Snakes and Angels (Lent 4B0

 

Michelangelo's Moses and the Brazen Serpent, Sistine Chapel Ceiling Fresco

 

Snakes and Angels

Fourth Sunday of Lent (Year B)
18th March 2012

Laetare Sunday
8 am Spoken Mass; 10 am Sung Mass
Homily Delivered at Trinity Episcopal Church, Ashland, Oregon

   The Rev. Dr. Anthony Hutchinson, homilist  

Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22; Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21

From Mount Hor the Israelites set out by the way to the Red Sea, to go around the land of Edom; but the people became impatient on the way. The people spoke against God and against Moses, "Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food." Then the LORD sent poisonous serpents among the people, and they bit the people, so that many Israelites died. The people came to Moses and said, "We have sinned by speaking against the LORD and against you; pray to the LORD to take away the serpents from us." So Moses prayed for the people. And the LORD said to Moses, "Make a poisonous serpent, and set it on a pole; and everyone who is bitten shall look at it and live." So Moses made a serpent of bronze, and put it upon a pole; and whenever a serpent bit someone, that person would look at the serpent of bronze and live.  (Numbers 21:4-9) 

God, Take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen.

When I was about 8 years old, I first heard in Sunday School the story from the book of Numbers we read today.  It was a scary story, not the least because of the snakes raining down from the sky, “fiery serpents” in the translation my teacher used.  The people of Israel had been “murmuring” against God and their religious leader, Moses, and so God punishes them.  The lesson my teacher drew from the story was clear:  don’t complain about things at Church, don’t disagree with your hierarchy, or God will rain fiery snakes down on you!   That approach to Church polity in the Church in which I was raised was one of the things that lead me into the Episcopal Church.    Of course, this was before there was any discussion about an Anglican Covenant! 

The Hebrew text here says Yahweh sent saraph snakes upon the Israelites.  This is probably a name for a type of poisonous snake.  Saraph means “burning one,” and that presumably was the effect of the snake’s venomous bite.  The word shows up in Isaiah as a name for a light-filled heavenly being hovering on six wings around the throne of God and singing Qadosh, Qadosh, Qadosh (Holy, Holy, Holy).  It is this from kind of burning one that we get the name seraphim for one of the orders of angels.

But it is not an image of a seraph angel that Moses places on the pole as a wonder-working anti-venom.  The copper figure is plainly identified as a snake in the text. 

When I heard the story as a boy, even then I knew that something was the matter in this story.  You don’t cure snakebite by looking at magic talismans.  And the angry, nasty Deity who sends flying snakes to punish you for bad-mouthing your Sunday School teacher seemed far, far away from the loving father of Jesus’s parables.  I expressed this to my teacher, but she got very upset, saying that we needed to accept God’s word without question, otherwise we’d end up like the children of Israel, buried in flying, fiery serpents.

When I told my father about this, he said that the story was indeed strange, but that the bronze snake on a pole was actually a prefiguring of Christ.  He pulled out the New Testament and read the passage from St. John we read today as the Gospel.  He added that the snake on a pole image was also known in the pagan world, and had been a symbol for the Greek god of healing, Asclepius, and that’s why it showed up on hospital and doctor offices signs.  “So not all snakes are bad,” he said, and then added, thinking of my run-in with the Sunday School teacher, “and not all so-called good things are good.”    Since the word seraph means an angel as well as a poisonous snake, I would rephrase my father’s idea a little more succinctly, “Not all snakes are bad, and not all angels are good.” 

I later ran into the story again many years later as a graduate student in Biblical Studies.  There I learned that the story had its origins in a Canaanite snake cult that was fostered in early Israel along with Yahwism until the great reforms of King Hezekiah in the eighth century B.C.E. associated with the promulgation of the Book of Deuteronomy.   There is ample archeological evidence of such a cult, associated with fertility and the cure of snake-bites.  We read in 2 Kings 18:4 that Hezekiah, “demolished local shrines, shattered the pillars” honoring Baal, “cut down the poles” honoring Asherah, and “smashed the copper serpent called Nehushtan that Moses had made, because up to that time the Israelites were burning incense to it.”    2 Kings and Numbers both have apparently taken an object of earlier Israelite snake worship, stripped it of it cultic associations, and placed it squarely in the context of the worship of Yahweh by giving it a founding myth of Moses healing the recalcitrant Hebrews with the copper snake on a pole.   

