By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector
How do we live and work together as a faith community? Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians is directed to an early Christian community undergoing some growing pains. His letter offers clear instructions on how to correct many aspects of communal life. At the same time, his letter begs certain questions still relevant to Christian communities today, such as:
In today’s passage, he is especially concerned with the community’s practices around the eucharist. In the early Church, the eucharist was more than a simple meal of bread and wine. It was an all out feast, that was more akin to the Dinner Church services led by Jimmy this Lent. People brought what they could, and the food was equally available to all. The eucharist has always been grounded in a theology of God’s abundance, generosity, and love. Except, something had gone awry in Corinth. The Corinthian community had been following Roman and Jewish dining customs of the time, which involved reserving the best seats and finest foods for the most esteemed guests.* This resulted in the poorest and least influential members of the community receiving inferior treatment.* In the verses that precede tonight’s lesson, Paul actually says, “Now in the following instructions I do not commend you, because when you come together it is not for the better but for the worse” (11:17). In other words, if that’s how you are going to celebrate the eucharist, it would be better if you didn’t bother at all. He goes on to say, “For when the time comes to eat, each of you goes ahead with your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk. What! Do you not have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you show contempt for the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing? What should I say to you? Should I commend you? In this matter I do not commend you!” (11:21-22). Ouch. Paul argues that the social stratification happening in Corinth is corrupting the very meaning of the eucharist. This is particularly offensive to him, as he was the one that initially instructed them on the practice of the eucharist. Clearly, they had not understood. In the section of his letter that we heard today, Paul is offering a correction. The practice of the eucharist comes from Jesus himself, when on the night he was betrayed, he took a loaf of bread, gave thanks, and said to his disciples: “This is my body, that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me” (11:24) Then in the same way he took the cup, saying: “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me” (11:25). Paul is reminding Christian communities that each time we share in the eucharist, we are sharing in God’s story of love and redemption as made known to us in Christ. He also tries to help the community understand there is a difference between a shared communal meal of the eucharist and eating because we are physically hungry. He tells people if they are so hungry they can’t wait for everyone to have some food, they should eat something at home before coming to worship. In other words, have a snack if you must. Paul also reminds us that prior to sharing the eucharist, we are meant to be examining our conscience, our behaviors, and our relationships. It can be easy to let this element of sharing the eucharist slip our minds. Because this aspect is hard.It’s one reason why this Lent, we’ve been regularly using one of the alternative offertory sentences prior to celebrating the eucharist together: “If you are offering your gift at the altar, and there remember that your neighbor has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your neighbor, and then come and offer your gift.” - Matthew 5:23, 24 Everytime we celebrate the eucharist at Saints James and Andrew, we say: “This is God’s table, and all are welcome here, no exceptions.” What we do not say so straightforwardly is: “This is God’s table, and walking the Way of Love is the hardest work we will ever do. So come; come and be spiritually nourished in our shared communal meal, so we might go out into the world to keep growing, and striving for reconciliation, for justice, mercy, and kindness in God’s world.” Yet another reason why eucharist is not a private meal, but rather a communal meal. We need one another as a community to walk this Way of Love. It’s easy to see why Paul was so upset about the social stratification at play in Corinth, for the ways it disrupts community and creates inequality at God’s table. It’s equally easy to scoff at another community when they make this kind of mistake. What were those foolish Corinthians thinking? Well, probably the same thing churches thought when they started selling pews. Likely some committee in some church looking to raise capital had the great idea that if we sold pews to members, it would help balance the budget. It would allow members to choose their own pew, and to fuss over who might be sitting nearby. But what about those who couldn’t afford a pew? Well, the solution was a poor man’s pew. Our church once had such a pew, located in what is now the Littles’ Corner. While churches eventually began to realize selling pews was bad form in Christian communities, the culture of owning pews persisted long after payment ceased. Many lifelong church goers have had the misfortune of accidentally sitting in ‘someone else’s pew’ and receiving a rude