...a way in the desert

...a way in the desert
A voice cries out: In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. (Isaiah 40.3)

Thursday, December 20, 2012

The Longest Night (order of service)


“The Longest Night”
                                                      a service of worship

The “Longest Night” worship service draws its name from the Winter Solstice on December 21, the longest night of the year.  Tonight we meet in a place of sanctuary to honor the sorrows that temper our holidays.  May this be a time of peace and comfort for you.

A TIME FOR PREPARATION

 
WORDS FOR SILENT MEDITATION                                 Psalm 28:1-2

 

To you, O Lord, I call;

my rock, do not refuse to hear me,

for if you are silent to me,

I shall be like those who go down to the Pit.

Hear the voice of my supplication,

as I cry to you for help,

as I lift up my hands

toward your most holy sanctuary.

MUSIC FOR MEDITATION

 (Feel free to use any name for God that is comfortable for you.)

WE APPROACH GOD

CALL TO WORSHIP                                             
 
LEADER:   I am at an impasse, and you, O God, are the one who has brought me here.

ALL:           Here in this darkness, I cannot find you.  Will my eyes adjust to this darkness?  Has anyone ever found you there?  Did they love what they saw?  Did they see love?  And are there songs for singing when the light has gone dim?  Or in the dark, is it best to wait in silence?
 
LEADER:  Couldn’t you, O God, come and sit with me?  O God of my heart, peel back the night and let starlight pour out on my upturned face.

OPENING PRAYER

          O living God, you dwell in clouds and thick darkness.  We lift our eyes to the night sky and sense depth and fullness beyond our grasp.  In the beginning there was a dark void and from it you drew the light.  It was night when you led the Israelites out of bondage in Egypt.  When Jesus was born, a star shone in the black heavens.  A dark-skinned man carried his cross up the hill.  Christ made his pure sacrifice of love in the midday darkness.  Rain falls from black clouds.  Babies grow in uterine shadows.  Prophets speak in ebony voices.  All of these treasures of darkness – help us receive them as riches from you.  Amen.

Hymn #333 Joyful is the Dark (vs. 1, 2, 3, 5)

 

CONTEMPLATING DARKNESS AND LIGHT

 FIRST LIGHT:  Presence

Lament                                                                 from Psalm 55     

          Give ear to my prayer, O God; do not hide yourself from my supplication.  Attend to me, and answer me; I am troubled…. My heart is in anguish within me, the terrors of death have fallen upon me.  Fear and trembling come upon me, and horror overwhelms me.  And I say, “O that I had wings like a dove!  I would fly away and be at rest; truly, I would flee far away; I would lodge in the wilderness; I would hurry to find a shelter for myself from the raging wind and tempest.

          It is not enemies who taunt me – I could bear that; it is not adversaries who deal insolently with me - I could hide from them.  But it is you, my equal, my companion, my familiar friend, with whom I kept pleasant company; we walked in the house of God together.  (pause)

          But I call upon God, and God will save me.  Evening and morning and at noon I utter my complaint and moan, and God will hear my voice.                                                          

Reflection

          God saw that the light was good.  Sometimes it seems that our lives are filled with only darkness.  Our days stretch before us as a void that has no boundaries.  We can only remember our hurts and our loss, and the worst part is the loneliness and isolation we experience – especially from people we once trusted.

Assurance                                                                   Genesis 1:1-5

          In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.  Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.  And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness.  God called the light Day, and the darkness God called Night.  And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

Response

          And so we light this candle to represent God’s creating presence, with us since the beginning of time.  We are not alone.  When solutions are impossible to find, there is One beside us, creating still.  We are never alone in the darkness of our pain and despair, for God’s light is there waiting patiently to break into that darkness. 

( light one candle) 

Leader:        The people who walked in darkness

PEOPLE:   have seen a great light.

SECOND LIGHT:  Comfort         

Lament                                                                 from Psalm 42

          As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.  My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.  When shall I come and behold the face of God?  My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, “Where is your God?”

          These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I went with the crowd, and led them in the procession to the house of God, with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival.  Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me?  Hope in God, for I shall again praise this One, my help and my God.
 
