Tuesday in the Fourth Week of Advent

One of my great uncles served in the U. S. Navy during World War II, as a member of the signal corps. Essentially, the signal corps used a series of variously colored and inscribed flags and pennants to communicate between ships when radio silence was being observed. The sequence of the banners was of critical importance;  one flag out of place could entirely change the commands being conveyed to the other ships in the task force. I was absolutely fascinated by the various colors, sizes and shapes of these signal banners, and my uncle happily provided me with plenty of stories about his time aboard the "flag ship" in the Pacific.

In today's lesson, Isaiah of Jerusalem continues his description of "the shoot from the stump of Jesse" we read about yesterday (11:1-9). In the latter half of the chapter, Isaiah notes that this "root" will "stand as a signal to the people" (11:10) This incarnated signal from God will herald the advent of a new era for the Covenant People. 

The remnant that had been scattered will be gathered and reconstituted. The animosity that had previously existed between the Northern Kingdom of Israel and the Southern Kingdom of Judah will evaporate in the dawn of the restoration of the people of God. All of the former enemies of the Covenant People will find themselves "inquiring" of this signal to God's unending faithfulness (11:10b). Isaiah sees that the root's "dwelling will be glorious" (11:10c) -- a sign that the restored kingdom will once again enjoy a place of political prominence in the region. 

For Isaiah of Jerusalem, this restoration is not so much about vindication of the remnant's faith as it is a vindication of God's faithfulness to the remnant. The "signal" is a witness to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob at work in history. The "signal" will telegraph to "the nations" of the known world that this God keeps covenant -- that this God is a God to be reckoned with.

In a few short hours, this season of Advent will draw to a close. Nearly 2800 years after Isaiah of Jerusalem penned his tribute to the "shoot from the stump of Jesse", we, who are people of a New Covenant, will gather, not around a throne, but around a manger. We will sing, not of a glorious dwelling but of a holy night. We will celebrate that the God of Isaiah does indeed keep covenant -- with the People Called into Covenant and the People Called through Baptism.  In the darkness of winter's night we will ponder anew the brightness of the unmistakable Signal of God's presence among us -- Emmanuel, Son of Mary, Son of God.

Monday in the Fourth Week of Advent

My favorite tree in the front yard of my childhood home was a redbud tree. My guess is that the tree had been planted as a sapling shortly after the construction of the house in the early 1950's. My family moved into the house in the mid-1960's and by the mid-1970's the tree had grown to a significant size. I looked forward to those glorious pink/violet buds as a harbinger of the Virginia springtime. First the white jonquils, then the bright yellow forsythia, then the redbuds...followed closely by the dogwoods and azaleas. 

Somewhere around the time I went to college, the redbud tree contracted a blight, which killed off half of its branches. My dad trimmed the dead branches away and began a two year process of attempting to save the tree. Finally, it became obvious that his best efforts would not be enough and late one fall, he cut the remaining branches and some of the trunk, leaving about a three foot high stump in the ground. Dad's plan was to allow the stump to finish dying over the winter, so that final disposition would be easier the following spring. 

But a funny thing happened on the way to certain death. The next spring, before my dad could get around to finishing the job he had started the previous fall, the entire top half of the stump was covered in redbud blossoms. While not as glorious as before, the flowers were so beautiful, my dad simply decided to let things be to "see what would happen". By the end of the summer several new branches had extended two or three feet out from the old stump. The next year, the redbud blossoms were back -- still not to the tree's former glory, but better than the first year of its new birth. By the time my parents sold their house in the mid-1980's, the new branches had spread to such an extent that, from a distance, it was difficult to determine if they were "new growth" or if they had been there all along. 

In today's reading from Isaiah, the Daily Office lectionary takes us back to the first section of the book penned by Isaiah of Jerusalem. As we have read Isaiah's oracles over the past few weeks, he is clear that the axe of God's righteousness is going to fall, and when the chopping is done, all that will remain of Kingdom of David, the son of Jesse, would be likened to a stump. The stump of the kingdom would be an icon to the Covenant People's breach of the Covenant. The stump would stand as a testimony to the fruit of faithlessness. The stump would silently scream of the perils of human arrogance in taunting Divine Holiness. 

But Isaiah of Jerusalem saw something else -- he saw that the stump of Jesse would not be the end of the story of this covenant-making, covenant-keeping God! He writes, "There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. And the Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord...." (Isaiah 11:1,2) This "shoot from Jesse" will be a sign of a new age of God's gracious favor -- a time when, "the wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them..." (Isaiah 11:6)

Isaiah sees, through the eyes of faith, a new world waiting to be born. Isaiah writes confidently of God's vision for the creation -- a vision in which, life will have the last word over death; righteousness will overwhelm injustice; peace will win the battle with war.  "They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea." (Isaiah 11:9) Isaiah of Jerusalem writes of a time he will not witness with his own eyes, but through faith, he sees that day with a clarity that eludes us. 

We ask, "Who was/is the 'shoot from the stump of Jesse'?" Is this phrase a figure of speech for the people of Israel as a whole? Was it a description of a king in the lineage of David who would literally reconstitute the Kingdom of David in all its former glory? Scholars disagree. The Church has claimed this beautiful poem of God's faithfulness to God's promises, with its emphasis on social justice and covenantal righteousness, as indicative of the ministry of Jesus. 

The task of this poem, though, is not to provide answers to all the questions we may have of God. The poem is not an apologetic to address all the concerns we may voice about "God's ways". This poem isn't about explaining anything. Rather, this poem is an exuberant psalm to God's faithful righteousness and righteous faithfulness. This poem is meant to evoke in the reader a hope that can endure even in the midst of debilitating devastation. This poem reminds us that even the stubborn stump of human rebellion and unrepentant recalcitrance is no match for God's tenacious, prodigal, life-giving love.

The Fourth Sunday of Advent

"Behold my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my Spirit upon him, he will bring forth justice to the nations...He will not fail or be discouraged till he has established justice in the earth; and the coastlands wait for his law."

These verses, from the forty-second chapter of Isaiah, were probably written by someone other than Isaiah of Jerusalem, possibly while the exiles from the southern kingdom of Judah were languishing as captives in Babylon. If this is the case, what the first Isaiah saw, through his Spirit-inspired prophetic consciousness in the latter part of the 8th century BCE, has come to pass. 

The Assyrian Empire, having overrun the northern Jewish kingdom of Israel (and having failed to take Jerusalem and the southern kingdom of Judah), eventually find themselves overtaken by the Babylonians. The Babylonians, in turn, accomplish what the Assyrians could not -- taking Jerusalem in approximately 586 BCE -- over 120 years after the ministry of Isaiah of Jerusalem. "Second Isaiah", possibly a prophet who had been trained in the prophetic school associated with Isaiah of Jerusalem, continues to work with the themes so prevalent in the portions of the book of Isaiah we've read during these weeks of Advent. 