“Not all snakes are bad, and not all angels are good.”

Here was a pagan, idolatrous image that had been “baptized,” as it were, by the scriptural writers at the time of Hezekiah.  By pulling out the snake’s pagan fangs, they had made it a symbol of Yahweh’s healing power.   God approaches us where we are, and can redeem seeming bad things. 

We have seen such “baptism” of so called bad things often through the centuries.  Modern Christian hymnody started when, in the early years of the Protestant Reformation in Germany, Martin Luther and his followers created a new style of religious song, sometimes drawing on Gregorian chant tunes, but more often from folk songs and popular melodies.  These previously profane tunes were baptized and became the Lutheran chorales like "A Mighty Fortress" and Genevan psalter tunes like "Old Hundredth," still sung as hymns in churches today.  The style was so infectious that the style was adopted in part by the Catholic Reformation.

Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day.  The historic Patrick did not drive snakes from the Emerald Isle, despite the legends.  Most scholars agree that a large part of Patrick’s success in bringing pagan Ireland into Christianity was his willingness to Christianize the old pagan Celtic religion rather than stamp it out:  carve crosses on old druidic pillars instead of pulling them down, build Christian churches and monasteries on Celtic holy places, recognized by the people as the “thin places” between this world and the spirit world.  Not all snakes are bad, and Patrick if anything probably turned them Christian instead of driving them away.  Elsewhere, even the great Christian celebrations of Easter and Christmas were originally pagan celebrations of the seasons that were baptized by Christian missionaries like Patrick as Christian feasts. 

So pagan practices can be redeemed, and snakes be turned into symbols of healing.  Not all snakes are bad.  The bronze serpent lifted up on a pole thus became a symbol of Yahweh’s healing presence.  It is this image that is taken by the Gospel of John and applied to Jesus lifted up on the cross.

If bad things can be redeemed, and turned into good things, what about good things?  If not all snakes are bad, are all angels good? 

Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Cranmer, 

author of the first Book of Common Prayer

The preface of the 1549 Book of Common Prayer begins with these words, “There was never any thing by the wit of man so well devised, or so surely established, which (in continuance of time) hath not been corrupted.”  Cranmer was referring to the corrupted liturgy of the Roman Church in his day, and the need to reform it.  But the words, I think, have a broader application and also can be seen as speaking to the corruption of good ideals by any group.  Much of Jesus’ announcement of the arrival of the Reign of God was aimed at denouncing the corruption of the religion and faith of his age. 

Not all angels are good.  Buddhist darhma teaching gives this concept a very clear form when it discusses emotions that reflect God, what we would call virtues.  Each is seen as having a polar opposite, as well as an opposite that mimics but falsifies the virtue.  The polar opposite is called a “Far Enemy” of the virtue, while the distortion that mimics the virtue is called its “Near Enemies.” 

In mainstream dharma teaching, there are four principal divine emotions:  Loving-kindness, Compassion, Joy with others, and Equanimity. Loving-kindness is selfless good will and love for others.  Its polar opposite, obviously, is hatred or ill-will.  Its near enemy looks like love, but is distorted and sick:  it is selfish attachment or the so-called “love” that seeks to control and establish dependence.  Compassion is empathy and sympathy for others.  Its far enemy is cruelty.  Its near enemy is pity.  Where compassion looks on a suffering person as an equal, pity looks down on the sufferers, sees them as inferiors.  Joy in others is opposed by resentment or envy, while its near enemy is mere exuberance in social settings.  Equanimity is the ability to see and feel about yourself as you see and feel about others, and is what I would call humility.  It polar opposite is envy or jealousy while its near enemy is simple indifference, not caring about yourself or others. 

       

 The Fall of the Rebel Angels; right hand panel of

 Hieronymus Bosch's The Haywain Triptych, c. 1500

The Book of Revelation puts this idea of distorted goods into a mythical form when it talks about a war in heaven, when rebel angels fight against St. Michael the Archangel and his host, lose, and are thrown down upon the earth to become the Devil and demons (Rev. 12:7-9).  Not all angels are good.  

We are in the season of Lent, when we talk about repentance.   Repentance too has its near enemy.  Not all angels are good.  Jesuit theologian Gerard W. Hughes, in his gem of spiritual direction, The God of Surprises, says the following:

“True repentance frees us from self-pre-occupation because our trust is in God’s goodness working in us.  In his light we see our darkness.  False repentance immerses us in self-preoccupation.  We delight in what we consider our virtue but are irritated at our vice, refuse to acknowledge it and project it on others.” 