glare or unkind words in return. I’d like to think that kind of behavior has largely gone by the wayside, as we do not actually own pews anymore. (And if this is new information for you, I am sorry to be the bearer of such difficult news this evening.) But I have to say, thank God we stopped such foolishness. Because holding a special place at God’s table for the wealthy and prominent is exactly what Paul is so worked up about in today’s passage. Social stratification can sneak into communal life in all sorts of ways if we do not keep God’s Love as our North Star. Which is likely why Paul makes a long and beautiful speech about love a few paragraphs beyond today’s passage. While 1 Corinthians 13 is often read at weddings, it’s not actually about romantic love. It is about the communal love that guides our life together as the body of Christ. It’s no mistake that the creators of the lectionary choose this reading for Maundy Thursday. This passage helps Christian communities as we walk through Holy Week to remember that the Eucharist grounds our common life together, and that it actually matters how we go about breaking bread as a community. Whatever our social status may be out in the world, at God’s Table, we are siblings in Christ, cherished and beloved children of God, equally welcomed. Because the Eucharist is inherently about God’s love:
God sent Jesus to teach us what it means to love. The eucharist was one of the primary tools that Jesus gave us, to guide and ground us in God’s love as a community; sustaining us as we strive to love and serve God’s world. As was, the footwashing. I’ve been your priest long enough that y’all know I love the foot washing ceremony. I know we all have insecurities about our feet, and our bodies in general. These insecurities make us uncomfortable, and the thought of others washing our feet can leave us feeling vulnerable in ways we’d prefer not to feel vulnerable. But that was Jesus’ point. In community, we are meant to be vulnerable with one another, to take risks, and help one another to grow in love. Doing so strengthens the body of Christ and our mission. There is a reason, this is the action focused on in John’s gospel on the eve of Jesus’ arrest. Jesus was teaching his disciples that loving one another means serving one another. But we can’t serve one another if we are not willing to be served. Many of us are eager to jump in and do the serving. We will get our hands dirty. We will go where God sends us. At the same time, the idea that God may be sending us to have our feet washed may make us deeply uncomfortable. The idea of allowing our feet, with all the insecurities and vulnerabilities they represent, may leave us wanting to say thanks, but no thanks. And again, that is the point. To walk the Way of Love, we need to be willing to serve and be served. I’m not saying we need to be there today, tomorrow, or the next day. If you are not ready to partake in the foot washing this evening, that is okay. What I am saying is that God longs for us to know what it means to serve and be served in community. We will spend our whole lives growing and being changed by God’s reconciling and redemptive Love. So, this night, this particular worship, is especially for the Church. To gather in our local worshiping communities, and reflect on our communal life:
Amen. * Jewish Annotated New Testament, p. 341. By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector What are your childhood memories of Palm Sunday? I spent my middle and high school years worshiping at the former St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Augusta, Maine.* On Palm Sunday, we would gather at the Parish House with our palms, and process across the sidewalk into the church. Much like we did today, due to the ice, the crucifer would lead us in one of those curious figure eight processions, round and round the sanctuary, until finally we would make our way to our pews. I remember sitting in my pew, turning my palm into a cross, and curious neighbors would hand me theirs, so I might do the same with their palms. Looking back, I now recognize those neighbors were really compassionate grandparent figures, who could easily spot a kid in great need of something to do at a particularly lengthy Sunday service. Anyone who has ever sat next to me knows, I’m not very good at sitting still. The words of the liturgy and the readings would soak into me, even as I was busy fidgeting with palms. But when it was time for the gospel, things were startlingly different. Our parish celebrated Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday, where the congregation would turn the Passion gospel into a dramatic reading. There was a bone chilling moment where the entire congregation would shout together, ‘Crucify him, crucify him’. Many of us grew up with similar experiences on Palm Sunday. In recent years, here at James and Andrew, we have joined other churches in a conscious shift away from celebrating Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday. The primary hope is that instead of trying to fit all of Holy Week into a single service, instead we will gather daily as a community to give our full attention to each momentous element of Holy Week. To be certain, this is less convenient. Possibly a disastrous choice at a time when our culture increasingly values convenience. That said, when has following the Way of Love ever been convenient? In fact, it is largely rather inconvenient. Choosing to follow Jesus on the Way of Love forces us to regularly examine our motivations and actions, to strive for justice and peace, and to genuinely care for the wellbeing of all people and God’s creation. Yet there are still other reasons to hold off on a dramatic reading of the Passion. At our winter clergy day, Bishop Fisher and his staff brought in Dr. Daniel Joslyn-Siemiatkoski, who serves as Kraft Family Professor and Director of the Center for Christian-Jewish Learning at Boston College. He is also an Episcopal priest, serving the Diocese of Massachusetts as Ecumenical & Interreligious Officer.