In some ways, 2nd Isaiah has an expanded vision of God's justice. No longer is God's justice simply a localized phenomenon. In this prophet's mind, God's justice is for "the nations" (a code phrase for "the Gentiles"). What a bold claim! 

In a time when each individual nation had their own deity/dieties, 2nd Isaiah makes the radical claim that the only God who will execute ultimate justice -- to the Covenant People and to everyone else in the entire world -- is the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Moses.

The witness to and harbinger of God's justice is the "Suffering Servant", whose actual identity remains somewhat obscure. The Servant will readily be recognized as one empowered by the Spirit of the Lord. This Servant of God's justice will not be bellicose or harsh. In fact, "he will not lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street..." His gentleness will be witnessed by the fact that, "a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench.."

But the most captivating characteristic of the Servant will be his faithfulness to the mission of justice. By the time the captives in Babylon hear 2nd Isaiah's description of the Servant, they are living in the aftermath of the Jerusalem monarchy that had been more concerned with its own survival than with justice or mercy for the poor and marginalized of the kingdom. To hear the news of God's own Servant, must have evoked a sense of hopefulness and enkindled a flame of resolve in the remnant of Judah scattered from one end of the Babylonian Empire to the other.   

When the early Church began scouring the only scriptures it had, the Servant Songs of 2nd Isaiah became closely identified with the ministry of Jesus. And now, 2000 years from Jesus' ministry and 2600 years after 2nd Isaiah, the Covenant People and the Followers of Jesus still wait. The Covenant People wait for the Advent of the Servant and the Followers of Jesus wait for the Second Advent of the Son of God. Both peoples look for the day when the whole earth "Sings to the Lord with a new song." Both peoples yearn for the time when the eyes of the blind are opened, prisoners are set free from the dungeons that hold them captive; when the seas roar with the praises of the Almighty One.

In these waning days of the season of Advent, the Church is reminded to hold fast to our hopefulness. We are challenged to tenaciously tend to the flame of our resolve. We await the fullness of time and the flood of God's merciful justice. We are called to be the Servant of God in the world -- hands to the helpless, food for the hungry, rescue for the oppressed. We are to be witnesses, in word and deed to the One Who Comes, all the while praying, "Come quickly, King of Glory, King of Peace!"

Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation, that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a mansion prepared for himself; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. (Collect for the Fourth Sunday of Advent)

Saturday in the Third Week of Advent

"A remnant will return...For though your people Israel be as the sand of the sea, only a remnant of them will return. Destruction is decreed, overflowing with righteousness...And in that day God's burden will depart from your shoulder, and God's yoke will be destroyed from your neck."

I gave up listening to commercial radio well over 15 years ago. I finally got tired of being yelled at by disembodied voices while driving to and from work. I wearied of the endless contests, promotions and hype. In a move to restore some "quiet time" in my life, I opted for the "off" switch. 

Recently, I've begun to consider doing the same with television news -- of all sorts and conditions. This isn't because I wish to be uninformed. Rather, I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do with all of the information that's delivered -- over and over again -- in breathless, adrenaline-spiked tones. I'm not sure I trust the plethora of experts who seem to be ever-available to offer their opinions and counter opinions -- loudly. 

How does one respond to human needs that are beyond the capacity to comprehend? How is one to make sense of numbers so large they lose their meaning? I can only take so much relevance. Eventually, the phase "breaking news" sounds like little more than an endless loop of hyperbole. Moment by moment, "on-the-scene" reporting doesn't lend itself to any sort of reflection -- unless one counts the two minute commercial breaks between segments.

Isaiah has been full of news for the Assyrians and the Jewish kingdoms of Israel and Judah. The news has been more or less the same. Judgment. Destruction. Desolation.  Isaiah has examined those themes from a number of perspectives, but the overarching theme has been the same: the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Moses is at work in the world -- in ways seen and unseen; in ways that are often inexplicable, apparently arbitrary or blatantly illogical to those expecting a God who lives down to human expectations. The "breaking news" for Isaiah is that even the most powerful empires will break apart on the stumbling block of the Holy One's justice.  

Isaiah's news for today provides the grain of mercy swirling in the ocean of judgment. All will not be lost. All will not be destroyed. God's promise to the Covenant People will hold fast -- not because of the people's righteousness, but because of God's.  Isaiah's news provides no divinely assured bailout. There is not an immediate promise of deliverance. Only a hope. Only a remnant. Only the prospect of a new beginning. For Isaiah, this news is enough. 

Once the burden of judgment is lifted; when the yoke of oppression is broken, then the opportunity to begin again begins. Isaiah's news is realistic. There will be reminders everywhere of what the Covenant People have endured -- the burden of judgment will be replaced by the burden of righteousness; the yoke of oppression with the yoke of mercy. A new beginning with a new opportunity.

Watching the news on this Advent Saturday, with Isaiah's words ringing in my head, I'm reminded again that this holy season is about waiting for yet another new beginning. Waiting for God's next new day to dawn. Remembering that the One who came in humility will, at the end of the age, come in glory. Remembering that this One for whom we wait once told his followers, "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus, Son of Mary, Son of God.

Friday in the Third Week of Advent

"Shall the axe vaunt itself over him who hews with it, or the saw magnify itself against him who wields it?"

This is the question the Lord poses through Isaiah in an oracle against the Assyria Empire (10:5-19). Once again the reader is confronted by a God who refuses to keep neat and clean categories. This is a God who will not remain safely tucked away inside the Temple precincts. This is not a God who deals primarily in personal favors and religious feelings. No, this is the God who is at work on the international stage -- freely impinging upon nations' "sovereignty". 

Assyria has been the tool of God's judgment -- nothing special, as common as an axe or a saw. But this empire, flush with its own success and glutted by its own overblown self-importance, is oblivious to its bit-player role in a drama beyond itself. The Assyrian king and his princes arrogantly assume that their military prowess has carried the day. Their arrogance will be their undoing -- in God's own time.

Isaiah sees something that the governments of his day, with their fixation on strategy and espionage, fail to see. God is on the loose in the world! 

The Assyrian Empire eventually crumbles under its own weight. Empires are altogether predictable. Empires always overreach. Their insatiable desire for more power, more control, more territory, more money and more of everything eventually becomes their undoing. 

Empires, no matter how long they last, come to an end. Empires measure their longevity in years, decades and centuries. But against the backdrop of eternity, they are vapors. Eventually axes lose their edge. Eventually saws become rusty. 

Eventually, God's time overtakes the machinations of politicians. What Isaiah knows (and perhaps we would do well to learn) is that God can afford to be patient. God can afford to allow human arrogance to run its course. God has all the time in the world -- and then some.

In God's own time, "The light of Israel will become a fire, and God's Holy One a flame".

O come, O come, Emmanuel!

