. From the beginning of time you have watched the evolution of humankind. There is great dissatisfaction as you watch endless wars and rumors of wars. You have had a hand in each culture developing a code of moral behavior that promises to assist in their relationship with others. Each list contains some pretty common sense stuff. Take care of your elders. Get enough rest. Don’t murder or steal. Keep your eyes off your neighbors stuff and spouse. And whatever you do, don’t lie about it. But the deceit continues and humans spend more time talking about the commandments than following them. So you come up with a marvelous plan. You will place perfection among creation. You will offer an example of how life together is possible if we just try a little harder.

        So Jesus arrived and quickly assessed the situation. He decided it was not a job he wanted to undertake by himself. His first action was to pick his twelve go to guys. Now if anyone today was going to engage in a life changing opportunity, the first people picked would be expected to know something about public relations and finances. They would be among the best and brightest.   Since this was a religious movement, leaders from local Synagogues would be called upon. And just to make the movement sparkle, someone like Oprah would publicly endorse the group. But what did Jesus do? He gathered a bunch of fishermen, an out of work tax collector and a religious zealot to spark what was to become the most important spiritual revolution the world had encountered. Can you imagine what God must have thought when looking down on this turn of events? Was God appalled? Believe it or not, I suspect God laughed. After all, God has a history of picking strange characters to introduce the idea of a new heaven and earth.

        Jacob was a liar and a cheat. Moses was a convicted murderer. Sampson was a selfish womanizer. David was a child who played with sheep.  And then there was Jonah.

        Remember him. Let me refresh your memory. The book of Jonah begins, “The word of the Lord came to Jonah, son of Amittai saying, ‘Arise and go tell Nineveh I am aware of her great evil.’ And Jonah fled.”

        Who was Jonah? We have no idea. Why did God call him? On the surface he seems like a bad choice. Who was Nineveh? It was the capital of the cruelest nation imaginable. Think Uganda under Idi Amin.   To be fair, who in their right mind would want to go to Nineveh? All that awaited Jonah was a public execution. So what did God see in this man? Usually when we think of Jonah our minds go quickly to the encounter with the Great Whale. But this story is more than a fishing exhibition. It is an impossible task given to an improbable man who did not lack the courage to have a tempestuous conversation with God.

        I am always amazed when people claim Jonah was afraid of dying. Truth is, the only thing Jonah feared was God’s mercy toward folks Jonah happen to hate. As many of you are aware I believe God’s grace is gift given to each of us based not on our actions or belief but on God’s universal love. What a glorious thought until I realized this presents a huge downside. It used to be if I despised someone I would think, “At least when I get to heaven I’ll never run into him.” That is not because heaven is a big place. It is because I assumed if I hated someone, God was smart enough to see my enemy for their real worth and would make sure my adversary spent eternity in a place where warmth would never be a problem. But if I believe condemnation is not part of God’s final plan, eternity isn’t looking as rosy as I once imagined. Suddenly forever becomes a very, very, long time.

        Jonah does not want to go to Nineveh because he knows God is merciful, gracious, slow to anger and steadfast in love. Jonah doesn’t want to go to Nineveh because he knows there is nothing redeemable about those people and he doesn’t want to be the one who offers them a chance at redemption.

        So Jonah runs away. Then Jonah jumps into the ocean and is swallowed by a fish. For three days Jonah stews within the stomach of the great monster. Jonah’s disposition is so bad he gives the fish indigestion. Finally the fish throws up and Jonah once again finds himself face to face with God. There is no conversation only an invitation. And with that Jonah starts walking toward Nineveh.

        There was no joy in Jonah’s heart. He was a condemned man preparing to preach to enemies he did not care to have as neighbors. With the enthusiasm of a child who hates to sit through worship, Jonah began to speak. His voice resembled mine at the end of a sentence. The fact that the people of Nineveh heard him is in itself a miracle. It was the shortest and quietest sermon in the history of sermonology. Jonah said, “God knows you are evil, so repent.”