** He is deeply engaged in helping the Church examine and rethink how we talk about Jews, particularly within our lectionary, liturgy, and preaching. During his time with us, he addressed how we, as the Church, have historically engaged in antisemitism by the way we use certain texts in Holy Week. He strongly argues that how the Church speaks about Jews in worship shapes how the Church stands with Jews in public. Professor Joslyn-Siemiatkoski reminded us that the Church has long promoted supersessionism, which is the belief that the Church has replaced Israel as God’s chosen people.*** According to Professor Joslyn-Siemiatkoski supersessionism is woven into our beliefs in three core ways:
He goes on to say that when these beliefs go uncorrected, it misshapes and misunderstands Judaism as a religion that:
These anti-Judaism beliefs lead to instances of anti-semitism. In particular, Holy Week has historically been a time of rhetorical and physical violence for Jews. While Jews and Christians have begun the long work of reconciliation, the Church still has extensive work to do. Part of this work is taking a closer look at our liturgical practices during Holy Week. Earlier I mentioned there might be another reason to hold off on the dramatic reading of the Passion. In the Passion narratives, the crowd is understood to be Jewish. This means the narratives portray Jews as the ones crying out, ‘Crucify him!’, and in Matthew’s version, the crowd cries out: ‘His blood be on us and our children!’ (27:24-26). These readings portray Jewish leaders as though they carry a greater responsibility for Jesus' death than Pontious Pilate, when in reality, the Jewish people are subjects of an oppressive Roman Empire. Even the Jewish authorities who act as intermediaries are subject to Rome’s power and might. This means throughout history we have placed responsibility for the death of Jesus on an oppressed people, instead of their oppressor, the Roman Empire and the only person in the room holding all the actual power, Pontius Pilate. Above and beyond this fact, are the complexities we add in when we, as Christians, play act at being Jewish for a dramatic reading of the Passion. We get to experience that bone chilling moment when we cry out ‘Crucify him’ and feel, for a moment, what it's like to be responsible for Jesus’ suffering and death. But we are playing at being Jewish; a people that have historically been oppressed, and when the service is over, we go back out into the world as Christians. How is that appropriate, when as Christians, our religion sits so adjacent to power, that it has been swept up in its own oppressive and disturbing version of nationalism? Professor Joslyn-Siemiatkoski begs the question of us: Is the drama worth it? I would have to say no. Professor Joslyn-Siemiatkoski suggests one of the solutions to this challenge is to separate out Palm and Passion Sunday, as has been our custom in recent years. Good Friday holds its own complexities, which we will tend to later this week. Each year a gospel lesson is assigned for the ‘Liturgy of the Palms’ that we shift to our primary gospel lesson on Palm Sunday. Before we take a closer look at that text, and I promise, I don’t have a whole other sermon, I want to lift up something that theologians Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan observe about the Passion in their book The Last Week.**** They observe that the word ‘passion’ means more than simply ‘suffering’; it also means what a person is passionate about. These two interpretations play against one another in the life of Jesus. They write: “The first passion of Jesus was the kingdom of God, namely, to incarnate the justice of God by demanding for all a fair share of a world belonging to and ruled by the covenantal God of Israel. It was that first passion for God’s distributive justice that led inevitably to the second passion by Pilate’s punitive justice. Before Jesus, after Jesus, and, for Christians, archetypically in Jesus, those who live for nonviolent justice die all too often from violent injustice.” When we bear all this in mind, it helps make sense of the events in our gospel lesson.