Thursday in the Third Week of Advent

"For all this his anger has not turned away; his hand is stretched out still." (Isaiah 9:12, 17, 21; 10:4)

Is God hell-bent on destruction? Has vindictive wrath overpowered the All Powerful One? Are the Covenant People, who have forsaken their God finally (and irrevocably) God-forsaken?

When we read the three oracles pronounced by the prophet between Isaiah 9:8 and Isaiah 10:4, we may be tempted to answer the foregoing questions affirmatively.  We may incorrectly project human ideas of retribution and revenge upon the Almighty. We may wrongly ascribe to God the fickleness of human emotion.

Isaiah of Jerusalem poetically describes the descent of Israel into the abyss of destruction by employing a rhetorical device known as a "stair step". The further Israel sinks into its own demise, the more insistent the dramatic drumbeat of the ominous refrain -- "for all this his anger has not turned away; his hand is stretched out still." The hymn Isaiah composes is a tragic tribute to human willfulness, in which one depressing scenario leads directly toward an even more devastating one. 

The Arameans and the Philistines have "devoured Israel with open mouth" (9:12). Not even the weakest of society (the young, the orphans and the widows) are spared (9:17). The Promised Land is burned; "the people became like fuel for the fire and eventually turn on each other (9:19). Finally, those who are supposed to be advocates for the marginalized of the society "turn aside the needy from justice and rob the poor of their right." (10:2). From one end of Israel to the other, the slide into chaos is undeterred. Why? Because God's hand is "stretched out still".

And yet, even as Israel buckles under the vise grip of the foreign powers that would crush it, the little country hangs on. Even as it is consumed by enemies that long to devour its wealth and wipe its memory from the face of the earth, it defiantly clings to existence. Even as all seems lost, a tiny minority keep the faith -- faith in their God and faith in the Covenant that was gifted to them by God generations before they were born. Why? 

Because God's hand is "stretched out still". 

The "hand of judgment" and the "hand of mercy" belong to the same God! The hand that disciplines is the hand that rescues. The hand that pushes Israel's enemies in her direction is the same hand that holds Israel's enemies at bay. 

We would prefer a one-dimensional deity, wouldn't we? A deity that protects us when we need protection, rescues us when we need some rescuing  and grants us our wishes "at all times and in all places". Such a deity would certainly be preferable to this irascible God that Isaiah seems to know so well.  But the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Isaiah and Jesus isn't the God of fairy tales. This God is beyond our knowing, yet knows us altogether. This God's ways are mysterious, yet this God makes plain the intention toward relationship with creation. This is not a God "far off" in the universe, but a God who is frighteningly near -- creating, redeeming, sustaining; even when those activities appear more like destroying, condemning and abandoning.

We don't like to think of encountering such a holy (and wholly other) God, do we? But from a Christian perspective, any talk of God that does not lead us to our places of prayer and repentance, does not give us at least a moment's pause, does not challenge our sentimental notions of a "God of Love" is really not much of a God at all. A God who lies in a manger is as incomprehensible as a God who dies on a cross.

When we look around our world, are there places where we might think God's "anger has not turned away"? Are we fearful of judgment? Are we aware of the shelter of mercy?

Maybe the time has come for us to cease our attempts to categorize God. Maybe our task isn't to avoid God's anger or duck from God's presence. Maybe our task is the frightening task of stillness. Maybe we need to re-read the portions of Scripture that we most want to reject (like this passage from Isaiah) with patience and humility. Maybe we need to take the time to ponder this God who will not leave well enough alone -- not because of some maniacal desire to destroy the creation, but because of an irrepressible desire to redeem it.

Wednesday in the Third Week of Advent

The Lord has sent a word against Jacob, and it will settle upon Israel; and all the people will know [those] who say in pride and in arrogance of heart: "The bricks have fallen, but we will build with dressed stones; the sycamores have been cut down, but we will put cedars in their place."

Exactly how many ways can a prophet proclaim judgment? How many times must a prophet say the same thing over and over again? When does the prophet's message reach the point of diminishing return?

After a brief interlude of hopefulness in the assurance that one day the new light of God's Wonderful Counselor will shine forth like the dawn (9:1-7), Isaiah of Jerusalem returns to his main message -- the Covenant People have broken faith, forsaken their God and now are under judgment for that apostasy. The prophet reframes the political situation as it stands in real time, for both the Northern Kingdom of Israel and his own homeland of Judah. These desperate times aren't merely the province of kings, princes and their lackeys. These times are portents of God's judgment.

Isaiah warns Judah to take note of what is happening to the north. Israel's futile attempts to secure its borders with the Syrians, the Philistines and the Assyrians will fail. This failure, as Isaiah sees it, is because of Israel's refusal to humble itself before the Lord. In fact, the proof of Israel's intractable pride is encapsulated in its pitiful efforts to ignore its precarious situation. Rather than repentance and reform, Israel resorts to the language of denial -- "Sure, some of our brick buildings have fallen, but we will rebuild them -- bigger and better, with more expensive material. Indeed, it's unfortunate that our forests have been eradicated, but we will replant those lands with better timber -- cedars rather than scraggly sycamores."

In the face of impending collapse, the official word from those in power are words of arrogance -- "We will find a way, on our own, not only to rebuild, but to surpass ourselves in glory. This is an opportunity to show what our national will can accomplish if we all simply pull together through this difficult time." Gorged with the false sense of their own abilities, they were unable to recognize their emaciated faith in the One who had, throughout their history, been their salvation. 

The troubling part of this oracle, though, is that Isaiah understands these kingdoms have reached the point of no return. Their fate is certain. There is no turning about from the disaster to be visited upon them. And while the situation is crystal clear to the prophet, the vision of those "in power" is occluded by presumption. 

Whatever our thoughts are about Isaiah's notions regarding Divine intervention in the affairs of politics, I wonder if the response of our own leaders during these challenging times should give us pause -- if only for a little while. I wonder if our concerns over "the Market", "the Big Three" or the latest actions of "the Fed" are only reflections of our own hubris -- the notion that if we try hard enough, we can roar back from the brink and surpass our former glory? I wonder what Isaiah would have to say to us and our sense of entitlement? 

Humility doesn't come easily to those who readily forget from whence they came and to whence they will return. Advent is the perfect antidote to the lie of our own self-importance. In the humility of the manger we see a God who deigned to identify with the dust of humanity. In the awe-filled vision of the end of time, we see a God who comes to judge humanity for its hubris even as humanity's pride is purified through the all-encompassing power Divine Love. 

Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus.

Tuesday in the Third Week of Advent

"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shined..."

This is the time of year in the upper Midwest when it seems we spend a good deal of our lives in the dark. We are but a few days from the winter solstice -- the shortest period of daylight in the year.