True repentance brings joy and inner freedom.  False, anxiety and defensiveness.  True, it welcomes and learns from criticism. False, it is touchy about and learns nothing from criticism. True repentance brings understanding, tolerance, and hope.  False, … a rigidity of mind and heart, dogmatism, intolerance, and a condemnatory attitude.  True, it shares God’s laughter and frees the mind to see the humor of all situations; false, it is overly serious and cannot laugh at itself.  In true repentance, a person feels drawn to God.  In false repentance, a person feels driven from God. (adapted)

Fr. Hughes applies this to the Church and nation as well: 

A Church with the spirit of true repentance will be concerned primarily with its mission, not its maintenance.  It will encourage the critical and mystical gifts as well as the institutional gifts of its members.  A Church with a spirit of false repentance will be primarily concerned with its own maintenance, whether of its own doctrinal or moral orthodoxy, or its prestige in society, and will emphasize the institutional at the expense of the critical and mystical. 

A nation with a spirit of true repentance will pay attention to the quality of life of all its members compatible with the quality of life of other nations.  It will abhor narrow nationalism.  A nation with the spirit of false repentance will be chiefly concerned with its own wealth, power, and international status.  And it will compromise religion to confirm its national security policies.   (adapted)

Sisters and brothers of Trinity, not all snakes are bad, and not all angels are good.  We need discernment to sort out where God’s grace can apply, and where we imaginatively and joyously expand the scope of holiness and grace.  We need discernment to distinguish between the divine and its near enemies as well.   Jesus, lifted up on the cross like that snake on a pole, stands ready to help us. May we seek God’s will in how we may best show God’s grace to others, and make the common holy, creatively redeeming the various snakes we might encounter in life.  And may we seek to sort out our angels, good from bad, and follow the better angels that guide us.  

 
In the name of God, Amen.

Now is the Acceptable Day (Ash Wednesday homily)

Now is the Acceptable Day

Ash Wednesday
22 February 2012; 12:00 noon and 7:00 p.m. Said Mass

With Imposition of Ashes
Homily Delivered at Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon

Joel 2:1-2, 12-17; Psalm 103; 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10;

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21  

We entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. As we work together with him, we urge you also not to accept the grace of God in vain. For he says,  "At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you."  See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation!  (2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:2) 

God, take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen

Saint Augustine is famously said to have prayed, “Give me chastity Lord, but not yet.” 

Repentance is not a pleasant thing.  It is particularly not pleasant if we have not intention of amending our lives.  In fact, it is not even repentance. 

To pray God for forgiveness without a sincere desire to amend one’s life, without a sincere desire to abandon sin, is like praying God to heal us without healing us.  It makes no sense. 

In the epistle today, St. Paul tells the Corinthians and tells us, “We beg you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. … Do not accept the grace of God in vain. For God says (roughly quoting Isaiah 49:8),  "At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you."  See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation!”  (2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:2) 

Reconciliation is what repentance is all about.  Being acceptable or finding favor and grace is what it is all about.  Being saved from ourselves is what it is all about.  

The Christian Church established long ago the period of Lent, the preparation for Holy Week and Easter, as a period of penance and contrition.  We put away the “Alleluias” and overly joyous celebration.  Just as we imposed ashes today, throughout Lent we impose disciplines on ourselves, giving up meat, sweets, coffee, or fats, or adding additional service and devotions.   The goal is to help us recognize where we fall short, and, in the words of the prayer book, “worthily lament our sins.” 

As the Gospel reading and the alternate Hebrew Scripture reading from Isaiah say, this is not for show, not to impress others, not to impress ourselves.  This is to help us connect to God. 

God is a great sea of Mercy, a robust and powerful spring of grace:  undeserved, one-way, love and acceptance.   Jesus’ death for us on the cross and victory over the powers of darkness through God raising him from  death and hell is the way that God reaches out to us in love. 

Let us not accept the grace of God in vain.  Let us identify our failings, be contrite, turn to God and ask for help, and, God helping, amend our lives. 

For today is the day of acceptance, the day of favor, and the day of salvation.  Let us not procrastinate or delay. 