**** Jesus is not just randomly asking for the disciples to score him a colt, so he has a sweet ride into Jerusalem. He is actively planning a political demonstration. Jesus knows that on the other side of Jerusalem, the Roman governor Pontius Pilate was leading his own imperial procession into the city. Rome was always ready to showcase their might, particularly when they wanted to squelch the possibility of revolt. Only twenty-six years earlier, there had been a rebellion in Jerusalem following Herod the Great’s death. When Rome finally quelled the revolt, they punished the rebels by crucifying two thousand rebels en masse. It was customary for the Roman governor to arrive in Jerusalem in anticipation of any major Jewish festivals, particularly for Passover, which celebrated the Jewish people’s liberation from Egypt. The Kingdom of Caesar was on full display and it told the oppressed: Stay in your place. Yet the Kingdom of Caesar stood in direct opposition to everything the Kingdom of God stands for. And so, with the help of his followers, Jesus organized an entirely different procession of peasants that took place at the exact same time, on the other side of Jerusalem. Jesus entered Jerusalem on a colt, stirring to mind for the Jewish people the words of the prophet Zechariah, who foretold of God’s king who would bring peace: “Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey. He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the warhorse from Jerusalem; and the battle-bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations; his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth” (Zechariah 9:10). All those years ago, two processions entered Jerusalem reminding the crowds of two very different ways of being, two very different kinds of kingdoms, and two very different dreams of what this world can be. There is the Way of Love and the Way of the Might. This Holy Week, this one precious life: Which Way will we follow? Which Way will we walk? Amen. * https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Mark%27s_Episcopal_Church_(Augusta,_Maine) ** https://www.diomass.org/news/diocesan-news/new-ecumenical-interreligious-officer-appointed *** The points made in this paragraph and the subsequent two paragraphs are directly taken from the Rev. Dr. Daniel Joslyn-Siemiatkoski talk and power point presentation on ‘Engaging Anti-Judaism in the Texts of Holy Week’ given at the Diocese of Western Massachusetts Winter Clergy Day on February 1, 2024. ****The points made in this paragraph are referencing Marcus J. Borg and John Dominic Crossan book, The Last Week, p. vii-viii, 2-30. By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector One of the great musicals of the last decade is Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton. Miranda tells the story of Alexander Hamilton’s life, and the incredible sense of urgency with which he worked for his cause. Over the course of 6 months, Hamilton composed 51 of the 85 Federalist Papers.* This is one reason why in the song Non-Stop the question is begged of Hamilton: Why do you write like you're running out of time? Write day and night like you're running out of time?...** This past week these lyrics kept reminding me of Mark’s gospel. While Mark only left us with a single work, featuring a mere 16 chapters, it is written like the world might end tomorrow, and we must understand the good news NOW. Mark’s sense of urgency manages to make Hamilton seem rather relaxed, which we know was hardly the case. All this is to say, in Mark’s gospel we are meant to not miss a beat. There are no extra words, only what is needed to make the point. This can leave us with more questions, but also invites a greater curiosity. Mark’s gospel begins by diving head first into Jesus’ baptism. Just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, “...he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased” (Mk 1:10-11). Or as the Message translates:“You are my Son, chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life.” This was a private and intimate moment between God and Jesus. There were no witnesses. Instead, Jesus is enveloped and marked by God’s love. Because we live two millennia after Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection it is easy to forget that we understand the text with two thousand years of theological interpretation layered on top. We know the end game; or at least, how the Church has come to understand the text. This often interferes with receiving the text as Mark’s original audience would have. Whenever we can, as best we’re able, I would encourage us to try and hear the text as though it were for the first time. Can you imagine what Jesus must have made of this encounter? He arrives at the Jordan River ready to be baptized, as an act of spiritual renewal, and gets far more than expected - a transformational experience of the divine. God says, to him alone, “You are my Son. I love you beyond measure, and couldn’t be prouder.” Is it any wonder that after such a momentous experience, Jesus is immediately driven into the wilderness for forty days? It is only after this wilderness time that Jesus is ready to begin his public ministry. The entire time he keeps his full identity to himself. Until we reach today’s text featuring the transfiguration. Here God reveals Jesus’ full identity to a handful of disciples, with some very clear instructions that the disciples are to ‘listen’ to Jesus. Jesus and the disciples have been ministering together for quite a while. He had only recently begun to prepare them for all that was about to unfold with regard to his impending suffering, death, and resurrection. The disciples were having a difficult time understanding and accepting this news. It is at this point that Jesus brings Peter, James, and John on a short pilgrimage to Mt. Hermon.