In these waning days of December, darkness gives way to morning light reluctantly, and begins its all-too-quick return just after mid-afternoonn. We are shrouded in night well before 5:00 p.m. Add to the darkness some cold temperatures, gusting winds and blowing snow and the urge to hibernate becomes almost irresistible. No wonder we decorate our lawns, windows, doors and shrubs with thousands upon thousands of lights -- we need some brightness to infuse the winter gloom!

As we've read through the first eight chapters of Isaiah, there's been plenty to be gloomy about. Isaiah is mostly pessimistic about the immediate future. Warnings of impending destruction. Warnings of inevitable desolation. Warnings of the wrath to come. Warnings of Holy Judgment. Talk about gloomy!

And then, in today's reading, a bit of a respite. We catch a glimpse of the future that lies beyond the immediate future. At the end of all that Isaiah sees ahead for his country (and indeed the entirety of the world!) -- after the Day of the Lord darkens the heavens and purifies the creation with the heat of Divine Love. A new light will shine. A new day will dawn, "There will be no gloom..."

Earlier today, I read that "Advent is a search in the dark. It is 'a call to live wide awake,' Philip Berrigan and Elizabeth McAlister wrote, 'so that we can be alert to God working in us.' It is the call to tend again whatever lights may be dying in our own hearts and to wait for them to be enkindled however they can." (Listen with the Heart: Sacred Moments in Everyday Life by Joan Chittister, p. 117)

Waiting in the dark can be frightening. Every noise startles us. We easily lose our sense of location or perspective. Time seems to slow to a crawl. Staying awake is nearly impossible. Today we wait in Advent darkness for the new Light to shine. Today we contend with our impatience and gloom as we wait for the Sun of Righteousness to arise -- in our hearts and at the end of time. Isaiah's assurance is ours as well, we may walk in darkness, but through the eyes of faith we can see a great Light.

O come, O come, Emmanuel!

Yes! Really!

Monday in the Third Week of Advent

Bind up the testimony, seal the teaching among my disciples. I will wait for the Lord...I will hope in him.

In a time of national distress, the most difficult thing to do is wait. We want action, NOW! We want solutions, NOW! We want a plan, NOW! We want to feel secture, NOW! We want decisive leaders, NOW! We want our "happy ending", NOW!

The situation in Jerusalem during in the 8th century, BCE, was precarious at best. I'm sure the rumor mill was rampant throughout the marketplace, the Temple and the king's palace. What would be done to stave off certain invasion? How would the citizenry be protected? What sort of strategy would be devised? Everyone knew the long odds for national survival. Everyone knew an invasion was just around the corner. In the absence of solid answers, people simply asked more and more desperate questions.

What was Isaiah's strategy in the face of such uncertainty and unrest?
Wait and hope.
Doesn't sound like much of a strategy does it?

I suppose the wisdom of such a strategy depends upon what it is that one is waiting for and who it is that one placing one's hope upon. But for Isaiah, waiting and hoping are not attitudes of passivity. Waiting and hoping are not euphemisms for doing nothing. Waiting and hoping are ACTIVE stances of faithfulness.

To occupy oneself with the testimony of the ancestors in the faith and to engage in the transmission of the teaching of the faith are vital forms of resistance -- of subverting power that has become bloated with hubris. To be busy with such activities is not about being out of step or impractical or "other-worldly". To the contrary, such actions are ways in which the faithful live out a worldview that has a longer timeline than the rising and falling of mere empires.

During this Advent season, when it seems as though all the news of our day is rife with panic and anxiety, perhaps the Church could borrow a 2800 year old exhortation from Isaiah -- wait and hope. Waiting and hoping are not the stances of the fearful or powerless. Rather, waiting and hoping are ways of witnessing that we have heard the testimonies of the faithful across time. Waiting and hoping are the ways of witnessing to our children and our children's children that we have savored the teachings of the faith. Waiting and hoping are ways of witnessing that our confidence resides in the One who holds everything, including us, securely -- until time shall be no more...and beyond.

The Third Sunday of Advent

Wail, for the day of the Lord is near; as destruction from the Almighty it will come!...and every person's heart will melt, and they will be dismayed...Behold, the day of the Lord comes, cruel, with wrath and fierce anger, to make the earth a desolation...Therefore I will make the heavens tremble, and the earth will be shaken out of its place, at the wrath of the Lord of hosts...

When people tell me why they don't like reading the Old Testament, usually what they have in mind are passages like today's lesson from Isaiah 13:6-13. The idea of God as a wrathful, destroying power runs counter to our desire for a kinder, gentler deity. We much prefer a god of our own construction -- an ever-patient, if lifeless idol -- a mostly benign, constantly affirming (if somewhat impotent) deity that meets us "where we are", asks little of us in the way of repentance, and never, ever suggests anything that might diminish our fragile self-esteem. This god is one-dimensional -- easily predicted, easily controlled and easily confused with the human ego. Such a god, created in our image,  is little more than a reflection of our own wants and needs. 

I can't imagine Isaiah's preaching gathered much of a following. Times may have changed, but people haven't. Who honestly wants to hear more about desolation and destruction? Who honestly wants to confront a God who exists in absolute freedom and will not be constrained by the fickleness of the human will?

A steady diet of judgment oracles won't do much to gather a big crowd or fill the coffers with a significant cash infusion. If we learn anything from the prophets, it is that the straight talk from people of this ilk usually only succeed in inciting the people in power to work to kill the messengers. 

I don't know how to reconcile texts like today's with the so-called "god" worshipped by so many of us in the ghetto of upper middle class privilege. This god, who seems to be little more than a dispenser of favors to the faithful, is constantly petitioned to "bless America" (which seems to mean making sure that this nation gets what it wants when it wants it) and invoked time and time again whenever we need an intervention to save us from our own ignorance or fear. Like the people in Isaiah's time, we want our god to function as an amulet against the difficulties of our existence. There's only one problem with such a god. It does not bear any resemblance to the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Isaiah and Jesus. 

Perhaps that's the point of lessons like today's. Perhaps it's not our role to justify texts like these. It's not our job to smooth out the rough edges or soften the language so that we are more comfortable. Maybe our job as faithful readers is to sit -- quietly and reverently with our discomfort and questions -- in front of these texts and listen for Good News. 

God's Good News will prevail. God's gracious favor will flood the world on that Day of the Lord Isaiah sees in his visions. Good News wrapped in Judgment and tempered by mercy.  

Saturday in the Second Week of Advent

For the Lord spoke thus to me with his strong hand upon me, and warned me not to walk in the way of this people, saying: "Do not call conspiracy all that this people call conspiracy, and do not fear what they fear, nor be in dread. But the Lord of hosts, him you shall regard as holy; let him be your fear, and let him be your dread. And he will become a sanctuary, and a stone of offense, and a rock of stumbling..."

What must it have been like for Isaiah to have felt the pressure of God's presence upon him -- like a strong hand? What must it have been like for the prophet to hear this particular word from the Lord? Was he comforted? Or discomforted?

