Showing posts with label Israel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Israel. Show all posts

Saturday, 15 February 2014

Living Between Times: Sermon on Malachi 3:1-5


I stumbled along the path in front of me as the night closed in on both sides. I can’t remember a night before or since being so black: holding out my hand in front of me, it disappeared into the darkness. I wondered where all the stars had gone. It occurred to me that if I stepped off the path now, I might disappear into the Canadian shied forever. I was at a chaplaincy retreat in a rural retreat centre and my cabin was unusually far from the main camp. I stopped, alone on the path, wondering what to do next. I couldn’t keep going this way, unable to see a thing in front of me. Salvation came in the form of my cellphone. The light was tiny and dim, but it was just enough to get me safely back to the cabin. In the morning, as the sun shone on the path as I walked back to camp, I had to laugh at myself for being so worried the night before. The path was so obvious in the sunlight!

This morning the Israelites find themselves stumbling through a similar darkness, wondering where God has gotten off to and how they can possibly reach their destination without his light guiding them. They have made the journey through the wilderness from exile in Babylon back to Israel, and after years of hard work, they have finished rebuilding their temple. But they remain under the control of the Persians, a fierce nation that was strong enough even to overthrow Babylon.

The Persians encouraged the returning Israelites to rebuild their temple, but it seemed to always be on Persian terms. The Israelites could have a sanctuary, but not a watchtower; an overseer but not a full order of priests. For decades the Israelites had been dreaming of the day they would return to their homeland, when their independence would be restored and God would be their king. They dreamed of the days of Jubilee, when the poor would be treated fairly and they could earn a living wage without having to give half of it back to the Persians in taxes.
But that day didn’t seem to be coming. It seemed to be a lost dream, because even though they’d finally returned to their hometown, things weren’t much better than they’d been in Babylon. There were still orphans living in the streets, single moms forced to work as prostitutes, warlords keeping an eye on everyone and taking the best of everything. “Where on earth is God??” They wondered. “Has he abandoned us here? Whatever happened to the “God of justice” who’s supposed to be always with us?” They seemed to be living in-between-times: between the glory days when the temple was full of laughing children and groups of young men studying Torah; and the promised future, when God’s messenger would come to restore his people and his temple.
When they were honest, though, the Israelites had to admit that they contributed to the problem about as much as the Persians did. They got tired of waiting for God to deal with the Persians, so they developed a few of their own strategies: just a little dishonest deal here, skipping the temple tithe there; cutting corners on the way of life God required of them just to get ahead a little. Living in between the glory of the temple’s past and the glory of its future seemed like wandering in the darkness, hoping for a little light to lead the way.
2400 years later, we once again find ourselves wandering between times. The Church in Canada, once filled with laughing children and curious youth, is closing more doors every week. We find ourselves longing for the days when our buildings were the hub of the community, brimming with activity seven days a week. A couple weeks ago I went on a tour of a church just up the street and heard stories about the 20’s and 30’s when there were 1500 people on the parish list and 200 teachers in the Sunday school. The parishioners filled the neighbourhood, and the needs of the community were the needs of the parish.
Yet by 1940, war brought exile to the community and just as the Israelites were sent off to Babylon, the young men of the parish were sent across the ocean to fight in Europe. When the war was finally over, the parishioners began moving to the suburbs and leaving the old church behind. The parish entered a long, dark, in-between time, when they longed for the days of the past and wondered what the days of the future would bring. As the neighbourhood became filled with poverty and violence, some people even ventured to ask the question others were thinking, the same one asked by the Israelites: “Where is the God of justice we keep hearing about?”

“But look!” Malachi says to the Israelites, “God has not forgotten you! During these times of darkness and uncertainty God strengthens you and leads you by a small but strong light- his promise to be faithful."
Malachi goes on to remind the Israelites of what God’s faithfulness looks like- God will send his messenger; the purity of temple worship will be restored; justice will reign (though it will not be easy, especially for the oppressors). But a prophet’s primary concern is never what is going to happen in the future. Malachi’s main point is to show his people that God’s promise to be faithful is light enough to guide them today, through the darkest valley and the most uncertain times.

Since the beginning, Israel’s relationship with God has been based upon God’s promise of faithfulness. He makes promises to care for them, to go ahead of them, to provide for them- all that is asked of Israel in return is that she remain faithful, trusting that God’s promises will carry her through.
In the book of Malachi we have reached the end of the Old Testament, and God’s promises of faithfulness will have to be enough to carry the people through for four hundred years, until Jesus is presented in the temple as the light of the world they’ve been waiting for. In the promise of the coming messiah, God takes hold of his people and does not let them go. For four hundred years they will be without another prophet, struggling to defend their temple, living in oppression under one foreign power after another. But they cling to God’s promise to restore Israel, knowing that it is enough. And even when they forget, complaining against God and taking matters into their own hands, God carries them through by those same promises as they move toward the coming messiah.