*** The four of them were alone on the mountaintop when Jesus was transformed; even his clothes took on a shimmering brightness. Then Elijah and Moses appeared, and were talking with Jesus. The disciples were at a complete loss as to understand what was happening. As Peter began to introduce the idea of making three dwellings, a cloud overshadowed them, and God’s voice was heard through the cloud, proclaiming: “This is my Son, the Beloved, listen to him!” (Mk 9:7). Whereas at Jesus’ baptism, God spoke directly and privately to Jesus: You are my Son. At the transfiguration, God spoke directly to Jesus and the three disciples: This is my Son. With this encounter, God is telling Jesus: This news is no longer for just the two of us. Ready yourself. Likewise, God is saying to the three disciples: My love is revealed in the life of my Son, Jesus. Listen to him! Scholar Amy Lindeman Allen notes that,“In Mark’s gospel, Jesus never directly claims this status for himself. While the disciples generally respect his authority, it is in this moment that they begin to understand the depths from which it originates. This is the core of the revelation: Jesus’ status as beloved of God.” **** Moses and Elijah were also present for this mountaintop transfiguration.***** Their presence reminds the three disciples of how God has acted and been revealed throughout history. God had been at work with Moses, the founder of ancient Israel. Much like at the transfiguration, God and Moses communicated on the high, holy mountain of Sinai, with clouds enveloping them. God had also been at work with Elijah, the prophetic restorer of ancient Israel. Just as Jesus' work had taken on a similar role. Moses and Elijah’s presence at the transfiguration affirms God’s revelation to the three disciples. This entire episode must have been quite an experience for the three disciples.Referring to Peter, the text says, “He did not know what to say, for they were terrified” (Mk 9:6). Other translations describe them as stunned and frightened. The Message sums the scene up well: Elijah, along with Moses, came into view, in deep conversation with Jesus. Peter interrupted, “Rabbi, this is a great moment! Let’s build three memorials—one for you, one for Moses, one for Elijah.” He blurted this out without thinking, stunned as they all were by what they were seeing. Peter’s instinct was to preserve this life-changing moment, which is an understandable response. Throughout human history mountains have been considered sacred places that yield transformative experiences. In Sanskrit, one of the oldest languages in the world, there is a word for this, darshan.“It suggests a face-to-face encounter with the sacred on earth; with a physical manifestation of the holy.”***** These holy encounters transcend mountaintops. We are transformed by the sacred everyday: …when we are outdoors in God’s creation and feel the peace of the Holy One wash over us. …when we see things through the eyes of our children and grandchildren. …when we are overcome with gratitude for a loved one no longer with us. …when we hear God’s call, and finally feel courageous enough to say yes. …and in the thousands of other ways we encounter the holy in this life. Like Peter, we may want to hit pause to memorialize these sacred moments. But it doesn’t work that way. We take in the glimmer, and then return to our messy, broken, and complicated lives. Yet that glimmer changes us; it helps point us forward, just as the view from the mountaintop shows us the many paths we might take as we wander through the wilderness of our lives. The glimmer of the holy invites us to listen and be present in the moment. God was pretty clear with the disciples about this, “Listen to him.” Listen to what Jesus is saying about what will soon unfold. Listen to his teachings about my love. Listen and be present. Like the rest of us, in light of the startling revelation of the transfiguration, Peter is ready to get to work and start building memorials. Peter exemplifies the human experience in this manner. God knows that we like to do, do, do, as it is far more comfortable for us than being present to the uncertainty within ourselves and our world. Which is why God is telling us to Listen. Be present. It really is quite fitting that we hear a version of this story each year before we enter the wilderness time of Lent. Lent is a season for self-examination and repentance; prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and for reading and meditating on God's holy Word. It is a season of working our way through the wilderness. Sometimes we do that work with a whole lot of doing, by taking things on or trying to break unhealthy habits. Maybe this year we work our way through the wilderness by being. Being present and listening to what is unfolding within the wilderness. To discern what needs tending and care at this juncture in our relationship with God and ourselves, as God’s beloved children. To hear what God may have to reveal to us this Lent. What if this Lent, we simply listen. What might we hear if we: Listen Listen to the voices of creation and the earth herself. Listen to the suffering endured by neighbors near and far. Listen for the Holy One in scripture, literature, and media. Listen for God at work and at home. Listen for God in our relationships. Listen for what needs tending within ourselves. Listen for what God has to say to us. This Lent, what do we need to lay down on God’s altar so we might be able to listen? What might God be saying that we need to hear this Lent? What might happen if we learn to listen with this kind of intention every day of our lives? Amen. * https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Federalist_Papers ** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPgE7PNzXag **** The Jewish Annotated New Testament, p.88 **** Preaching, p.77 ***** See Oxford Annotated New Revised Standard Version Commentary discussion of Moses and Elijah in Mk 9 Robert MacFarlane, The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot, p. 269. By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector Today, let us turn our attention to the book of Isaiah. The Revised Common Lectionary, which determines the set of readings churches use for Sunday worship, frequently draws upon the prophet Isaiah.