Reflection

          All around us are the sights and sounds of Christmas: the laughter of parties, the songs of carolers, the music playing in every store.  But deep within us we carry our pain; our grief walks with us every step we take; loneliness is a shawl we drape over our shoulders on empty nights.  We try to put on happiness, but it doesn’t fit.  So, in this season when every night stretches into eternity, we come bringing our gifts – not gold, frankincense and myrrh, but grief, bitterness and loss.

Assurance                                                            Matthew 11:28-30

          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.

Response

          As we light the candle of comfort may we see before us the assurance of God’s love that will not leave us, no matter how dark the night.

( light one candle)
 
Leader:                  The people who walked in darkness

PEOPLE:             have seen a great light.

SOLO         “In the Bleak Midwinter” – Rossetti           

THIRD LIGHT:     Promise

Lament:                                                                                   Psalm 23

          The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.  He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul.  He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake.

          Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff – they comfort me.

          You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.
 
Reflection:

          Sometimes in the midst of the preparation, joy, and celebration of this season, we find it hard to sustain our enthusiasm.  The loss, the hurt, the pain that is so very real to us in this season overwhelms us.  We may find ourselves sinking into the darkness of our past, our sorrows, our losses and our memories.  We hear the words of God’s love; we may even be aware of God’s presence in our wandering, but the darkness of the moment wipes our confidence away.
                                 
Assurance:                                                                     Isaiah 60:1-3                
 
       Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.  For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and God’s glory will appear over you.  Nations shall come to your light, and rulers to the brightness of your dawn.
 
Response:

          The candle of promise echoes the words of the prophet Isaiah that herald the light of hope and renewal.  It is a sign that within each of us is the power to banish darkness.  And so we hear, one more time, the cry of Isaiah telling us to stand up and stand tall.  The coming of the Christ into our homes and hearts will shine within us.

(light one candle)

Leader:                  The people who walked in darkness

PEOPLE:             have seen a great light.

HYMN                 “Comfort, Comfort You My People”         (v. 1)             #122

FOURTH LIGHT:           Fulfillment                                       

Lament                                                                           from Psalm 13

          How long Elusive One?  Will you forget me forever?  How long will you hide your face from me?  How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?  How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

          Consider and answer me, O my God!  Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death, and my enemy will say, ‘I have prevailed’; my foes will rejoice because I am shaken.

          But I trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.  I will sing to God who has dealt bountifully with me.                   

Reflection

          Mary, the mother of Jesus, knew what it was like to be afraid.  Mary knew the wonder of God’s presence.  And so Mary sang a song of praise to her God, even though the world around her was a frightening place, without assurance of enough to eat or a place to house the child that soon would be born to her.  Mary’s is a song filled with hope, a song expressing her trust in God and the knowledge that the child she was to bear would banish the darkness of this uncertain world.

Assurance                                                                   Luke 1:46-53

          Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for God has looked with favor on the lowliness of this servant.  Surely from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is the name of God who has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly, filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”

Response

          As we celebrate Christmas this year may we share Mary’s understanding that God’s promise is fulfilled in us.  The sorrow and hurts of our life will pass.  There will be healing, and like Mary we can discover and sing our own hymn of praise.  As we light Mary’s Candle, the light of fulfillment and completion, let us remember that this light can never be extinguished when we carry it in our hearts. 

( light one candle)

Voice II:      The people who walked in darkness

PEOPLE:   have seen a great light.

SOLO         “Mary Did You Know?”         -- Lowry and Greene   

Pastoral Prayer

          Holy God of Advent, you became weak so we would find strength in moments of heartbreak; you left the safety of heaven to wnder the wilderness of the world, holding our hands when we feel hopeless; you set aside your glory to hold our pain so we might be healed, even when there seems to be no hope; you became one of us, so we would never be alone in any moment.

          So come now, Child of Bethlehem, to strengthen us in these days.  May we feel your presence in a way we have never known, not just as one born in a stable long ago and far away, but as the One born in our hearts.

          You have promised to go before us into our brokenness, into hospital rooms, into empty houses, into graveyards, into our future held by God, and we sense you here, even now, to hold and comfort and heal us, to live in us, now and for ever.  Amen.

THE PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE

Voice 1:

          Sacred Presence, we have come from different backgrounds, from different families, from different faith traditions.  But we have all lived in the land of shame and wandered the far country of despair.  We have stood on the side of every room we have gone into, hoping against hope that someone would ask us to dance but finding that the wall is our only friend.