        AND THEY DID! AND JONAH WAS LIVID! He retreated from the city and screamed from the very bottom of his soul, “I knew you would forgive them. As soon as we leave they will be the same old mean, evil people. They don’t believe in you; they don’t believe in anything. How could you be such a fool? For the sake of all of us kind and loving people strike them down. Make them an example. Use your power to show the rest of the world you will not tolerate wickedness. Destroy them now.”

        When he finished lecturing God, Jonah went out into the desert where he spied a small tree. Jonah sat under the tree hoping to rest in its shade. While he slept, the tree died, leaving Jonah exposed to the sun. Jonah then screamed at God for killing the plant. And God responded, “Why do you show more love toward a plant that gives only temporary shade than to those who are my children?”

        I don’t know which is harder to understand. The idea that God loves the world or the idea that God wants us to preach this message to folks we have decided are unredeemable. Why am I supposed to care for my enemy? How can I be expected to share good news with someone I know is bad news? They are never going to change. I know it and I bet God knows it. And yet the message any disciple is sworn to preach, be it Matthew, or Peter, or John, or Jonah, or you, or me, is God loves and God forgives all of us.

        Perhaps if we preach this long enough …….. and loud enough …….. WE might actually come to believe it.     Amen.

Isaiah 2:2-4

“Come, O Come, Emmanuel”

 

        It was eight years ago, the day before Thanksgiving when the rains began to fall.  This was not just a passing shower but a dreaded Nor’easterner, packing winds of 40 miles an hour.  Deb and I had driven to Norfolk to pick up our daughter and grandchild at the airport.  Martina and Andy had found a flight and we all planned to spend a couple of days together with Deb’s parents.  It was a glorious plan until the rain began to fall.  By the time we got to Hampton the roads were being swallowed by water with no place to go.  As I pulled into my father-in-laws drive way, I knew from similar storms we were safe, but stranded.  It rained all day Wednesday, continued on Thursday and finally quit on Friday.  We had electricity, which was a blessing, but much of the town including all the major roads were under a couple feet of water.

        How do you explain to a soon to be two year old that you cannot go outside?  For Andy, walking was a newly discovered freedom and he was ready to exercise his liberated limbs.  Wednesday through Friday he wore out the rug and tile in my in-laws house traveling around and around and around through the kitchen, living room, hallway and den.  By Saturday morning I was ready to teach him how to swim.  But thankfully, or so I thought, the waters had receded.  

        It was my daughter that came up with the grand plan.  Not so innocently she remarked, “We need to let Andy run around a bit.  Since we can’t take him outside, let’s hop in the car and find a Mall.  That should be good exercise. Who wants to go?”  Instantly my wife, mother-in-law and daughter were headed for the door.  Then, with the precision of synchronized swimmers they turned, and said, “Come with us. Andy would love to spend time with his grandfather. We will only stay a few minutes.”

        The first shopping mall was built in Kansas City in 1922. The first enclosed mall was opened near Minneapolis in 1956.  The first mega mall was developed in Edmonton with 800 stores, a hotel, amusement park, zoo, and a 438 foot long lake.  In these 88 years of Mall development the least kept promise has been, “We will only stay a few minutes”.

        Off we went; three women, a husband/father/son-in-law, and a baby.  As soon as we entered the hallowed halls I knew my grandson and I were about to spend a lot of quality time together.  We watched as the three women disappeared from our sight and I wondered if they ever would return.

        What do you do with a young child when stranded in the middle of a place straight out of Dante’s Divine Comedy?  We walked for a while.  That proved dangerous particularly when the child thinks that every piece of merchandise needs to be touched.  We drank juice and ate cheese crackers until we both had our fill.  We even raced the stroller through the halls which proved to be great fun until the Mall Cop asked us to slow down.  Eventually Andy fell asleep.  Since I had foolishly left the book I was reading at the house, I sat and observed the rituals people perform during this time we fondly call the holidays.