In the name of Christ, Amen.  

Ash Wednesday (mid-week reflection)

Ash Wednesday

Today, Ash Wednesday, is the beginning of the season of Lent.   On this day, we have priests impose ashes on our foreheads in the sign of the cross as a sign of penance.  The Book of Common Prayer's Collect, or Prayer for the Day, for Ash Wednesday is as follows: 

Almighty and everlasting God, you hate nothing you have made and forgive the sins of all who are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of you, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The Collect provides succinctly the theology and belief that must lie behind any authentic practice of the Lenten Fast.  

Most of us, like T.S. Eliot in his poem "Ash Wednesday," dare not hope to reform or change: 

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope

Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope

I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)

But as the Collect says clearly, our hope for amendment and closer communion with God, our hope for hope itself lies here:  God does not hate anything that He has made.  No matter how far we are from what God intends, no matter how much we have distorted the image of God that God placed in us in creating us, no matter how twisted we have become and what bad use we have put to God's gifts, God forgives and heals.  But this grace can be accepted by us only if we are sorry for our misdoings, and the start of such sorrow lies sometimes merely in only being desirous of being sorry for our misdoings.   This provides God something He can grab onto as he struggles with us, works with us, forgives us, and heals us. 

The journey we set out on in Lent is a path on which we let that desire work in our hearts and become sorrow for our misdoings.   We let the silly disciplines we impose on ourselves ("no meat," "no alcohol," "no sweets,") make us uncomfortable enough that we pay more attention to things we usually try to ignore.

It is God who does the real work in Lent-- He creates in us new hearts and enables us to have the right feelings about our failings ("worthily lamenting our sins").    As we begin this journey, let us remember the words spoken to Everyman and Everywoman in the story of the defection of humanity in Genesis 2-3, spoken as we were expelled--through our fault, not God's--from the Garden of Delight where we are what God intended:  "From dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return." 

--Fr. Tony+

Bless Me For I Have Sinned (Mid-week Meditation)

“Bless Me, for I have Sinned” 

Mid-Week Meditation

16 February 2012 

“Happy are they whose transgressions are forgiven,

               and whose sin is put away!

Happy are they to whom the Lord imputes no guilt,

               and in whose spirit there is no guile!

While I held my tongue, my bones withered away,

               because of my groaning all day long.

For your hand was heavy upon me day and night;

               my moisture was dried up as in the heat of summer.

Then I acknowledged my sin to you,

               and did not conceal my guilt.

I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.’

               Then you forgave me the guilt of my sin.” (Psalm 32: 1-6)

Admission of fault and expression of remorse for our wrongdoings are part of a healthy process of amendment of life.   Such acts of confession and contrition have always been seen as a necessary step in repentance and helping us to find peace with each other and within ourselves. That is why we have a general confession of sin in almost all of our worship, both Morning and Evening Prayer offices and the Holy Eucharist. 

In addition to General Public Confession and our private confessions to God in our prayers, the Prayer Book (pp. 446-452) provides for a private confession of sin between a penitent and “a discreet priest.”  The Reconciliation of a Penitent is an ancient ritual.  Though not one of the two Sacraments specifically instituted as such by our Lord while he lived (Baptism and Eucharist), Reconciliation (often just called “Confession”) is counted in Anglicanism and the Episcopal Church as one of the Sacraments of the Church (along with Confirmation, Holy Matrimony, Anointing of the Ill, and Holy Orders).  

 

Due to countless images in movies from the rite as practiced in the Roman use, when we hear “confession,” we often picture a special booth with a priest on one side of the screen and the penitent on the other.  But in the Episcopal Church, the rite takes place either in the church (usually near the altar rail) or the clergy's office.   We recognize that it serves as an aid in personal repentance and amendment of life.  It helps us be more honest, less inclined to tell God how we think our failings should be understood, as we might if praying alone or confessing generally in public.  It allows for pastoral counseling and some spiritual direction.   Because we do not see confession as a one-size-fits-all requirement, for us “All may.  None must.  Some should.” That is, we welcome and encourage all to confess as they feel the need, we require no one to do so, and we recognize that some people really ought to avail themselves of this sacrament since it is such a powerful tool in helping us forgive ourselves for past mistakes and find reconciliation. 