Voice 2:

          In a season when so many people don’t have enough hours in a day to get their lists checked off, their cards mailed, their presents wrapped, we have all the time in the world: to remember the loss that has stolen the joy of the season; to grieve over a job, a dream, a loved one; to sit in the shadows of our homes, too weary to turn on the lights; to wander the streets lit by lights on all the houses, but not by the Light of the world.

Voice 3:

          Our fear of the future, our remembrance of the past, our pain that is difficult to bear and harder to release, our emptiness which cannot be filled with platitudes, our hands which cannot hold the ones we wish to embrace: all make this a season of long nights.

All:

          Be with us in our loneliness, in our longing, in our loss, in our living.  Amen.

INVITATION TO LIGHT INDIVIDUAL CANDLES

          During this quiet time, you are invited to light a candle and place it in the sand, letting it represent a hurt you wish to release, or a prayer you wish to leave in silence.  If you prefer to write your prayer or a statement of your sorrow, you may use the note cards provided and take your writing with you, or leave it at the altar.  The pastor will remember you in prayer.

BENEDICTION

          In your silence, may the Word dwell in your heart. 

          In your brokenness, may the Bread of Life fill you and mend you.

          In your pain, may the One who breathed life into you at your birth, and loved you even then, ease your spirit.  Amen.
-----------------
Resources

Chalice Hymnal, Merrick, ed.  St. Louis: Chalice Press, 1995.

 “In the Bleak Midwinter,” Christina Rossetti, 1872.

“Joyful Is the Dark,” Brian Wren, 1989, Hope Publishing Co., music by Gayle Schoepf, 1994, Chalice Press.

 “Mary, Did You Know?” Mark Lowry and Buddy Greene, Hal Leonard Publishing Co.

“The Longest Night,” Candles and Conifers, Wild Goose Publications: Glasgow, 2005, p. 223.

 MORE PSALMS FOR SILENT REFLECTION

  from Psalm 13

          How long, O Lord?  Will you forget me forever?  How long will you hide your face from me?  How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?  How long shall my enemy be exalted over me? 

          Consider and answer me, O Lord my God!  Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death, and my enemy will say, ‘I have prevailed’; my foes will rejoice because I am shaken.

          But I trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.  I will sing to the Lord, because God has dealt bountifully with me.

 from Psalm 42

          As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.  My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.  When shall I come and behold the face of God?  My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, ‘Where is your God?’

          These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I went with the throng, and led them in procession to the house of God, with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival.  Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me?  Hope in God, for I shall again praise this One, my help and my God.
                                                                                                      
Psalm 23     

          The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.  He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul.  He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake. 

          Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff – they comfort me.

          You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.

 

 

Saturday, December 15, 2012

The Darkest Dark

 
 
Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.  For darkness shall cover the earth and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you.  Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.                                                    ~Isaiah 60:1-3
 
 
For a kid who grows up on the farm there's a unique sense of time that evolves from everyday life--and it's different from time anywhere else in the world.  Workdays aren't defined by the clock, and hardly by the sun.  They're defined by the work that needs to be done. And the seasons roll on.
 
My favorite season is autumn.  Back in the Midwest, in late October the air changes.  It's cooler.  And usually by Halloween, you can see your breath suspended in the air as you laugh and talk with friends on the way home from school.  The maples and oaks paint the countryside with the most breathtaking crimsons and golds you ever saw.  And you can layer yourself with bright woolen plaids.  And everyone walks a little faster.
 
Life on the farm is all about minding the seasons and having patience.  It's about planting seed in the spring and waiting for the rain--and if too much or too little rain comes, sometimes planting again and waiting again.  Cultivating crops in the summer and waiting.  Standing by, knowing that the crops will tell us when it's time to harvest them.  And waiting through the fall rains till the fields are dry enough to get in.  Then sometimes having to wait till they're frozen, if the ground never dries.
 
Farming is about plowing the soil to turn it over, just before the first hard freeze.  And waiting.  All winter.  Waiting and knowing that in the deep, frozen darkness below the surface of that soil, the miracle of rest is happening. 
 
The season of our life on this planet is changing.  We no longer have the luxury of comparing our separated, segregated selves, gathering proof that we are right and true and better or best of all.  We can no longer afford to offer up the welfare of earth in exchange for quick profit.  In this season of our life, those with power must choose not to use it for dominance if we wish to survive.
 