        While we were in the mall two days after Thanksgiving, the Pilgrims had long been forgotten.  The air was filled with Christmas songs of all flavors just loud enough to be heard above the constant roar of the gentle masses.  I watched as families gathered in long lines for their Kodak moment with Santa. I noticed all the splashes of green, red and gold that seemed to highlight each display window.  The Christmas Spirit was certainly in full gear.  Then I noticed the people.

        Some folks were there just to get out of the house.  They passed us innumerous times, always carrying something different purchased at the food court.  It is amazing how much we eat during the holidays even when we are not hungry.  Then again maybe we are hungering for something other than food.

        Some folks wore the hardened expression of a shopping warrior. They were looking for the perfect gift at the perfect price and they were determined to find it.  I wondered if their campaign to discover perfection continued when this day’s quest had reached its conclusion.

        Some folks had a glazed, exhausted expression of fatigue.  Maybe they had been shopping warriors when the day began but now they were tired and weary.  Maybe they had come to the realization that this holy temple only offered superficial answers to their genuine problems.  Maybe, during the season of Christ, they were shopping for the wrong gift.

Some folks were really loud.  Every word, every physical expression was bigger than life.  They lorded over their companions and yet the endless chatter seemed inane, as if they had nothing to say but were determined to say it very loudly.  Isn’t amazing how the most holy words are often discovered in the silence of a deserted barn in a forgotten village.  

I closed my eyes and begin listening to the music.  Bruce Springsteen was singing my favorite rendition of “Santa Claus is coming to town.”  Then, in a radical transition, my ears were filled with a jazzy version of Dave Brubeck playing, “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.”  In the midst of people who were hungry, a people searching for perfection, a people with weary and cluttered lives, the gift of grace was freely floating through the air as an answer to the confusion of a wayward people.

Come Emmanuel, fill our spiritual hunger; Come Emmanuel, direct our misguided quest; Come Emmanuel, bring light to our darkness; Come Emmanuel, speak your  words of peace. 

My grandson woke up, and he was very, very hungry.

Aren’t we all?    Aren’t we all?           Amen.  

What Does Mary Want for Christmas?

Isaiah 61:1-2; Luke 1:46-55

 

There are seven more shopping days till Christmas. Remember when that created a panic. We had only a day or two to fight the crowds and hope beyond hope that our desired special treasure was still on the shelf. Today we go on a computer, or our phone, and punch a couple of buttons.  Deb even has Amazon Prime so we don’t have to pay postage. A couple days later the door bell rings and the gift arrives. If I could just find someone to wrap my acquisitions my Christmas experience would be complete.

        But even with all these modern conveniences, one problem remains. How do we if know we are getting the right gift? I know it is suppose to be the thought that counts, but there is nothing worse than have the recipient look up with an expression that shouts, “What were you thinking?”  

I used to buy gifts for my niece and nephews. I have what you might call an eclectic taste in music. I felt each Christmas it was my duty to rescue my kin from their limited exposure to the world of song.  I would spend endless hours thinking about each child and how I might be liberate them  from boy bands, drum kits, musical loops, and any singer that had never listened to Etta James, Sam Cook, or Patsy Cline. Each year my nephews and niece would pick up my contribution to their Christmas celebration, roll their eyes, and pretend to be delighted. I once heard my oldest nephew mumble, “It’s not his fault. He’s just weird.”

What is actually weird is what Christmas has become. Remember when Christmas morning was a bit mysterious with no one really knowing what lay wrapped so beautifully under the tree. Today Christmas has become the parental fulfillment of a prearranged wish list. Remember when Christmas was a celebration of grace. It is easy to understand why we fled from years of yore. One of my favorite southern novelists, Flannery O’Conner, wrote, “All human nature vigorously resist grace because grace changes us and to change is painful.”  Our need to know eliminates the possibility of the improbable. And what could be more improbable than the birth of Jesus.