Since private confession to a priest is not compulsory for us, and since it takes time and effort, and, quite frankly, often provokes embarrassment in us as we “fess up” in front of another person, most Episcopalians never bother to seek the sacrament unless they attend an Anglo-Catholic Parish.   I think this is worth a second look for Broad Church Episcopalians (and even Low Church Episcopalians) as the centuries long practice of confessing one's sins to God in the presence of a priest who can then pronounce absolution remains a powerful experience, and very helpful in putting an end to past wrongs.   I have found in my own life that it is an important way to make a break with past sins.   This is why as your rector and pastor, I am recommending it as part of our Lenten discipline and preparation for Easter.

I am reserving most of Shrove Tuesday (February 21) to hear confessions so that you might be able to go to Ash Wednesday services the next day with a sense of a new and fresh start.  Appointments can be made by calling the Trinity Parish Office.  I always am available to hear confession upon request.

If you have never done this and are nervous, don’t worry.  There are two rites you can choose from, and both are simple and easy, and generally only take 5-10 minutes.  I will guide you through it if that makes you feel more comfortable.  And rest assured that anything you say in this context is fully confidential, never to be repeated or referred to again.  It is between you and your God.   

In confession we unload our baggage, and dump the toxic waste we have been carrying around with us.  Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are loaded down and exhausted with a heavy a burden.  Take my yoke upon you and become my students.  I am gentle and kind and you will find a complete rest.  For my yoke is easy to bear, and my burden is so light you’ll think it nothing at all” (Matthew 11:28-30).   Confess your sins and God will separate you as from them as far as the east is from the west. Confess them in the presence of another, expressing true repentance and amendment of life and you will find it easier to walk away from that past.  You won’t want to go back to the toxic waste you have unloaded.  And you will find that Jesus’ burden is light indeed. 

--Father Tony+

A Chosen Vessel (Conversion of St. Paul, Jan. 25) Mid-week Reflection

Carravagio's Conversion of St. Pau

A Chosen Vessel

(Conversion of St. Paul, January 25) 

Mid-week Reflection

“Don’t even try.  You can’t teach on old dog new tricks.  A leopard can’t change its spots.”  These bits of proverbial wisdom stem from peoples’ experience and the frustration we encounter in trying to change long held patterns of thought and behavior.   It is important to remember that while they describe what is often the case, they are not certain descriptions of human possibility. 

Today (January 25) is the commemoration of the conversion of Saul of Tarsus, who went from ardent persecutor of Christians to being Paul, the main Christian missionary to the Gentiles. 

Most of us know the story from St. Luke’s portrayal of the event in the Book of Acts:  

“And as he journeyed, it came to pass that he drew near Damascus: and suddenly there shone round about him a light out of heaven: and he fell upon the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why do you persecute thou me? And he said, Who are you, Lord? And he said, I am Jesus whom you are persecuting: but rise, and enter into the city, and there you shall be told what you must do. And those journeying with him stood speechless, hearing the sound, but seeing no one.  Saul got up from the ground, but when he opened his eyes, he could see nothing.  They led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. And he was blind for three days, and ate and drank nothing during that time.”  (Acts 9:3-9)

Ananias Restoring the Sight of St. Paul (c.1631) by Pietro da Corona.   

The story continues with a devout Jewish Christian, Ananaias, receiving a divine revelation telling him to visit Saul at the house of Judas on the aptly-named "Street Called Straight," where he is to lay hands on Saul to restore his sight.  Ananias, having heard stories of just how aggressive and abusive Saul is, does not want to do this.  He finally relents when God tells him, “Go ahead and do this, for [Saul] is a chosen vessel for me, to bear my name before the Gentiles, and kings, and the children of Israel. 

Acts tells the story two other times, both in speeches placed on Paul’s lips (Acts 22:6-21 and 26:12-18).  These tell the story differently and seem focused on attracting the audiences addressed by the speeches:  Acts 22 seems to want to establish Paul’s credibility to a Jewish audience by linking him to Ananias' good reputation in the Jewish community in Damascus, while Acts 26 seems aimed at attracting its Roman audience by its emphasis on loyalty and obedience to orders.