What is the darkest dark you've ever seen?  For me the darkest dark in all the world is in the cellar.  At home when I was growing up the cellar was separate from the house.  It was igloo shaped, built of bricks, with stairs leading down from the outdoors to a cement floor.  It was covered with dirt and thick grass growing in that dirt.  On the outside the cellar made a wonderful hill for rolling down and for playing "king on the mountain".  But the really awesome part was on the inside.  IT WAS DARK.
 
I can remember Mother saying, "Take this pan, Linda, and go to the cellar and get five potatoes for dinner."  It took both hands to lift the cellar door, and I'd let it drop to the ground, on the other side of the hinges, with a bang.  It seemed to take an hour to walk down those steps.  I took them slowly so that my eyes could adjust to the dark as I went.  The goal was to be able to see in the dark by the time I got there, so I could identify where the goblins were, and get away from them.  (As I got older and more sophisticated, I convinced myself that I was just watching for crickets.)  The air in the cellar was always cold & I'd get a chill.
 
Squinting in the dark I'd find the potato crates and gasp in horror.  There in the secret dark an awful thing had happened.  Every eye of every potato had grown a ghostly tendril and they were all reaching for me like hungry fingers.  Another chill.  This time not from the cold.  Then I'd get over my fright and pick up the five biggest ones by their fingers and run up the stairs to safety.
 
Years later I was amazed to hear my daughters describe the source of their fears.  My ominous potato sprouts paled to their deep pessimism grounded in our ability to destroy ourselves with nuclear weapons.  They and their friends believed they would not live to adulthood.  Others believed then, and do now, that our suicide will not be so abrupt, but rather that we will continue to kill ourselves slowly by destroying the planet we so glibly call home.
 
I remember what a refuge the cellar was at other times.  Still creepy, but a refuge.  Mother would say, "come on, kids.  We need to go to the cellar."  And we knew not to question.  My grandparent's home had vanished in a tornado, and we grew up on stories of chickens found miles away, some still alive but without any feathers, and some of their feathers driven into fenceposts in the place where the chickens had been picked up.
 
My brother, Norman, and I would enter that deep dungeon of a cellar and sit side by side on the bench where the potato crates were, his feet dangling, only my toes resting on the floor because I was trying to touch as little of the dark, damp surface as possible.  On the shelf beside the canned goods, near the door, was an old Kerr canning jar, the kind with the galvanized metal lid with a white porcelain lining.  And inside that jar, where it was dry, were some wooden matches and the stump of a candle.
 
When the door was pulled shut it was as dark in that cellar as a tomb.  And it smelled like wet dirt and decaying potatoes.  And I couldn't see my hand in front of my face.  And I wouldn't have known Norman was there if he hadn't been chattering all the while, "Winda, what's gonna happen next?"
 
What is the darkest dark you've ever experienced?  Perhaps when you stood alone in the face of death.  Or when you struggled to breathe in a spiritual vacuum because someone you loved had died.  It may have been in that unbelievably long stretch of time when you were looking for a job.  Maybe it was a financial disaster that took you to the threshold of bankruptcy.  Or perhaps in divorce when you realized that there was no going back, and nothing to do but inch your way through the pain and the loneliness.  And no one could do it for you.  And no one could do it with you.  Remember the darkness when the question was throbbing and there seemed to be no answer and your own voice echoed back at you, "What's gonna happen next?"
 
As difficult and even frightening as the darkness may be, it's not entirely a bad thing.  In fact, the cellar was mysteriously pregnant with promise.  Something marvelous had been happening all winter long in that cellar, with the door closed and no light coming in.  Next year's potato crop was happening.  When the long, icy winter was finally over and the garden was thawed enough to work the ground, we would turn it over once again.  And everything that had been sleeping in that deep, frozen darkness began to awaken. 
 
Mid-March my parents would bring up the potato crates, now full of the most pitiful looking potatoes you ever saw... shriveled and wrinkled like old farmers.  You couldn't possibly peel one for eating.  And who would want to?  Every one of them was covered with ghostly white tendrils, now grown so long that the potatoes seemed to be holding onto each other for dear life; as if they knew what was about to happen.  Mother and Daddy would cut those potatoes up into as many pieces as there were sprouts, leaving enough of the meat of the potato to feed the new plant, and they would stick those ugly things in the ground… and cover them with newly awakened dirt… and wait.  Then, about the time the first peas were ready, the first potatoes joined them on our table.  What a feast!
 