Do we fully appreciate the Christmas story as told by Luke? Like any 14 year old, Mary had her Christmas wish list but it was like nothing that regularly ends up in Santa’s mailbox. Mary asked God to deliver joy to the broken hearted. She prayed, “Let my son bring down the powerful. Let my son lift up the lowly. Let my son fill the hungry with good things. Let my son be merciful.” This child’s uncle definitely had her listening to Odetta and Billie Holliday, or to be more precise the poems of Third Isaiah.

Last week we spent a little time listening to the voice of Second Isaiah. That poet’s job was to encourage a handful of slaves to travel back home. He promised God would level their road.  They believed and they packed up to travel west. They were not prepared to find what was at the end of the rainbow. The Jerusalem they had heard of lay in ruins. For fifty years no one took the effort to restore what had been the gem of David and Solomon. The travelers were disheartened, disillusioned, broken. They had not imagined the task before them. But a second poet arrives. He has traveled with them. He knows their disappointment. He understood the seemingly impossible task before them. The poet sings, “God is bringing good news. Once you were captives and now you are released. Once you were prisoners and now you are emancipated. Now you are brokenhearted, but the God who freed you will also bring joy and comfort.”

Mary knew those words. They had been placed on her lips by that crazy uncle who loved the songs of the prophets. Then she received this crazy angelic message that she was to have a son. Instead of praying for herself and the welfare of her child, she prays that this babe might be a blessing to her neighbors. She prays for a cosmic event that will overturn everyone’s world. She prays for a miracle that will lift up the brokenhearted. She joyfully prays for grace.

Wednesday night in our Advent Meditations we shared one of the great Christmas stories of all time, The Grinch that Stole Christmas. For those of you that don’t know the Dr. Seuss classic, it is about a very mean and small hearted character who tries to ruin Christmas by stealing all the toys delivered on Christmas morning. The Grinch is successful in his thievery but not in stopping Christmas. Instead, the Christmas meal is prepared, the songs are sung and the holiday preserved. The Grinch is flabbergasted. He discovers the joy of Christmas is not about what is under the tree but what is in one’s heart. The Grinch is welcomed into Whoville and his heart grows three times its original size.

Isaiah, Mary and Dr. Seuss understand that Christmas is about binding up broken hearts and making the impossible probable. Trust me, it takes more than a visit from Santa to accomplish this.   How often do we make our way through Advent, sing the songs, listen to the scriptures, and go through all our rituals, only to discover when Christmas is over, our Jerusalem is still in ruins? Where is the grace in that? How easily we forget Flannery O’Conner’s warning. How quickly we dismiss the vision of a 14 year old girl. Grace is hard because grace asks us to believe in something beyond our comfort zone.

Every Christmas I pick up a book of poems by Ann Weems called Kneeling in Bethlehem. She writes, “The Christmas spirit is that hope which tenaciously clings to the hearts of the faithful and announces in the face of any Herod the world can produce, and all the inn doors slammed in our faces, and all the dark nights of the soul, that with God anything is still possible.” When I read that poem I jump up and down and say, “Ann you are right. I’ll just sit right here and wait for God to change my world.”  And then I make the mistake of turning the page. Weems continues, “We are freed to free others, we are affirmed to affirm others, we are loved to love others. We are family, we are community, we are the church triumphant. We are renewed, redirected, empowered to change lives together. We are the church of justice and mercy. We are the people sent to open the prisons, heal the sick, clothe the naked, to sing alleluias when there is no music. This mantle has been placed upon us. Joy is made apparent by how we choose to live.”

There are seven shopping days left till Christmas. We could spend a day of frenzied exhaustion at the shopping area just west of Richmond which I choose to call Babylon. We could hop on the internet and buy something that no one ever needed and pretend we care. Or we could perform an act of grace. Who do you know that needs a moment of joy? You might gather some friends and go sing Christmas carols on the porch of someone who lost a spouse this year. You could bring a cup of coffee to the guy ringing the bell at the Salvation Army display. Maybe he will even let you sit in for a set. Maybe you could invite a neighbor over for Christmas dinner. Even better, invite yourself over and sit in their darkness. If you really want to be brave, introduce one of your grandchildren to Dizzy playing Night in Tunisia. It can be cool to be the weird one in the family. The point is, find a way to bring joy into someone’s life. It is not all that difficult. The hard part is going back the second time. But that is when they learn that you really love them.