Unlike many of the oracles Isaiah received, this one was directed specifically at him. However Isaiah "heard" God's messages, he knew, in the deepest part of his being that this one carried the weight of God's glory.  And the message underscored what Isaiah had, no doubt, already learned -- to see things from God's perspective often puts one at odds with the rest of the world.

God reminds Isaiah, in the starkest of language, that his role as a prophet is to be the contrarian. Isaiah is to meet God's rebellious people at every turn and tell them that they've got it all wrong -- that they are seeing everything backwards. 

Conspiracy isn't conspiracy. 

The things that are engendering fear shouldn't.  

The things that aren't causing feelings of fear should.  

There's no reason to dread the foreign powers with their threats of invasion.  

But it's probably a good time to dread the invasion of God's justice. 

When people are stumbling left and right -- taking offense at the notion of God's power and judgment, Isaiah will be tucked in the sanctuary of God's presence.

All around Isaiah there is panic. His job is to continue to give witness to the God who has not abandoned Judah, even as Judah endures the consequences of its abandonment of God.  Casting an alternative vision, when the majority believe they are seeing clearly, can be frustrating to say the least. And yet, in Isaiah, we see someone who is gifted with holy insight, tenacious obedience and pragmatic hope. Even in the face of the direst of consequences, Isaiah goes about his work -- thankless as it is. 

A few chapters back, God had warned Isaiah that to respond to the call of God was to enter into the vocation of the babbler -- constantly telling people things they didn't want to hear and likely would not heed.  Prophet as professional contrarian. Hardly a safe job -- given Judah's unsafe and tenuous situation. No wonder Isaiah needed a little push every now and then from the "strong hand of the Lord"!

Friday in the Second Week of Advent

"Hear then, O house of David! ... Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, a young woman shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Imman'u-el." 

When Christians read this verse of scripture, our imaginations are immediately drawn to the story of the birth of Jesus. And why not? 

As the Gospel of Matthew (1:18-25) narrates the story of Jesus' birth, Isaiah 7:14 is the text quoted by the "Angel of the Lord". The Angel appears to a confused Joseph in a dream to explain the bizarre set of circumstances surrounding Joseph's betrothed, Mary. Clearly, for some portions of the early Church, the word from Isaiah to King Ahaz hundreds of years earlier was predictive of the advent of Messiah in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. 

Interestingly enough, when read in its context, Isaiah's oracle to Ahaz is not a comforting one. The birth of Immanuel will not usher in a time of peace, but of desolation. The coming of "God-with-us" will signify the fulfillment of God's judgment upon Judah and the surrounding kingdoms and empires. By the time "God-with-us" is old enough to "know how to refuse the evil and choose the good" the decimation of Judah will be complete -- "all the land will be briers and thorns" (Isaiah 7:24b).

What are 21st century Christians to make of a 1st century disciple's selective quoting of a text written centuries earlier? Does Isaiah 7:14 actually refer to Jesus? Or does it only relate to some unknown child who was born shortly before the death of the kingdom of Judah? 

However we understand this cryptic sign, "God-with-us" is not simply the sentimental vision of a cuddly infant in the arms of his mother. "God-with-us" is not Divine permission for business as usual. "God-with-us" is the birth of a new world and the death knell of the old. "God-with-us" marks the overthrow of human kingdoms and the advent of the Reign of God. "God-with-us" is at once a terrifying comfort and a comforting terror.

O come, O come, Emmanuel! 

Oh really???

Thursday in the Second Week of Advent

In Wednesday's reading we were transported with Isaiah into the very throne room of the Almighty One. What a spiritual high! In today's reading (Isaiah 7:1-9), the prophet has a conversation with the king of Judah, offering God's message about an impending invasion. In the space of a few verses the reader travels from the Holy of Holies, to the streets of Jerusalem; from singing the praises of God to a clandestine chat with an overwrought politician about the pragmatics of foreign policy.

Wait a minute? Didn't Isaiah read the chapter in the Primer for Prophets entitled "Religion and Politics Don't Mix"?

After all, that mantra has been a guiding principle of Western, bourgeois society for so long, some of us may be tempted to think it was carved in stone in the days of Moses. Here in this country, with its Protestant hegemony and tendency toward dualism, the principle commonly referred to as the "separation of church and state" has degenerated into little more than an excuse to privatize faith -- as if a person's faith can (and should!) be kept hidden from public view at all times (except within the walls of a building constructed for the purpose of worship). We can no more separate our religious selves from our political selves than we can separate our spiritual selves from our physical selves.

In the days of Isaiah of Jerusalem, everyone understood that religion, tribe (family), politics, economics and everything in between was invariably mixed together -- pureed, if you will, into the stuff that constituted a person's identity (and by extension the identity of the nation). Isaiah forcefully reminds the king that the real Power protecting Judah is not to be found within armies or alliances. And the Word of the Lord to an anxious monarch is, "Take heed, be quiet do not fear, and do not let your heart be faint..."  

Imagine that! A religious person telling a politician to be quiet! And at least for that moment, the politician listened!

Wednesday in the Second Week of Advent

Today's reading from Isaiah contains one of the best known passages in the entire book (chapter 6:1-8).  Episcopalians get to hear the story of the prophet's Temple vision of the Holy One at least every Trinity Sunday. Each and every time we gather for Eucharist, we recite the praise song of the seraphim Isaiah reported hearing on that day : "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of Hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory" (we call it the Sanctus). 

This section of Scripture is also a favorite text for ordination liturgies (I picked it for my own six years ago). Isaiah's exclamation at verse 8 is dramatic, conclusive and inspirational. The prophet responds to God's questions, "Who will I send? Who will go for me?" with the emphatic words, "Here am I! Send me!"

If we're inclined to read the text of the book of Isaiah sequentially, this call story, seems out of place. Why would God "call" someone who had already been busy condemning the political/religious status quo? Why would God call someone who was already incessantly warning of the coming of Divine judgement? 

Some scholars contend that the first 8 verses of chapter 6 are a "flashback" of sorts, carrying the reader back to a moment that predates Isaiah's first oracle. My inclination, though, is to wonder if the key to understanding the placement of Isaiah's vision isn't contained in verses 9-11 (the part that always seems to be omitted from our liturgical readings):

And God said, "Go and say to this people: 'Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand.' Make the mind of this people dull, and stop their ears, and shut their eyes, so that they may not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and comprehend with their minds, and turn and be healed." Then I said, "How long, O Lord?" And he said: "Until the cities lie waste without inhabitant, and houses without people, and the land is desolate..."

Isaiah, in a moment of holy awe (maybe even knee-knocking FEAR) says, "Here am I! Send me!" 

And then God tells him what he's being sent forth to do. God essentially says, "Go, share my message, even though the results will be nil, and the entire effort will seem pointless to you. The more you talk, the less people will hear. The more you show people the less they will see. The more you try to explain it all, the less they will understand. And it's all a part of the plan."