In Dr. Stephen Kim's class, "Christian Identity and Mission in the Global Village", we've been struggling with how Christians can engage with people of all faiths in a society no longer defined by international boundaries, the languages we speak or the religions we practice, but by the planet we share.  It's a hard question.  We've been looking for a common ground where all faiths in a diverse world can meet.  I wonder if we'll ever find it.  Sometimes I think our common ground is to be found in the fact that we all teeter together on the brink of disaster.  In this season that we Christians call Advent, perhaps there is a hint of another promise. 
 
Finally respecting the power we have to destroy each other and therefore ourselves--aching from the torn places in our relationships between families, friends, nations--all of groaning humanity hovers in the deep, frozen darkness, waiting together in hope.  Perhaps this is the commonality we've been struggling to define--this hope.  Perhaps it is our hope that keeps us here, waiting in the dark, together.
 
I remember hearing the metal against the glass as the lid came off of that Kerr canning jar. So that meant Mother was there with us in the dark.  But where was Daddy?  Still out in the storm?  Then I heard the sputtering of the phosphorous on the match head as it struck the brick wall of the cellar.  I remember the unbelievable radiance of the blue-white flame that pierced our darkness as Mother lit the candle.  And how good it was to see Daddy standing there beside her in his overalls... safe.
 
It was only because of our profound and utter darkness that a simple candle was able to produce such brilliance.  And it was only because I couldn't see at all that what my eyes finally beheld by candlelight was so delicious.
 
We pray thee, God, for the coming of a light to dispel our darkness.  Amen.
 
 
© Rev. Linda Miller, December 1, 1999. 
Delivered in Claremont School of Theology Chapel
 
 

What could possibly make God sing today?

Sing aloud, O daughter Zion;
shout, O Israel!
Rejoice and exult with all your heart,
O daughter Jerusalem!
The Lord has taken away the judgements against you,
he has turned away your enemies.
The king of Israel, the Lord, is in your midst;
you shall fear disaster no more.
On that day it shall be said to Jerusalem:
Do not fear, O Zion;
do not let your hands grow weak.
The Lord, your God, is in your midst,
a warrior who gives victory;
he will rejoice over you with gladness,
he will renew you
in his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing
as on a day of festival.

I will remove disaster from you,
so that you will not bear reproach for it.
I will deal with all your oppressors
at that time.
And I will save the lame
and gather the outcast,
and I will change their shame into praise
and renown in all the earth.
At that time I will bring you home,
at the time when I gather you;
for I will make you renowned and praised
among all the peoples of the earth,
when I restore your fortunes
before your eyes, says the Lord.

                           ~Zephaniah 3:14-20


   Today I wrestled with the lectionary from Luke, which follows last week’s passage. John the Baptiser’s words are full of condemnation for humanity’s violations of God’s law, and disregard for God’s deep desire for the people to live in peace with justice.  The condemnation may be even more appropriate today, in the wake of the horrific shootings in Connecticut yesterday, than almost any other time, including Luke’s.  We as a society have allowed this unthinkable thing to happen, killing children, destroying families, altering an entire community, and thus the world.  We deserve to be yelled at like John the Baptist raged at the people, descendants of Abraham, over their stubborn flirtation with evil. 

   So I will recommend that you read Luke 3:7-18 for background, and remember that in his call to repentance, John is saying “It isn’t enough that your granddaddy Abraham was a righteous man, devoted follower of God, establisher of your entire nation.  You can’t ride through life on Abraham’s coattails.  You have to cop some righteousness of your own.  The time is short.  Get on it.  Do something to turn this mess aroundNOW!!!!”  And know, friends, that deep in my soul I just want to shout that message loud and clear, and pronounce my Amen and let that be my sermon for the third week of Advent.  With all my heart I wish that shouting prophecy would finally be enough to make the change happen that we need. 