* In fact, over the course of the three year cycle, Isaiah is assigned 51 times. To give this some context, we hear 31 readings from Genesis; 24 readings from Jeremiah; and 22 readings from Exodus. The only text that we hear more from in the Hebrew Scriptures are the Psalms; which are featured nearly every Sunday. First and foremost, Isaiah is a book of poetry. Poetry that has helped support core beliefs within Judaism, including the belief that a messiah would act to save God’s people; the significance of Jerusalem; and the importance of economic and social justice.* Poetry which early Christians began to interpret as an anticipation of Jesus. While a Christian lens can be a meaningful way to interpret the text, I often find it more helpful to try and understand the text in its original context. Something that is helpful to remember when we are listening to the Hebrew Scriptures is that these texts were originally written for Israel. This is not referencing Israel as a present day nation state. Israel is more than a place, it is a resilient and faithful body that has been in covenant with God for over a millenia.*****Just as God formed another covenant with Gentile Christians, what we think of as the Church, which actually began with Noah following the flood and was expanded through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. As we sit with these holy scriptures, let us remember there is enough space at God’s table for both interpretations, for both traditions, for God’s covenant with both Israel and the Church. But we’ll hear more about all that on Good Friday - so stay tuned. Isaiah was composed over the course of two centuries.** The first section, referred to as First Isaiah, was written in the 8th century BCE, while the latter additions, referred to as Second and Third Isaiah, were written in the 6th century BCE. Scholars believe Isaiah, son of Amoz, composed most of the first section, while students of Isaiah's school of thought composed the latter sections. Isaiah wrote at a time when ancient Israel had been divided into two kingdoms: the Northern Kingdom of Israel and the Southern Kingdom of Judah. While Isaiah predominately wrote to the people of Judah, where he lived; his text, in many ways, is a message to all the people of ancient Israel. The overall focus of the text is the descent of ancient Israel into exile and death, and then their promised ascent to new life and well-being.** Isaiah chapter 40 is a critical juncture in the book. During the initial 39 chapters, we see that the Assyrian empire is a superpower on the rise.Their increasing presence forced smaller kingdoms like Judah and Israel to either cozy up to Assyria for protection, selling their souls in the process, or risk revolt. The Northern Kingdom of Israel risked such a revolt in 722 BCE and it resulted with their people being deported and dispersed throughout the Assyrian empire.** Isaiah was of the opinion that there was a third and better option - that Judeans should stay free of any political or military alliances, in order to rely on God alone to protect them. This opinion must have been challenging for the people of ancient Israel to hear and accept. After all, they could feel the danger on their heels, and they needed to determine how to act now. Trusting the God of Israel would have been the faithful choice, but it also might have felt too risky with such a real and imminent threat on their horizon. After all - what if the God of Israel didn’t protect them as promised? Or didn’t protect them in the way they wanted to be protected. Maybe it would be better to take matters into their own hands. This dynamic is at the heart of humanity’s relationship with God. God is here, though often not in the ways we anticipate, and we are left with reservations. Having faith that God will be our safety, our protection, and our guide can feel more impossible than trying to simply take matters into our own hands. And so, often we do just that. Even when we have the knowledge and experience that God always shows up for us. It may not be in the way we want or how we expect, but God is always here with us. Loving and protecting us like a mother tends her newborn child. When we arrive at Isaiah chapter 40, the text shifts into Second Isaiah. And at this point, quite a lot of time has gone by. The Judeans are now living in exile, having been forcibly removed from their home. They have lost Jerusalem, and all that it symbolized in their relationship with the God of Israel. They feel defeated, ashamed, and are having a crisis of faith. We sometimes forget that for much of antiquity, deities were generally national or regional entities. They were accessed locally in particular physical