Today we celebrate the dedication of the baby Jesus in the temple, the light of the world long awaited by the people of Israel. But now we also find ourselves in a strange in-between time, wondering when Christ will return in glory to establish the kingdom of justice and mercy long ago promised to us. Sometimes we even dare to ask one another, “Where is the God of justice?”
The good news is that today the prophet Malachi comes to us to proclaim the same hope as he brought to the Israelites long ago. We have often heard that God is a God of covenant, which means that God communicates and sustains his people through his promises. The ancient feast of lights or candlemas, which we celebrate today with the presentation of Christ in the temple, is really a celebration of God’s faithfulness- his promise-keeping.


God does not leave us alone in the uncertainty of the future, but promises to carry us safely into the future just as he brought Israel through her uncertainty. “I will never leave you and I will never forsake you” he tells us in Joshua, “and I have plans to give you hope and a future” he promises to Jeremiah. Malachi reminds us that while the journey into the future we hope for is not an easy one, God’s justice will purify and refine us into the community we’ve been called to be.
So now that God has made the promise to bring us into the future and to care for us along the way, we are given the same choice as the Israelites. We can take hold of God’s promises and engage them, or we can sit back and wait for them to happen. As we wait for the promised messenger to arrive so that justice can be established, we learn that God’s promises are messengers for the in-between times. One way that we take hold of God’s promise to be faithful is by stepping out into an uncertain future by trusting in the God who promises to go there with us. The light of God’s faithfulness doesn’t promise to show us the entire path back to the camp; but it is enough to keep us going, trusting in the one who calls us to new adventures during these in-between times. And just as Israel grew and changed, learning more about herself and about God in the journey between Malachi and Jesus, may we also grow and be changed into God’s likeness.

Thursday, 5 December 2013

Things are Not Okay: Advent 1

I fear that in my excitement to begin waiting and watching, I have forgotten what this first bit of Advent is really about. Beginning on Sunday we have been lighting the “hope” candle, which tends to be associated for me with happy ideas like joy, love, and peace. We cannot really have hope, however, until we first acknowledge that things are not okay. Think about it: “hope” is not necessary for people when things are going well. Hope is the treasure of the broken, the hurting, and the lonely.

In our readings for Morning Prayer from the lectionary this week, we have been hearing, not a story of excitement over the coming Christ, but a story of brokenness and failure. In the readings from the prophets (Isaiah 1-2 and Amos 3-4), Israel is condemned for oppression and hypocrisy and the poor cry out for justice. In the Psalms, the people are surrounded by enemies and injustice on all sides, crying out to God for mercy. In the Gospels, we find John the Baptist crying out against the hypocrisy of religion many hundreds of years later, because things have not changed.
Part of why the oppression found in Israel is such a travesty is that these are the people whom God called apart to be a safe place for the hurting of the world: the strangers, the orphans, the widows, and the outcasts. Yet our readings for this first week of Advent cry out, “Things are not okay in the world!” It is a cry, not only of the Christian Church, but of the whole world. We long for something new, for justice and mercy and hope that things will not always be this way.

The Church too has been called to be a people set apart, a blessing to the strangers and outcasts in our lands; but we, like Israel, have become unjust and hypocritical instead. So in the first week of Advent, we are called to repent- to acknowledge that something is deeply wrong with the world and, not only can we not fix it, but we are a big part of it.

Yet the prophets do not leave their people in condemnation and the rhythm of Advent doesn’t leave us there either, as we come to the end of this first week. Even as we are reminded of the ways in which we’ve failed the world, failed God, and failed ourselves, we are given a promise: God is going to do something new among you. God has seen that you cannot be the blessing to the world on your own, so God will break into our time and space to dwell among us and be the justice we long for. The bad news is we can’t do it. The good news is that God can: and soon will.

Now, as I sit with my first Advent candle at the end of a long day, I think about the brokenness of the world and repent of my role in it, both personally any communally. Then I beg God to come and transform the mess we’ve made. I sit in stillness for a moment, and I blow out the candle with a sense of hope, knowing that by acknowledging my own inadequacy I have made space for God to come and dwell among us. Because God never barges in unwanted and uninvited. That, my friends, is the hope we profess this season: not a greeting card sentiment, but a deep, almost painful assurance that God has not forgotten us.