   But my heart is breaking like I’m guessing your heart is breaking over the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School yesterday.  I am a resurrection preacher (which means that I have a compulsion to look for the promise of new life in the worst of situations), and this is the worst of situations.  So I went looking further in the lectionary for promise, and I stumbled across the passage above from a little known prophet named Zephaniah.  He seems to have been a disciple of Isaiah; there are recognizable Isaiah threads in his collection of writings.  His words are woven of two themes: condemnation and salvation.  God is the active agent in both, responding to what God sees in the people whom God loves and wastes a lot of holy hope on.  It will be helpful if you read all three chapters, because the grace and celebration in these closing verses makes no sense at all outside the context of the awfulness of what comes before.  Some terrible stuff is about to come down.  God is really angry with the people for messing up so badly, and there will be consequences!  I want to make clear that I do not embrace a concept of a capricious God who doles out rewards and punishments.  We who share a society experience natural outcomes of collective wise or unwise choices.  In truth, we only have to turn on the news to get a glimpse of the kinds of consequences that come from our inattention to how God calls us to live together in community. 

  I'll always remember the lecture Marjorie Suchocki gave in Process Theology in which she described the responsibility, and the power we have to magnify the lives of others.  In every instant God is initiating the next potential for our greatest good, and we have the freedom to say "yes" or "no" to God.  Our "yesses" open the way for the next possibility, and our "nos" actually limit God's effectiveness in the world.  In society, our "yes" to God also opens the way for the greatest possible good for those around us.  We have enormous power for good or evil by the way we care for and respond to one another. 

   The first verse of Chapter 2 says, “Gather together, gather, O shameless nation.”  Meaningful change begins with us coming together.  We can divide ourselves in arguments over whether the solution is gun control legislation or better mental health care or more secure school buildings or banning violent video games or teaching parenting skills, and if we do, all we will have accomplished (again) is dividing ourselves.  There is probably truth in all the suggestions, so what if we came together and explored all of them, asking what each of us can do to make a difference.  “Gather together,” he says.

   As Chapter 3 opens it looks like things aren’t going to change much.  The religious and political leaders are like roaring lions and evening wolves, attacking and devouring… the prophets are reckless, faithless people, the priests have profaned what is sacred... they have done violence to the law.  But the character of God has not changed…who still imagines the possibility of a transformed nation and is already planning the party for celebrating their repentance, their metanoia (John’s Greek word), their new way of being, “humble and lowly.”

   Suddenly in the lesson for today, the mood of this prophecy changes, projecting a vision of what it will be like when we come back to God… written in present perfect tense as though it has already been accomplished.  There’s the promise I’ve been looking for!  But wait… how on earth can the Israel of Zephaniah's day sing, in present tense, when the nation had not yet been restored?  How can we sing when our hearts are breaking over a shooting in a school that just happened yesterday?  Don’t ask the people of Sandy Hook to sing today.  Not today, and maybe not for a long time.  It is the present perfect tense of the prophet’s words that get in my way.  

   How can we sing out loud when we are afraid?  “Do not fear, O Zion (Jerusalem); do not let your hands grow weak.  The Lord, your God, is in your midst….” You are not alone.  Even if I believe that God is present in our darkest times (and I do), the darkness is real.  And it is very dark.  But a resurrection preacher knows that while the darkness lingers, it will not consume me.  This darkness which envelopes God’s people will not consume them.  Speaking for God, the prophet reminds us that when there is this much brokenness, the potential for the most profound healing lies ahead.  Prophets didn't waste their words on feel-good messages.  This is difficult stuff.  The healing that we need so badly will require hard work, and a willingness to consider our personal responsibility toward society.  Slowly, surely, hope will find an opening and begin to emerge. 

   What is it then that could make God sing – the same Holy One whose heart is breaking with ours?  Look at the scripture again.  God will sing when the people sing.  Sometimes the people can’t sing.  God waits.  When the hearts that are breaking within us can finally sing, our God whose heart has been breaking, too, will echo back our song!  Nothing could make God happier than for the people to be restored.  As healing occurs, God will rejoice over the people with gladness and renew the people with love.  Today is a little too soon.  But someday when we are ready, God will sing to us from a big old stage in a God-concert, like at a festival.  The prophet said so.  Amen.

A prayer for today:  We are waiting, God.  It is dark in our world, though we have heard the promise that there will be light.  How long will we have to wait?  Are you here with us, or are we really as alone as we feel?  This aching void is almost unbearable.  Give us a sign, a word of hope, a sense of your coming.  Amen.

 



© Rev. Linda Miller, December 15, 2012.
If there is something worthy of repeating, feel free to borrow. Credit is appreciated.