To God be the glory.     Amen.

Beyond the Waiting

Isaiah 40:1-11

 

Many of you have shared the experience of sitting in a hospital waiting room. I know, because I have sat with you. Even with our advanced intellect, there are certain words such as cancer and heart disease that cause fear and trepidation. As we sit in that waiting room, those words silently lurk behind any conversation.  We make small talk, we try to read, we take walks, but most of all we worry that the message we will receive from the surgeon will not be good. The clock on the wall makes each moment seem like an eternity. Perceived deadlines are missed and our anxiety rises. Then, when it seems our emotions are beyond restraint, the phone rings and we are told the doctor will visit with us shortly. She arrives and despite the technical jargon, what we hear are the tender words, “Comfort, Comfort my people. Everything is going to be alright.”

My favorite biblical passage is Isaiah 40. You might know it through the brilliance of Handel. You certainly have recognized it’s presence in our Advent hymns. But before Christians adopted the text as synonymous with the birth of Christ, the poem had its own perplexing story to tell.

In the 39^th chapter of Isaiah, the Judean king Hezekiah was in dialogue with the prophet. Jerusalem had dodged a bullet.  The nation of Assyria had swept across the middle-east destroying everything that stood in its way. Syria and Lebanon had capitulated. The ten tribes of Israel stood briefly against the Assyrian onslaught and were completely destroyed. Every man was slaughtered and every woman raped. The nation of Israel disappeared from the face of the earth.  The Assyrians surrounded Jerusalem and the siege began. Then something happened. The book of Isaiah records that the angel of death entered the Assyrian camp. The ancient Assyrian historical records say that there was a revolt in Nineveh. Regardless the reason, the Assyrians retreated, Jerusalem was saved, and the people rejoiced. 

Now the prophet and the king are having a conversation about the fate of the city. Hezekiah is certain Assyria will return. Isaiah encourages the king to first look inward, suggesting the sins of the people was the beginning of their downfall. But Hezekiah remarks, “We must contact the Babylonians and form an alliance.” Isaiah responds, “Days are coming when your ancestors shall be carried to Babylon and nothing will be left of Jerusalem.” Hezekiah responded, “At least there will be peace in my day.” This is the last verse of Isaiah 39. This conversation happened in the year 703 B.C. The next verse, “Comfort, Comfort, my people”, was written 150 years later. What happened between those two verses? Absolute chaos!

Assyria did come back and Jerusalem became a vassal state. The alliance with Babylon proved worthless. Eventually the power of the Assyrians diminished and Jerusalem found itself caught in the middle of an Egypt and Babylonian power struggle. Jerusalem chose Egypt, giving Babylon the excuse to destroy the city twice. The second time, in the year 586, the residents of Jerusalem were enslaved and forced to march across the desert to Babylon. There they resided for nearly 50 years until Babylon was overthrown by the Persian Empire. Cyrus the Great released the slaves of Babylon and gave them the option to return to their homes. Among these slaves were the remaining Hebrew people. The poet, wanting to assure these children that there would be a tomorrow, spoke these words, Comfort, comfort, my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem. Cry to her she has paid her debt. 

I am sure you enjoyed that little dash down memory lane but you may be wondering, what does Isaiah 40 have to do with our observance of Advent?  After two generations the grandchildren had forgotten Jerusalem. To a certain extent they had been drugged by the gospel of Babylon and had no real desire to return to a home they never knew. The poetry of Isaiah served to refresh their imagination concerning a God who offered mercy and pardon. The poetry was an invitation to an alternative perception of reality. They had been born in captivity and had never experienced freedom. Now they are encouraged to forsake a culture of death and step into a promise of new life.

Over the past 20 years many leading theologians have suggested that the church is now living in a time of exile. We have hitched our wagons to a new world in which we have substituted numbers for names. I used to be Louie Andrews. Now I am simply known by the digits on my credit card. I fear folks with less than noble intent will acquire access to those numbers and my life will be destroyed.