In contradistinction to Luke, Paul himself refers to his conversion a couple of times in his own letters.  In Galatians, he stresses that the revelation came from God and not from some human intermediary (like Ananias in Acts):  

For I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that the gospel that was proclaimed by me is not of human origin; for I did not receive it from a human source, nor was I taught it, but I received it through a revelation of Jesus Christ. You have heard, no doubt, of my earlier life in Judaism. I was violently persecuting the church of God and was trying to destroy it. I advanced in Judaism beyond many among my people of the same age, for I was far more zealous for the traditions of my ancestors. But when God, who had set me apart before I was born and called me through his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son to me, so that I might proclaim him among the Gentiles, I did not confer with any human being.”   (Galatians 1:11-16)

Despite this claim of having no human intermediary, Paul elsewhere sets his own conversion within the context of traditions that he had received from others:  

“For I passed on to you the tradition first of all that I also received: that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; that he was buried; that he rose again on the third day according to the scriptures; that he appeared to Cephas, then the Twelve; after that, he appeared to over five hundred of our family at once; of whom the greater part are still alive, but some have died. After that, he appeared to James; then to all the apostles. And last of all he appeared also to me, a monstrous child born at the wrong time, as it were.” (1 Corinthians 15:3-8) 

The great hope that the conversion of St. Paul gives us is this:  it is possible to change, even when you have a weight of experience telling you that you will always remain the same.  You can teach an old dog new tricks.   Or at least God can.  A leopard can change its spots.  Or at least God can make it so.  

But this is the result of serious "power from on high" and grace from God.  But it also stems from seeking the socialization and support from people living on the "Street called Straight," tradition-bearers like Ananias.   

Thanks be to God.  

--Fr. Tony+

Comfort, Comfort My People (Advent 2B)

Comfort, Comfort My People

Second Sunday of Advent (Year B)

 Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13; 2 Peter 3:8-15a; Mark 1:1-8
Homily delivered at the Congregation of the Good Shepherd

Beijing China
4th December 2011: 10:00 Holy Eucharist

God, take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

The year 2011 has been hard on many of us here in the Congregation of the Good Shepherd.  While our multi-national, multi-denominational composition is a point of joy for us—we have Americans, Canadians, New Zealanders, Australians, British, Bahamians, Fijians, Guyanians, Japanese, Chinese, and many more—it does make us a bit vulnerable as a group when bad things happen over the globe.  In March there was the horrible Christchurch New Zealand earthquake and its aftershocks.  Right after that, there was the horrendous earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear reactor crisis in Sendai Japan.   In August, we had major rioting, looting, and burning in London, Bristol, Birmingham, and Liverpool. 

In addition to these catastrophic disasters, we as a group faced other problems.  Several members of the congregation were diagnosed with major illnesses.  The political process of China seems to be hunkering down in reaction to the popular uprisings in the Middle East and in preparation for changes in the top Chinese leadership next year.  As a result, in the cooperation projects and business for which many of us are here for, it has become hard to move things forward. The entire world continues to suffer from a depressed global economy, and some of our congregants have had to split up their families on a temporary basis in order to pursue their livings in separate locations where the work is. In November, people from the United States sorrowfully commemorated the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington, and in so doing were brought face to face with the cost of how the American public and it political leaders reacted to that attack:  two seemingly unending wars on foreign soils have produced such deficits that the nation seems unable to respond to the economic crisis.  The American political process has become paralyzed, the constitutional government of the land seemingly moribund due to entrenched ideologies and an unwillingness to cooperate or compromise with anyone of differing opinions.   The Tea Party demonstrated on the Right and was met with hoots of derision from the Center; Occupy Wall Street demonstrated on the Left and was met with beatings, arrests, and pepper spray. 

Despite the occasional moments of grace and blessing we also have experienced, all told, I think that we can agree that 2011 has indeed been an annus horribilis, a year to make one's skin crawl, if only for the catastrophes we saw.  

In 587 BCE, a great catastrophe befell the people of the tiny kingdom of Judah.  One of the world’s first trans-national Empires, Babylon, after a decade of dealing patiently, in their lights, with the fanatic and ultra-nationalistic people of Judah, came down hard. After killing all insurgent combatants and activists, they deported the entire ruling class of the nation, letting them off with their lives but placing them far away in secure and safe provinces in Mesopotamia far from where they could do any damage by stirring up opposition to the Imperial rule. They blinded the king they had put on the throne of Judah only ten years before, only to be rewarded by his treachery and disloyalty. They placed another puppet, this time non-royal and hopefully compliant, in the role of governor of the now newly-named province of Judah.  They burned the capital city, Jerusalem, and leveled to its foundation the symbol of the obstinate, uncompromising national religion that had in some ways been the driving force in the rebellion of the district, the Temple of the Jews’ God, Yahweh.  No stone was left standing on another stone. 