The work of the prophet -- telling God's truth to clogged ears; showing God's ways to eyes that are shut in rebellion; explaining God's message to minds that are dulled by arrogance and pride --  isn't work anyone would willingly volunteer to undertake. Only the realization that one had been possessed by a call larger than oneself would press a prophet forward into the face of such guaranteed failure and rejection. 

All of this makes me wonder about the fixation on "success" that seems to grip clergy and congregations these days. What if our work isn't about garnering the largest average Sunday attendance or the best array of parochial programming or balanced budgets? What if our faithfulness is best attested when we feel we are failing at every turn? 

I wonder if what we need in church these days is a good deal less self-satisfied competence and great deal more knee-knocking awe in the presence of the Holy One who came to us wrapped in bands of cloth and will return again clothed in glory?

Tuesday in the Second Week of Advent

My people go into exile for want of knowledge...(Isaiah 5:13a)

As Isaiah of Jerusalem surveyed the political landscape -- at home and abroad -- he could see that the days of the Kingdom of Judah and its capital, Jerusalem, were numbered. The other Jewish kingdom of Israel (to Judah's north), with its capital city of Samaria, was about to be absorbed by the Assyrians. The Assyrian Empire, even as it expanded farther and farther westward, was possessed of a political instability that would eventually be its undoing.  There was nothing secure -- least of all tiny Judah -- isolated and surrounded by enemies in every direction. The question of Jerusalem's collapse was not about "If?", but "When?"

And yet, the prophet saw this dire political situation within a broader theological framework. The political reality that confronted Judah was something more significant than the ebb and flow of nations. Isaiah was so bold as to believe that the superpower of the moment, the Assyrian Empire, was actually subservient to (and an unwitting agent of) the will of the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob!

The notion that nations are a means through which God would exercise judgment is a difficult idea for the average North American, with our fixation on the illusion of individual sovereignty (usually expressed under the category of "free will"), to accept.  Isaiah, on the other hand, had no such difficulty. To see the Assyrians as agents of the Divine Will was actually a means of putting the dire situation of Judah in a larger framework of God's actions in history.

From Isaiah's perspective, God's people would not go into exile because of military inferiority or a failure of national nerve. The God who had delivered the Jews out of Egypt, fed them in the wilderness, and given them the land they had occupied all these years, could certainly deliver the Covenant People from the likes of the Assyrians. No, what would send Judah into exile was a lack of knowledge. From Isaiah's perspective the Covenant People had forgotten their identity, forsaken their God and failed to keep faith with the covenant that God had sworn to them in the Wilderness -- between their escape from Egypt and their entrance into the Promised Land. 

A lack of knowledge, in Isaiah's parlance, is not the same thing as insufficient information. The people had plenty of information -- they knew the stories, they had the Law, they were undoubtedly certain about their identity as the Covenant People -- but the information did not translate into the kind of knowledge that would lead to right actions. The stage was set for exile, because (from Isaiah's perspective), the people had exiled themselves from the knowledge of God long before they would be exiled from their homeland by any foreign invasion.

Isaiah's warnings are particularly instructive for those of us who wait in the darkness of Advent for the searing brightness of the Light of the World. Where have we confused information for knowledge? When have we failed to act upon the knowledge we've been given? How have these failures put us under judgment? What are the places of exile in our lives? Will we open our eyes to see that "the Lord of hosts is exalted in justice, and the Holy God shows himself holy in righteousness"? And once our eyes are opened to this vision of God, how can we ever dare close them again?

Monday in the Second Week of Advent

Woe to those who join house to house, who add field to field until there is no more room...Woe to those who rise early in the morning, that they may run after strong drink...Woe to those who draw iniquity with cords of falsehood, who draw sin as with cart ropes...Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter! Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes, and shrewd in their own sight! Woe to those who aquit the guilty for a bribe, and deprive the innocent of their right! (From Isaiah 5:8-12; 18-23)

I once heard someone say, "God's judgment is nothing more and nothing less than allowing the consequences of our actions to run their course." I'm not sure I totally agree with that assessment, but I do believe it's a good starting point for reflection upon today's reading from the prophet Isaiah.

I doubt Isaiah of Jerusalem's message of "woe" was a popular one. His critique of the lifestyles of the upper eschalons of society (royalty, the priesthood, the "wealthy") probably didn't garner him any invitations to the best parties in town. After all, he seems emphatic in his assessment that the only way any of the systems he's criticizing will be redeemed is through their obliteration. And the people who are portrayed as the cause of the woe coming upon the nation are the people in power -- the people who had forgotten that they had a responsibility to employ their governmental, religious or economic power for the good of the whole society, not simply for their own benefit.

Sounding a warning is often the role of the prophet. Living with the awareness that much of the message will either go unheard or be outright rejected is an occupational hazard of the job. Preaching God's truth to people who continuously call "evil good and good evil" is a thankless one. Speaking for those who are squeezed out by greed or who are deprived of justice because of systemic corruption can (and often does!) lead to the prophet's own demise.

Isaiah sees with the eyes of God-inspired vision. And the picture isn't a pretty one. In offering his message of woe, I don't believe he is calling down God's judgment. Rather, I think the prophet is lamenting, in advance, the inevitable outcome of the attitudes and behaviors he witnesses all around him.

The Advent collect for this week asks God to "give us grace to heed [the prophets'] warnings and forsake our sins..." I suspect that if we fail in our "heeding" and "forsaking", then our own set of "woes" are right around the eschatological corner -- not because God wills such a thing, but because we did.

The Second Sunday of Advent

My maternal grandfather was a person of deep faith. He had to be. He made his living as a farmer. 

In northeast Louisiana during the 1930's and 40's, the primary cash crop was cotton. My grandparents (along with their seven children) tilled, planted, tended, weeded and picked acres upon acres of the stuff -- mostly without any benefit of modern farm equipment. The work was backbreaking. The hours were interminable. The family's economic stability rose and fell with each year's yield. One of my grandfather's favorite quips about his work as a farmer was, "King Cotton is a despot!"

Sometimes, in spite of all of their efforts, the crop would fail in some way or another. Maybe there was too much rain -- or not enough. Maybe the plants would be infected with some rare blight -- or infested with some sort of insecticide-resistant bug.  Maybe there was a later-than-usual frost. Maybe the seed was in some way deficient so that the expected yield never materialized. 

Yet, every year, the crop was planted; the work undertaken with the expectation that a harvest would be gathered. As grandpa told me more than once, "The hardest thing to understand about farming wasn't when there was some sort of reasonable explanation for a disappointing crop. The hardest years were when we did everything right, when all of the conditions were right, and still, for no apparent reason, the crop failed to grow into the hopes we had for it." 

