Dying For A Savior
We are dying for a savior. How often might we find ourselves wishing for someone to rush in and sort things out? All we have to do is to open up any newspaper, to tune in to any TV channel for news, and we see that there are signs of unhealth in many places, and signs of endings all around us.
Democrats and Republicans have all-but-forgotten how to compromise and they continue to fight like cats and dogs. The so-called Congressional Deficit Reduction Super-committee ended in abject failure. The Tea Party Movement and the Occupy Wall Street Movement each came about (in the beginning) in order to right many wrongs or imbalances (each coming, of course, from very different places). No matter where we stand on issues such as health care, the national debt, high unemployment, economic stimulus measures, immigration, free trade, social assistance—no matter—we can all agree that we yearn for these issues to be solved definitively and morally.
And it’s not only in society-at-large that we yearn for our problems to be fixed, is it? Practically all families have places of unhealth in them, too, just like societies, as we may have been reminded over Thanksgiving.
It can be pretty demoralizing to think about all the areas where things are not as they should be. We may yearn for someone to come and to set it all right. Wouldn’t that be lovely?
The people of Israel yearned for a savior, too, as we see in our first reading, from the Book of Isaiah. In this last part of Isaiah we hear the lament of the people who have returned to Jerusalem after the Babylonian captivity. They had the highest ideals
when they returned. They were going to recreate the Garden of Eden in Jerusalem, a heaven on earth
. . . but reality set in. A host of problems kept them from making much progress toward their ideals.
And so what did they do? They finally turned to God. Today’s OT passage begins with a heartfelt cry to God to come and save them—to come and set things right again. “O, that you would tear open the heavens and come down,” they wailed. Don’t leave us here like this. We cannot get it right on our own.
Toward the end of this reading we see that the prophet bemoans the fact that the people have strayed and have become unclean in the eyes of God. But read it
closely and you’ll see that the prophet puts the blame on God, because God hid himself, supposedly. That’s a clever shift, and it goes on to suggest to God to come out of hiding and rescue them. This would be good for God to do, in order to protect God’s reputation.
This prophet was a little cheeky, wasn’t he?
But sometimes we may feel that God has gone into hiding, too. It’s not unusual for us to lose our sense of God’s presence, especially when things continue to be very difficult. And in those times—in these times--we are in good company with ancient Israel.
So what might that look like, if God were to tear open the heavens and come down to set things right for us? Let’s do a little thought experiment here…
Our Gospel passage gives us a hint about what we might see. Jesus comes
after the sun and moon are darkened. He rides on the clouds—lo, he comes with clouds descending.
Imagine that. Imagine running out of the church in fear as it gets pitch black in the middle of the service one Sunday morning. Imagine standing outside in our driveway. Imagine seeing Jesus riding on a cloud out of the East, the direction of Jerusalem.
Imagine this cloud coming over the hills and ridges of Newtown and Monroe, over our steeple. And imagine the people gathered to him assembling over in Karraker Field. And maybe we are chosen with them, and may we aren’t.
As I was thinking about this it seemed really ludicrous and sensational, but that’s what the gospel says. He comes with clouds after the sun and moon are darkened. He sends out fiery and fierce angels to gather his chosen ones. It’s a bizarre image when you think of it happening right here, but it’s also pretty scary.
And there is darkness and there is light, the beginning of the end.
Or might the end look a little like something else, like something we already know?
Given last week’s gospel about the sheep and the goats, we know that Jesus comes already into our midst in the guise of the homeless man panhandling for his supper. He comes in the guise of a starving baby in the Horn of Africa. He comes in the guise of that most difficult family member whom we see now and then. He comes in the guise of the DCF client to whom we supply a crib and a basket of food for Christmas. He comes to us in the guise of someone stuck in a system that may teach him dependency rather than independence.
Might we see Jesus in the guise of the needy among us, and might we serve him / in them? And what would that look like for each of us?
And how would that life of true service help us all to solve our problems—our family issues and our societal ones? I wonder if it would have something to do with humility. A life of service presupposes humility. With humility the barriers of pride come down. People / reconcile. Parties / reconcile. Nations / reconcile.
Yes, we often yearn for someone to come and make things right for us. To make us right.
So come, O come, Emmanuel, God-with-us. Lead us out of our problems and into your light and your truth. Tear open the heavens and come down.
And even before that Second Coming, give us the grace we need to take off pride and to put on humility. Make us a humble people.
Give us eyes to see you here already, and hearts to respond, so that in the light of your countenance we can see our way through.
Amen.
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