This was a disaster of overwhelming and unfathomable proportions.  They had believed that Yahweh had promised to protect his people them and keep them from harm.  He had promised, they thought, to protect and preserve the line of the kings descended from David and protect their rule.  Now all that was gone. 

They had tried to keep God’s commandments, and in the very doing of this had provoked the wrath of the Babylonians.  Judah had ceased to exist.  All that was left was a small group of exiles in Babylon and a large mass of “the people of the land” living under foreign domination and rapidly accommodating and assimilating to ways of the occupiers in order to get by.   The Jewish way of worship had ceased; the Temple was a mere memory.  Almost all families had lost members, if not been wiped out entirely. 

It is hard for us to understand how hopeless and desperate this situation was.  It was as if all of New Zealand had been leveled, or all of Honshu wiped off the face of the earth by a tsunami, or if the terrorists had exploded nuclear bombs instead of crashed airplanes over New York City and Washington DC.  Arguably, the disaster facing the Jews in 587 was greater than even that of 70 C.E. when the Romans leveled Jerusalem or in the 1940s when the Nazis systematically sought to exterminate all European Jewry, 

Such was the level of desperation and hopelessness.   The nation simply didn’t exist any more.  God had broken the covenant with his people.  Indeed, they were no more his people, no more even a people.  And he was no more their God.  How could one understand these events any other way? 

Among the exiles in Babylon was a prophet who wrote in the tradition of Isaiah, and whose oracles have been preserved in the latter part of that book.  In the midst of that national disaster, he wrote: 

Nahumu, nahamu 'ommi, “comfort, comfort my people.”

The Hebrew is a soft, lilting, lullaby.  It is a plural command—“you all go out and comfort them, comfort them, for they are still my people. I am still their God.”  Thus begins the Book of Consolation in the larger book of Isaiah.

The words are achingly beautiful and full of love.  “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and call out to her.   She has served her time in prison; her penalty is paid.  Her suffering is so great that it cannot be the mere punishment for past sins—it is at least twice as worse as that.”  

This Second Isaiah then introduces several separate oracular pronouncements as the different voices giving this message of comfort. 

The first proclaims that as low as things have gotten, Yahweh is about to perform the ultimate turning of the tables by wondrously and unexpectedly bringing about the return of the exiles from Babylon to Judah.  God will do the seemingly impossible—he will turn the impassible barriers between Mesopotamia and Judah into the route of return. Metaphorically, the hill and canyon filled desert where Jordan, Syria, and western Iraq currently lie will be leveled into a smooth highway that will speed the exiles’ return.  And this will be a sign of God’s glory not just for Jews, but for all of humanity:

A voice cries out:

‘In the wilderness prepare Yahweh’s road,

make straight in the desert a highway for our God.

Every valley shall be lifted up,

and every mountain and hill be made low;

the uneven ground shall become level,

and the rough places a plain.

Then Yahweh’s glory shall be revealed,

and all people shall see it together,

for the mouth of Yahweh has said it.’

  The God who is to do this is no tribal deity, no special possession of the Jewish people.  A second voice of comfort takes up this theme of God’s universal nature, of the fact that all humanity stands in awe of God’s mystery, by surprisingly adding: 

‘All people are grass,

their constancy is like the flower of the field.

The grass withers, the flower fades,

when the breath of the LORD blows upon it;

surely people are grass.

The grass withers, the flower fades;

but the word of our God will stand forever.’

Note that Second Isaiah’s message is NOT: “ The national disaster was God’s just punishment on us and now he will restore us to our former state.  We will be his people and he will be our God, and all our enemies will now get their just deserts and it will be a great thing to be a Jew.”   

Rather, Second Isaiah’s message is: “Our suffering was beyond anything just.  It is a mystery, just as God is a mystery.  But our suffering is part of what it means to be human.  All of humanity suffers.  We are grass.  We are impermanent.  But God’s word remains, and that for all people.” 

It has always struck me as odd that Second Isaiah here thinks that a voice of joyful news would cry out, “All people are grass.  They wither in a day, and fade.”  What good news is there in such a saying? 