Then my grandfather would pause. He'd stare out across the field of cotton that began just a few dozen yards from his front porch and stretched out toward the horizon. He'd take a deep draw of breath and say, "But we knew that sometimes you just get a bad crop...and a bad crop was no reason to quit."

When Isaiah of Jerusalem offers his hymn to God's faithfulness in today's reading (Isaiah 5:1-7), he casts God in the role of a vineyard owner (a grape farmer!). In the parable, the Divine Farmer has done everything right -- good land, cleared of stones, complete with a watchtower, protective hedge and "choice vines" intended to produce the finest of grapes. But when harvest time comes there are no sweet, succulent grapes to be found on those choice vines -- just wild grapes, bitter and sour. There is only one thing for the Farmer to do -- let the field go fallow -- tear down the hedge; give the vineyard over to the briers and thorns; trample the whole thing under foot. 

At first glance, there doesn't seem to be much hope in this picture. It would seem that the Divine Farmer has given up on this unfruitful vineyard. Yet, the Farmer retains possession of the land. And in retaining possession, the Farmer demonstrates that another attempt will be made. Another crop will be planted. Sweet grapes in the wine vat are just a matter of time and patience. And this Farmer has all the time, all the patience in this world (and beyond!).

Isaiah has told a story of both judgment and grace. As we've already noticed in our reading this Advent, these two ideas are not mutually exclusive. Quite to the contrary, judgment and grace are mutually inclusive. Isaiah can see, with prophetic insight, that the judgment coming upon the covenant people is the fruit of their rebellion against the Almighty One. Likewise, he can see that the seeds of God's judgment, scattered upon an unfruitful vineyard, will yield a harvest of grace. 

After all, a bad crop is no reason to quit. 

Saturday in the First Week of Advent

...Then the Lord will create over the whole site of Mount Zion and over her assemblies a cloud by day, and smoke and the shining of a flame by night; for over all the glory there will be a canopy and a pavilion. It will be a shade by day from the heat, and a refuge and a shelter from the storm and the rain" (Isaiah 4:5-6)

Today's lesson from Isaiah offers a vision of hopefulness in the midst of the oracles of judgment. The picture the prophet paints in 4:1-4 is that of a new beginning for the covenant people. Having been purged through an ordeal of decimation and despair, those who remain, begin again. Isaiah calls them "the branch of the Lord, beautiful and glorious."

Then Isaiah sees images reminiscent of the wandering of Israel during the Exodus. The "glory" of the Lord, in fire and cloud, will once again hover over the sacred mountain. The Temple will once again be a place where true worship will be offered. Isaiah is certain there will be a new beginning. 

But a new beginning is not to be confused with a happy ending.

Friday in the First Week of Advent

Jerusalem has stumbled, and Judah has fallen; because their speech and their deeds are against the Lord, defying God's glorious presence...The Lord enters into judgment with the elders and princes of his people: "It is you who have devoured the vineyard, the spoil of the poor is in your houses. What do you mean by crushing my people, by grinding the face of the poor?" says the Lord of hosts. (from Isaiah 3:8-15)

In today's reading, the oracle from Isaiah of Jerusalem reiterates the connection between the equitable treatment for the poor (or lack thereof) and the faithfulness of the covenant people to the terms of the covenant given to them by God. As the Israelites made their way from slavery in Egypt toward the Land of Promise, they received the gift of the Law. While the Law spelled out in detail the various sacrificial rites, holy days and the like, it was not simply a customary for worship. The Law also contained provisions for the care of the poor and the stranger.

Time and time again in the Law, the Israelites are enjoined to remember their treatment as poor slaves in Egypt. They are commanded to remember what it felt like to be an "alien" -- a stranger in a strange land. This collective memory is to be employed in real time to facilitate a society that is both hospitable to the stranger and merciful to the poor. Through these concrete actions, the people would give witness to the covenant that existed between Israel and God.

Isaiah of Jerusalem is apalled at the lack of attention given to the poor by the leaders of his nation. As he walks the city streets, he can see the results of a nation that has forgotten its covenant with God. He cries out, "O my people, your leaders mislead you, and confuse the course of your paths."

In this first week of Advent, with its focus on the Second Coming of Christ, we could easily begin to believe that " The Judgment" is out there in the far-away-future. We could fall prey to either dismissing "The Judgment" as an overly-imaginative mythology that has no place in rational thought, or overly-indvidualize it by believing that it is some sort of divine hazing ritual to determine whether or not we get through the "Pearly Gates". Just as the Kingdom of God is already here but has not yet arrived in its fullness, judgment is right here, right now as well. The cries of the poor and the mistreatment of strangers in our midst are witnesses against us -- by their very presence we are judged. How are we participating in crushing them? How are we complicit in "grinding their faces"?

One of my favorite theologians has this to say regarding the connection between Christ's judgment and the unheard cries of the poor and disenfranchised:

"Injustice cries out to high heaven. The victims of injustice never hold their peace. The perpetrators of injustice find no rest. That is why the thirst for righteousness and justice can never be repressed. It keeps alive the remembrances of suffering and makes people wait for a tribunal which will make right prevail. For many people, the longing for God is alive in this thrist for righteousness and justice." (Jurgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, p. 334)

The Kingdom of God will come in its own good time. To be sure, we cannot build God's Kingdom with human hands. What we can do is give witness to the seed of the Kingdom that is present within each of us through our faithful care for those at the margins in the here and now. Without such care, without such hospitality, our talk of the Kingdom becomes little more than religious gibberish.

Thursday in the First Week of Advent

"The Lord of hosts has a day against all that is proud and lofty...against all the lofty hills, against every high tower, and against every fortified wall...and the haughtiness of humanity shall be humbled, and human pride shall be brought low; and the Lord alone will be exalted in that day."

I wonder what was in the back of Isaiah's mind as he penned the words of today's passage (Isaiah 2:12-22)?

As I read the prophet's conviction that the Day would come when the constructs of human arrogance and pride -- the fortified cities, the high towers, the idols of precious metals -- would meet their end in the consuming majesty of God's appearing, I couldn't help but remember a story, which likely would have been a part of Isaiah's lexicon.

Genesis 11 records the story commonly referred to as "The Tower of Babel", in which all humankind, united in language and purpose, becomes so impressed with itself that it undertakes a construction project to "reach to Heaven" (a euphemism for knocking on God's front door!).

Whatever else this story may be about, it is at some level a cautionary tale of the dangers of unchecked hubris and the human propensity for confusing our intelligence and creative capacity with that of the Almighty One. The story ends poorly -- with an unfinshed tower and people scattered across the world with the barrier of languages imposed upon them. The only one who has a key to heaven's front door is the One who created the heavens and the earth!

Isaiah sees a landscape dotted with "high towers" -- the military sort, used for defensive purposes, as well as towers associated with various sorts of worship offered to other gods. He sees a proliferation of "fortified cities" -- testimonies the human need for security and our proclivity toward leaving our own mark on the earth, to build something that will outlast ourselves. He observes how mountaintops have been converted to shrines in honor of various deities from the surrounding cultures -- complete with the "graven images" and the festivals that were associated with those deities.

