Is 43:18-25

19 February 2006

“Out of Exile”

            This past Tuesday was St. Valentine’s Day.  People don’t usually think of St. Valentine himself; the focus of the day tends to be on love in general.  To the extent that it gets any more specific than that, it’s usually on romantic love.  If there’s someone who was expecting a “Be My Valentine” type thing—which you forgot—maybe you can do that now and claim that you’re already thinking about next year!  I’ll just say:  good luck with that!

            I’m starting on this theme of Valentine’s Day and love because I think it says something about our Old Testament reading in Isaiah 43.  The Old Testament portrayal of God is often thought to be that of the Judge who sends plagues and destruction on the wicked.  To be sure, that is one of the portrayals.  (Note the plural, “portrayals.”)

            What is often not appreciated is the many centuries covered by the Old Testament, the Hebrew scriptures.  There’s a clear evolution of faith before our eyes.  We go from a belief in the God of the Bible as one of many gods…to the God of Israel as the true God…to one God, Lord of all the earth.

That’s where we are in this latter part of the book of Isaiah.  The prophet Isaiah himself lived in the eighth century B. C.  The section of the book bearing his name that begins with chapter 40 is dated in the sixth century.  By this time, Jerusalem has been invaded by the Babylonians; the people have been sent into exile.  The message of the anonymous prophet sometimes called Deutero-Isaiah, or Second Isaiah, is one of calling the people back to their first love.

I want you to look again at our scripture text.  Try to see it through the lens of love unrequited, of a lover who’s been spurned by the beloved.  To me, it brings the words to life in a whole new way.

Consider verse 18:  “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old.”  In the Revised English Bible that reads, “Stop dwelling on past events and brooding over days gone by.”  No doubt, that’s easier said than done.

There is, among us here, a certain degree of pain and uncertainty at the prospect of leaving a building that has housed this congregation since 1924, if the cornerstone outside is correct.  Multiply those feelings by a thousand, maybe even a million, and we can begin to understand how the destruction of the temple affected the people of Israel.  It was at the very heart of their religious and political identity, so much so that it had become an idol.  We learn that from Jeremiah.

But that’s now all in the past.  God is calling the people out of exile.  Listen to verse 19:  “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?  I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”  There will be a new exodus; there will be a new journey through the wilderness to the promised land.

The experience of exile has cured the people of idolatry, at least, the idolatry of foreign gods.  They will come to perceive God in a new way.  This is the birth of Judaism.  And as time goes on, more and more, something begins to well up within the faithful.  It is the expectation of Messiah.

But we’re not quite there yet!  We can almost feel the exasperation of God speaking through the prophet in verse 20:  “The wild animals will honor me, the jackals and the ostriches; for I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people.”

In his book, Deutero-Isaiah, George Knight reflects on this image of the bone-dry badlands.  “Behind ravenous beasts lie the figures of desert and waste which these creatures inhabit.”  They symbolize “all the forces that militate against the creative and loving purpose of God.”[1]

The people have been in the desert.  “That is both literal fact, and at the same time, a picture of what life is like without God.  Moreover, it is what life could become once again for Israel, should she rebel against God’s good guidance and stray from the straight and narrow road.  Once again she would be lost in the desert.”  Still, as much as it pains God, “Israel will retain her free will even in the desert, for God never forces his people to return home to his care when they do not wish to do so.”[2]

The sheer depth of the betrayal felt by God is shown in the verses that follow.  There’s a play on the Hebrew words for “burdened” (db'[;, `abad) and “wearied” ([g'y;, yaga`).  “I have not burdened you with offerings, or wearied you with frankincense,” God says.  “But you have burdened me with your sins; you have wearied me with your iniquities” (vv. 23-24).

God is letting the people know, “I understand what you’ve been through.  I know the pain the temple’s destruction has brought you.  I realize that you can no longer offer sacrifices.  It doesn’t matter.  I have something much more wonderful in store for you.  Yet, despite all that, you insist on being stubborn.”

And playing very much the part of the wounded lover, the Lord says, “You haven’t brought me anything good.  You haven’t brought me anything sweet or fragrant.  Your only offering has been sin and more sin, crime upon crime, infidelity after infidelity.”

I find it interesting that our scripture passage is bracketed by lines that contain the word “remember.”  Look at verses 18 and 25.  And in a very real sense, they sum up the message being relayed by the prophet.  “Do not remember the former things…and I will not remember your sins.”

This speaks very much to the experience of exile.  We need not be banished to a foreign country to undergo the feeling of exile.  Elizabeth Marquardt, in her book, Between Two Worlds: The Inner Lives of Children of Divorce, reflects on her own experience as a child whose parents were divorced.