Accepting our common humanity and our facing square-on our limitations is actually a very liberating thing.  It is, in fact, good news.  It is the start of all authentic spiritual growth and health.  It is the thing that makes Socrates a wise man and the sophists around him foolish—he at least knows and accepts that he is ignorant while they go about in self-delusion.  It is the process that Buddhists call giving up desire, abandoning the expectations that enslave us, and the start of the process of enlightenment.  It is the start of what Muhammad called Islam, “submission” to God.  It is what the wisdom tradition in the Hebrew scripture calls the “beginning of all wisdom,” “awe or fear of the Lord.”   For those following Twelve-Step spirituality, it is the First Step, “we admitted we were powerless and that our lives had become unmanageable.”  It is what Jesus is describing when he says we must first lose our lives in order to find them. 

Acceptance of our condition as imperfect, limited, and very temporary people living in an imperfect and sometimes horrifying world is needed to break down the barriers between us and other people.  It is at the heart of the process of repentance, of regretting and turning aside from our misdoings, and performing amendment of life. 

I think that is why St. Mark in today’s Gospel says that John the Baptist’s preaching of repentance was the “Beginning of the Happy Message” of Jesus Christ.  Mark sees John as the “messenger sent before the Lord’s day,” borrowing from Malachi, and as, borrowing from today’s reading from Second Isaiah, the voice in wilderness crying “prepare the way.”   John, as dour and unsparing as we usually like to think him, is still a bringer of Good News, because he urges us to accept that we are helpless and hopeless, and this universally so, since all people for him needed his baptism, regardless of their heritage, religion, or family background. 

But acceptance is only the start.  In order to find the hope and help we lack, we need to turn our lives over to this God who breaks down barriers, smoothes down the barriers and fills up the gaps, makes the rough places plain, recreates the broken nation, and raises the dead to life. 

The third oracle in today’s Isaiah passage fairly sings in joy of what it means when we recognize God’s hand in these loving acts of restoring the exiles.  Second Isaiah personifies the City about to be rebuilt by the returning exiles, Jerusalem built on Mount Zion, itself as a herald of joyful news, the joyful news of God’s love:   

Get you up to a high mountain,

O Zion, herald of good tidings;

lift up your voice with strength,

O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings,

lift it up, do not fear;

say to the cities of Judah,

"Here is your God!"

See, Yahweh God comes with might,

and his arm rules for him;

his reward is with him,

and his recompense before him.

He will feed his flock like a shepherd;

he will gather the lambs in his arms,

and carry them in his bosom,

and gently lead the mother sheep.

Second Isaiah here takes the commonplace image used by the Hebrew prophets, the image of the coming day when Yahweh will set things right, by rewarding the righteous and punishing evil-doers, and changes it drastically.  No longer is this a day that burns.  No longer is it a great day of military conquest.  It is a day of gentle love.  It is a day that God as a loving shepherd feeds his flock, and carries the little lambs tenderly in his arms.  “Here is your God,” he says, implicitly saying “and not in those images of blood and fire.”  For Second Isaiah, God is a loving shepherd, not a warrior or executioner.

The season of Advent is a season of preparation and waiting.  We await and prepare for the inbreaking of God, for the coming of Christ, whether once long ago in Bethlehem, or soon in glory to finish setting things right.   The traditional prayer for the season is this:

Almighty 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.

As we prepare, let us remember Second Isaiah’s message in today’s Hebrew Scripture reading:  we are all grass, and quickly fade.  But God loves us.  The coming of God to set things right is a moment of comfort, a moment of joyful news, not just for some, but for all.  It is a moment when God as a mother sings lullabies to us, her children, and when God, as a gentle shepherd, carries us in love, his lambs.

Sisters and brothers here at the Congregation of the Good Shepherd.  Elena and I have been blessed for the last 2 ½ years to be part of you, to sing and worship with you, and to serve you.   We are blessed to share the celebration of the first part of this Advent season with you.  We will be moving to Ashland Oregon in just a couple of weeks, for new ministry and new blessings.  I want to thank all of you for the great faith you have shared with us, and for the opportunities you gave us here to serve. 

May we all during the rest of this Advent season reflect on our limitations and failings, and be brutally honest about this with ourselves.  And may we see this, together with God’s offer to help us, as the gladdest of tidings, the best of good news.  And may we, in our lives and service, be heralds of this joyful message to all whom we meet. 

In the name of God, Amen.