We have hitched our wagons to pills which promise relief from pain. The cruel results are America is ravaged by an opium crisis. The third leading cause of death for folks between the ages of 15 to 25 is suicide. Recently suicide became the 10^th leading cause of death overall.

We have hitched our wagons to consumerism.   This is the prime month. The success of many a company depends on you overloading the stockings and Christmas tree. And the only ones who will enjoy a consumer Christmas are the executives at Visa and Mastercard.

How many folks do you know who are enslaved by fear, or painkillers, or economic stress or all the other factors that accompany life in Babylon? Every day my phone rings with someone who can’t pay the rent, can’t keep the lights on, or can’t find food for their children. It rings so often I am starting to become a cynic who wonders how much money they are spending on beer, or meth, or both.

Are these folks so unlike us? Aren’t they waiting for a word of good news just like we do following the surgery of a loved one? Are these folks so unlike those slaves in Babylon who longed to hear a word of comfort or hope? We try our best here at Rockfish but how often do we leave a house after delivering wood and think, “How are they possibly going to make it?” Taking on the ills of the world will drive us insane. So where do we find a word of hope? 

Isaiah 40 reminds us in order to get from Babylon to Jerusalem a lot of mountains are going to have to be lowered and a lot of valleys lifted up. While I marveled at all the Head Start children who filled our fellowship hall Sunday afternoon I wanted to weep. How many of those children have two parents? How many of those children have parents who can read? How many of those children have parents who are not diabetic? How many of those children have a parent who works full time? There are so many hills and valleys in front of those children. But what are we suppose to do?

The poet in Isaiah promises that God will change the world. Do we really believe that? We substitute Santa Claus for God because Santa can offer joy for a moment. But where is Santa in January? The poet knows how wearisome this world can be. Yet this poet promises, “God does not grow weary. God gives power to the weak and strength to the powerless. They will mount up with wings like eagles. They will run and not be faint.”

Those are powerful words but they fall on deaf ears if people of faith have already concluded that God is irrelevant in our culture. What can we do? The fate of so many children seems to already be set in stone.  I fear we have been persuaded by Babylon. We call our situation “reality” and know it cannot be changed.

So when did we stop believing in Christmas? Jesus never preached the world couldn’t be transformed. Jesus never found God to be obsolete. Jesus believed God would find a way to allow children the chance to fly and Jesus believed we would be the agents of that transformation.

Last year on one of our bike rides on the Skyline Drive Mary Dudley introduced me to a friend of hers who believed in Jesus in a very big way. I can’t remember his name so I will call him Fred. When Mary Dudley’s son Daniel was in kindergarten, this Fred decided to give one day a week to Daniel’s class.  When Daniel moved up to the first grade, so did Fred. He did this for 12 years. Fred had made such a huge impact on the lives of those kids they insisted Fred walk the stage with them as a graduate. Think how many lives Fred touched with one simple gesture.

This year was our second Head Start Christmas party. Next spring we will host the second children’s spring fling. Last year the children and parents hardly spoke to us. This year the crowd was larger and the conversations more pronounced. What would happen if each one of us unofficially adopted one of those kids? What would happen if once a week we could be involved in their reading and writing? Maybe in five years they would see us as their academic grandparents. Maybe, with our encouragement, when they enter middle school they would excel. Maybe in 12 years they would be the first person in their family to go to college.  This can happen if we become involved. This can happen if instead saying, “Santa Claus is coming to town”, we promise, “Comfort, comfort, my child. Let me help you step out of this valley. Let me make those hills a little less scary. Let me help you down a road that leads someplace else.”

In Isaiah, the poet asked the question, “How is the glory of the Lord revealed?”

Jesus responded, “One child at a time.”

So how will we respond? With a convenient, “Ho, Ho, Ho,” or a committed, “Comfort ye, Comfort ye, my children.”

To God be the glory.  Amen.