She says, “I think the story of the exile is really powerful for children of divorce.  Exile describes for them their sense of being fragmented inside, of feeling like divided selves, torn between two worlds.  They feel like they have multiple places to call home, none of which really feels like home.”  But she doesn’t leave it there.  She adds, “In the Christian tradition, exile is not the end of the story.  Those in exile can come home to God and find healing and wholeness in God’s presence.”[3]

We can find other examples of exile.  Some people feel exiled from their own bodies, perhaps as a result of sexual or other kinds of abuse.  I could go on about all kinds of exile, but my point is that God is calling the people to a new day.  As verse 19 says, God is doing a new thing.  The question is:  will the exiles—and for that matter, will we—choose it?  Will we trust the God who loves us?

We too often hesitate.  We too often try to straddle the fence.  At the beginning of today’s epistle reading, the apostle Paul says, “As surely as God is faithful, our word to you has not been ‘Yes and No’” (2 Co 1:18).  Sometimes we say the right things, but the action backing it up is lacking.

Soren Kierkegaard speaks about this very thing.  He’s my favorite 19th century Danish theologian.  (That was supposed to be funny!  He’s the only Danish theologian most people have ever heard of!)

Anyway, here’s what he says.  “How wretched and miserable it is to find in a person many good intentions but few good deeds.  And there are other dangers too, dangers of sin.  With all your good intentions, you must not forget your duty, neither should you forget to do it with joy.  And strive to carry your burdens and responsibilities in a surrendered way.  If you don’t, there is a danger of losing your decisiveness; of going through life without courage and fading away in death.”[4]

I like Kierkegaard; I can relate to him.  He doesn’t try to pass himself off as someone who has all the answers.  It’s been said of him that “Kierkegaard was adamant about his own Christian deficiency.”  He even claims, “‘For my part I do not call myself a “Christian” (thus keeping the ideal free), but I am able to make it evident that the others are still less [Christian] than I.’  This [was] not meant as a judgment.  Kierkegaard’s hope was to arouse, to expose the deception he, as well as everyone else, was under.  He never felt worthy of doing this.  But he was compelled to [speak].”[5]

I fear that I would be one of those “others” Kierkegaard refers to.  I wonder how decisive I am.  How often do I play the “Yes and No” game, of which the apostle Paul disapproves?  And thinking of the prophet’s words in our Old Testament reading, how often do I give my very best to God—the one who loves me with an intensity I can barely fathom?  I have a pretty good idea about the answer to those questions, and it’s not one I like.

This brings me back to the beginning of my sermon, to St. Valentine’s Day.  There is someone to whom I expressed the wish, “Be My Valentine.”  And I consider Banu to be a sacrament of God’s love for me.  She is a sacrament—just as surely as the water of baptism or the bread and cup of the Eucharist.  She is a physical presence through whom God’s grace and love flow to me.

But I fear I haven’t treated that sacrament as I should.  I haven’t been as decisive as I should have been about confronting the rumors and outright lies that have been spoken about her.  I haven’t been very clear on the point that, if she is attacked, I also am attacked.

Taking into account that Banu is more emotional than me—I trust you have noticed that she’s more emotional than me?—I guess I’ve tried to rationalize my behavior in that regard.  The line between constructive criticism, constructive ideas (which we both have tried to seek) and destructive criticism can be a fuzzy one.  Paul’s maxim in Ephesians 4:15, about “speaking the truth in love,” helps to clear up the fuzziness of the line between constructive and destructive comments.  And friends, it’s a border that’s been crossed too many times!

            A lot of people feel exiled from the church—not just Westminster, but the church in general.  They hear Christians talk about love, but they don’t always see it in action.  What happens isn’t always active hostility.  Sometimes, maybe most of the time, it’s a matter of neglect.  We hold back; we don’t make the extra effort to extend Christ’s love.

And when someone is actively hostile, doing the stuff that drives people away, we don’t speak the truth in love.  We either respond in an equally hateful way, or more likely, we remain silent.  We say nothing.  There’s a word for that—it’s called “cowardice.”  And speaking for myself, I’m getting tired of being a coward!

God promises to fill us with the Holy Spirit if we so desire.  Our epistle reading says that in Christ “every one of God’s promises is a ‘Yes’” (2 Co 1:20).  When we’re filled with the Spirit, we have a boldness that only God can give.  It’s not an arrogant, in-your-face attitude; it’s a boldness filled with love.  That’s what I pray for.  That’s what we all need to pray for, every day of our lives.

God calls people out of exile.  With the love-filled boldness of Christ, so can we.

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