locations. If people lost access to that physical place, they lost access to their God. Losing Jerusalem would have compounded the sense of loss and shame they were grappling with. So can you imagine how good Isaiah’s news must have been? Have you not known? Have you not heard? Has it not been told you from the beginning? Have you not understood from the foundations of the earth? It is he who sits above the circle of the earth, and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers; who stretches out the heavens like a curtain, and spreads them like a tent to live in; The God of Israel created the foundations of the earth, and reigns over heaven and earth. We are but grasshoppers, always in God’s view. Have you not known? Have you not heard? It is the God of Israel, who brings princes to naught, and makes the rulers of the earth as nothing. Scarcely are they planted, scarcely sown, scarcely has their stem taken root in the earth, when he blows upon them, and they wither, and the tempest carries them off like stubble. Isaiah is smashing the glass ceiling of humanity’s limited thinking. The God of Israel is more powerful than any prince, ruler, or empire. Isaiah is reminding the people of ancient Israel - You think the Assyrian empire is strong? They’ve got nothing on our God. No ruler - yesterday, today, or tomorrow - will ever be as mighty as our Creator God. Isaiah is practically shouting with a profound sense of urgency. Have you not known? Have you not heard? To whom then will you compare me, or who is my equal? says the Holy One. Lift up your eyes on high and see: Who created these? He who brings out their host and numbers them, calling them all by name; because he is great in strength, mighty in power, not one is missing. Why do you say, O Jacob, and speak, O Israel, "My way is hidden from the Lord, and my right is disregarded by my God"? Have you not known? Have you not heard? Isaiah is breaking everything down with this proclamation. While many ancient deities could only be accessed or felt in specific locations, the God of Israel crafted the whole of creation and is accessible everywhere. It was irrelevant that the people were no longer in Jerusalem, the God of Israel is everywhere, always. For us this is a given, but Isaiah is doing something radical and unheard of at the time. He is introducing monotheism, with the God of Israel reigning over the whole of creation. The people need to know! Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless. Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted; but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. The God of Israel is more powerful than any earthly ruler, and stronger than any local god. More than that, the God of Israel is especially available to those who are weak, weary, and waiting. As ancient Israel lingers in their despair, shame, and hopelessness, the prophet Isaiah is waking them up - God is especially with us. All that is required is for the people to wait upon God by putting their trust in God. To choose hope over despair, day after day after day. And when they do, the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. Isaiah was pleading with the people of ancient Israel - hold onto hope! Trust in God! Soon, God would use the Persian King Cyrus the Great to defeat the Assyrian empire, and they would be permitted to return home to Jerusalem. A new day, a new hope, with God as their guide. Isaiah’s poetry is beautiful and inspiring, and speaks to us as much now as it did to ancient Israel. As I sat with these readings, I felt a sense that we, too, need to hold onto what Isaiah is offering. We are invited to wait upon God, offering our trust, and hope. We are living in strange times. Even if we work really hard to not take in much news, we cannot escape the weary and constant onslaught altogether. We are reminded each day of:
Yet when we are reminded of the God of Israel, and the same force of love Jesus embodied in his life, death, and resurrection we are reminded to hold onto hope, to choose to wait upon our God. The Creator of the heavens and the earth is bigger than any war, any violence, any politician, any scandal, and is even bigger than the climate crisis. We need not hide under a rock, but wait on our God and be a source of love and goodness. We are to remember we are God’s and we are here to serve God’s dream by working for peace, justice, and mercy with love and kindness. Because when we do the Lord shall renew our strength, we shall mount up with wings like eagles, we shall run and not be weary, we shall walk and not faint. God gives us the strength to be God’s hands and feet in this world, to make a difference, to see a new day, a new hope. As we begin to prepare for the season of Lent, I would invite us to do some reflecting this week:
We walk together, as the body of Christ. We wait together, as the body of Christ. Amen. *www.lectionarypage.net/ReverseLectionary.html **The Jewish Study Bible, p.763 *** This paragraph makes several references to information reflected by Walter Brueggemann and Tod Linafelt in their Introduction to the Old Testament, pgs 191-208. ****www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fifth-sunday-after-epiphany-2/commentary-on-isaiah-4021-31-6 *****Daniel Joslyn-Siemiatkoski, Talking About Jews: Principles, Problems, and Proposals for Prayer Book Revision |
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