Text: Isaiah 46:8-13
I’m just going to say it out loud…
these have been some difficult weeks we have shared together:
The loss and grief we have experienced…
The pain in the world in the wake of mass shootings and the crisis of migration and climate…
The sense of helplessness about being able to do anything to make it better…
When I find myself feeling discouraged, vulnerable, and down about the world, it is usually the church that helps me to feel better.
The people… the songs… the prayer… the time spent in the presence of God.
But as United Methodists these days, there is also a sense that the church itself is stuck. Broken. Falling apart. We are so busy arguing about who is right and what should be done that we are completely out of tune with the real, deep needs of the world.
But then I sat down and began to study a number of chapters from our lesson for this morning.
God called this prophet to speak a word of comfort and release to a community in exile:
“Speak compassionately to Jerusalem and proclaim that her compulsory service has ended.” (40:2)
“I am the Lord your God, who grasps your strong hand, who says to you, Don’t fear; I will help you.” (41:13)
“I, the Lord, will respond to them; I, the God of Israel, won’t abandon them.” (41:17)
“I announced, I saved, I proclaimed, not some stranger among you. You are my witnesses, says the Lord, and I am God.” (43:12)
“Look! I’m doing a new thing; now it springs up; don’t you recognize it? I’m making a way in the desert, paths in the wilderness.” (43:19)
“Listen to me, house of Jacob… who have been borne by me since pregnancy, whom I carried from the womb until you grow old. I am the one, and until you turn gray I will support you.” (46:3-4)
“Remember this and take courage; take it to heart, you rebels… I am God! There’s none like me who tells the end at the beginning… saying ‘My plan will stand; all that I decide I will do.’” (46:8-10)
God, through Isaiah, is not speaking to a bunch of people who have it all together.
This is not a message for the perfect or the righteous.
This good news isn’t offered to people who have never known pain or hardship or frustration or grief.
No… they are wallowing in it.
Their country has been destroyed. Their loved ones killed. Their very way of life has crumbled.
They are struggling to make sense of what it means to go on, to take the next step, to move forward when everything familiar has been taken away.
And the words they hear from their God… The words WE need to hear from God…
“this, too, shall pass.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
“Remember.”
“Look around for the gifts in the grief.”
“I’ve got you.”
“In the beginning is the end, in the end is the beginning.”
Do any of those words offer answers? No.
Do they make it better right now? No.
But they do remind us that we are not alone.
They remind us that human life and institutions are fragile… just like the grass that dries up and the flower that withers (Isaiah 40:8)… but that we have been and are and will be held by and sustained by a word and a promise and a plan and a power that has always been and always will be.
These words of comfort offer strength when we might collapse in despair.
They invite us to be present. To pay attention. To embrace the unknown.
To trust that this moment is not all of the story or the end of the story.
This summer, we have been exploring the favorite songs of Immanuel and today we have grouped together two hymns that sing aloud those truths: “Hymn of Promise” and “In the Garden.”
When Natalie Sleeth wrote, “Hymn of Promise,” she was inspired by a line from T.S. Eliot that “in our end is our beginning” and the way the world itself reawakens with every spring. What is the nature of life and death when we hold in our hearts the promise of resurrection?
This hymn is yet another of these great songs we have been sharing that was written by a United Methodist. Her husband was a UM pastor and taught homiletics at Perkins while she shared her love of music in a local church and began writing anthems and hymns. She is the composer who brings us “Joy in the Morning” and reminds us that songs rise from silence, darkness becomes light, and death gives way to the victory of life.
But what I appreciate the most about Sleeth’s work is that it doesn’t paper over our grief or our discomfort or pain with flowery words.
It dives right into them.
She acknowledges them.
And she creates room for us to embrace that even in that brokenness and apparent death the mystery of wholeness and life and peace that is on the horizon.
We need to hang on to that mystery of the unknown.
I’m reminded of the words of Matt Rawle, whose book, “What Makes a Hero?” we studied over Lent a couple of years back.
He talked about the reason why it was so difficult for people to embrace Jesus as their Savior because we want a magic wand. We want a superhero savior who “will just swoop in and fix [ our problems].” (p. 125)
But if that savior is headed towards the reality of death – there is no saving there for us.
The crowds of people drastically misunderstood how Jesus saves us.
The kingdom Jesus ushers in doesn’t start in some heaven far away, but right here and right now.
Like a mustard seed planted in a garden or yeast hidden in flour, the kingdom breaks forth out of what we thought was dead, buried, hidden away.
The kingdom is the power of new life rising out of death.
The kingdom says that in every end there is a new beginning.
Our God can take any and every broken and painful moment we experience and redeem them.
They don’t go away.
But they are transformed.
Even the death of Jesus unexpectedly brings something new out of what we thought was over and done with.
Not immediately… but with time and work and patience and not a little bit of grace and power and glory.
The mustard seed becomes a great tree.
The yeast causes the bread to rise.
In the bulb there is a flower.
The stone that sealed the tomb is rolled away.
Which takes us to that other beloved hymn of Immanuel – “In the Garden.”
I say it is beloved, but the truth is, there are probably just as many people who despise “In the Garden” as cherish it.
I remember working to plan Dorie Campbell’s funeral and as we were deciding on what songs to sing, we picked “In the Garden,” fully knowing that she would have been upset with us for doing so because she thought it was grammatically inaccurate. Others find it to be too overly personal and ever erotic.
C. Austin Miles wrote this hymn after a mediation upon the resurrection story in the gospel of John. The language he uses is personal and intimate and it draws upon a tradition of devotional poetry where one imagines themselves in the story itself, part of the scene, walking and talking with Jesus.
We are invited to step into the shoes of Mary… to enter that garden filled with grief and love… and to encounter the resurrected Christ and the joy of new life.
But we also can’t stay there.
You see, in the third verse of that hymn, we find ourselves with a dilemma.
Sometimes we want to stay at the tomb with the stone rolled away.
That one perfect moment of hope when everything had fallen apart.
It’s better. We tell ourselves.
I’m going to stay right here forever.
But we can’t stay at the empty tomb.
We need to listen to the voice of Christ calling us to go.
Go out into the world.
Go and tell others what we have experienced.
Go and share the good news.
Go and offer signs of life and hope.
Like the prophet Isaiah, in the midst of the grief and pain of the world, we can’t keep the hope and promise to ourselves. It is our duty to head back out there and offer it to everyone we meet.
“this, too, shall pass.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
“Remember.”
“Look around for the gifts in the grief.”
“I’ve got you.”
“In the beginning is the end, in the end is the beginning.”