All of these observations lead Isaiah to a conclusion. A Day is coming! The Almighty One will be exalted! All of the high towers toppled. All of the fortified cities crumbled. All of the mountains brought low. Nothing will be allowed to compete with the true God -- especially human arrogance and ambition. When the "glory of God's majesty" fills the earth, the awesomeness (and awe-full-ness) of that moment will send humans scurrying to cast their false gods into the caves -- consigning these former objects of worship to spaces reserved for moles and bats!

What are the high towers of our culture? What have we constructed as tributes to our ingenuity and abilities? How easily do we place our trust in the false security offered by fortification -- even if that means projecting power (military, economic and political) throughout the world? What are the false gods that we, in our own blindness, have exalted -- idols that are powerless to save us, yet receive our devotion day in and day out?

Isaiah and Advent remind us that human pride (with all of its permutations) will evaporate in the light of God's Day. Isaiah and Advent remind us that our time is enfolded in God's eternity. Isaiah and Advent remind us that the Holy One is on the horizon...coming to meet us.

Amighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. (Collect for the First Sunday of Advent, BCP, p. 211)

Wednesday in the First Week of Advent

Gonna lay down my sword and shield,
Down by the riverside,
Down by the riverside,
Down by the riverside,
Gonna lay down my sword and shield,
Down by the riverside,
And study war no more...

Remember "Down by the Riverside"? I've been humming this unlikely Advent song all day, since reading today's lesson from Isaiah 2:

It shall come to pass in the latter days that the mountain of the house of the Lord shall be established...and all the nations shall flow to it, and many peoples shall come and say: "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths." For out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. He shall judge between nations, and shall decide for many peoples; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more..."

Isaiah of Jerusalem wrote during a time of national insecurity. The people within Jerusalem were busy fortifying themselves for imminent invasion. In fact, later in today's lesson, Isaiah issues God's invective against the nation's leaders for their overreliance on strategic alliances, the amassing of military hardware and the hoarding of money -- all dead end strategies in the search for security. The people have placed their trust in all the wrong things -- idolizing the false gods of politics, war and economics -- looking for a salvation that can only come from the true God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

Learning war is easy; learning peace -- that's another story. Using others (be they individuals or nations) for one's own ends is easy; learning to enter into relationships with integrity -- that's another story. Learning to put our trust in the currency of silver and gold is easy; learning dependence upon God -- that's another story.

The Advent Hope is not a hope that can be constructed by human ingenuity. The Day of the Lord comes in God's own time and for God's own ends. Between now and that Day when war ceases to be the subject of choice for humankind, Christians have an opportunity to watch with Isaiah of Jerusalem and the cohort of prophets who have gone before us. As people who live "in the meantime", we can pray in the words of those first follower of the Prophet from Nazareth, "Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus!"

Tuesday in the Second Week of Advent

From Isaiah, chapter 1 (again!):  Therefore the Lord says, the Lord of hosts, the Mighty One of Israel: "I will...smelt away your dross as with lye and remove all your alloy...Zion shall be redeemed by justice, and those in her who repent, by righteousness...Afterward you shall be called the city of righteousness, the faithful city."

I was speaking with a friend today and our conversation turned to the mystery of God's grace -- and the ways in which mainline Protestant culture has confused salvation with self-esteem, and in doing so has forgotten that judgment is, in and of itself, a fundamental characteristic of grace. Certainly, many would read the above words from the prophet and be offended. 

"How could a God of mercy, a God of forgiveness, a God of grace, be so angry as to promise to smelt away sins in a consuming fire?" we might ask. 

In a permissive society, to confront a God who clearly will not abide unrighteousness, who judges injustice, is both unsettling and disturbing. Why not simply invent a deity that is always accepting, always assuring, alway attentive to our imperfections? In our attempts at remodeling the God of Isaiah and Jesus into something less offensive to our "enlightened" sensibilities, we have only succeeded in creating an ideological idol that engenders neither awe nor passion in its devotees.

And yet, the God Isaiah knows is a God who loves the covenant people to such an extent that abandonment is not an option. This God refuses to forsake the people who have clearly forsaken their God. This is a God who will not let the relationship die. The only option to preserve the relationship is loving judgment. In the consuming fire of judgment the broken relationship is forged and refined. The gift of God's grace comes packaged in the heat of God's judgment. 

The grace of God has very little to do with God simply erasing our sins with the wave of the (metaphorical) Divine Hand. To stand honestly before the Holy One is to know in the depths of our being that we need more than an infusion of self-esteem. We require more than simply an amendment of our behavior. We need the strong medicine of repentance -- and we are unwilling to repent until we see ourselves clearly in the light of God's righteousness. Salvation is about more than "turning over a new life". Salvation is God's invasion of our rebellious wills. Salvation is God turning our lives inside out and upside down. 

And the way that Christians believe God turns our world upside down is through the mystery of the Incarnation in the person of Jesus -- Son of Mary, Son of God, Prince of Peace -- the One who will "come again in glory, to judge the living and the dead."

Monday in the First Week of Advent

The assigned reading from the Hebrew Scriptures today is Isaiah 1:10-20. As I read the entire passage this morning, these are the lines that stood out to me, "...cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; defend the fatherless, plead for the widow. Come now, Let us reason together, says the Lord..."

Earlier in the passage, the prophet reports God's disgust (I think that's an appropriate summary) with the nature of religious observances of Israel. The entire sacrificial machine was operating at full tilt. All of the appropriate days were being remembered. Liturgies were being celebrated -- no doubt in decency and in order. In fact the religious machine was operating at such a level of efficiency that it no longer even needed an object of worship, because  it had become its own god!

The relationship between God and God's people had devolved into little more than a series of superstitious transactions. Offer the right animal at the right time in the right fashion and God would be satisfied. Fastidiously observe the right holy day and all would be well. Appease God with a goat or a bull and then go on living your life -- no change or conversion required. Easy.

The prophet hears God's indictment as a wake-up call to pay attention to those in society who are living at the margins -- the overlooked and under-cared-for. To enter into a relationship with God requires more than a sacrifice purchased from the local sacrifice supplier. A liturgical observance that doesn't lead one to see the world through the lens of God's mercy is liturgy that stands under God's judgment.

Isaiah's oracle reminds me (as the resident liturgical professional) that liturgy isn't an end in itself. Liturgy is the means through which we are pushed -- from the adoration of God around the Holy Table, out into the world -- toward the places and people that make us uncomfortable. I wonder if the place we begin "reasoning with God" isn't in the safe surroundings of our local church at all. I wonder if we only begin talking with God when we begin dialogue with and on behalf of those that our society easily discards or openly disdains.