Returning from exile
Commentary
Recent biblical scholarship has placed tremendous emphasis on the ways that the scriptural traditions of both Christian testaments were formed and shaped by the experiences of foreign invasion and exile. What we know as the Old Testament is in many ways, both in its parts and as a whole, a response to the experience of the Babylonian Exile and the attempts of the people of God to re-establish themselves in their homeland. Similarly, the New Testament bears the clear marks of the shaping forces of Jewish and Christian self-identity formation in the wake of the Jewish war against Rome and the second destruction of Jerusalem and its Temple.
But we in the American church generally do not find ourselves in a cultural location that easily resonates with these shaping experiences of the scriptural tradition. We live in the nation that is now more widely regarded globally as the empire rather than the colonies (a self-concept kept alive for us by retelling the story of our nation's founding), the sole remaining "hyper-power" following the end of the "superpower" struggle of the Cold War. We are part of a society that sends others into exile, not one that lives at the whims of other more powerful nations.
Nevertheless, many of those same biblical scholars who emphasize the shaping influence of the exile experience on the scriptural tradition contend that "exile" can be an important theological category for the contemporary church. Not only does it open our awareness to what it means for others to be on the "wrong side" of the so-called American empire, but it provides an invaluable resource for the church as it loses its privileged position within American culture. The end of Christendom in western culture marks, in some senses, the sending of the church into cultural exile. Yet churches are so accustomed to privileged status, it will require some real imagination to not only see ourselves as exiles but also to claim for ourselves the promises of the God who delivers from exile.
Isaiah 43:1-7
Imagine yourself as a foreign exile, having lived your whole life never having seen your homeland. Oh, you have heard all the stories from your parents and grandparents about how things used to be. Your family was one of the most important in your nation's capital city. Perhaps your grandfather was a courtesan in the royal court -- probably not a direct advisor to the king, but certainly an advisor or assistant to the king's advisors. Or perhaps your grandfather was a priest, and your father (much younger then, of course) had been training for the priesthood. Maybe your family had controlled a key economic sector, involved in the very difficult business of international trade in a world that would not know even a steam engine for more than another two millennia. Whatever the particulars, you had been raised on the memories of your family's social influence, wealth, and power. But these were your father's and grandfather's memories, not your own.
No, your only memories were of exile. Even before you were born, an invading army had captured your homeland's capital and stripped your family of its wealth and prestige. Nor were they content to leave them dispossessed; they had brought your family back to their own capital city so that they could keep an eye on things. Your family had hardly been enslaved or relegated to a life of abject poverty. You had been born into a family ensconced in the skilled castes, but just how much wealth and control they had been allowed to accumulate was carefully monitored and limited. You and your family were reminded at every turn that this was not your land. Your land, your ancestral home, had been conquered and humiliated.
How had this happened? What could have caused such great social, financial, and even geographic dislocation? Well, the only thing your people and those who had forced them into exile could agree on was that the ultimate answers were theological. They said it was because the patron god of your ancestors simply had been unequal to the task of protecting you from the powers of their empire and the supernatural exploits of their patron gods. Not too different than the playground taunts of children -- "My dad can beat up your dad!" -- they taunted that their gods had overpowered your god. But your father and grandfather had raised you on another explanation. The problem was not in the might and grandeur of your God -- the only real God in a universe populated with supernatural beings, some of whom were pretenders to the title. No, the problem was with your ancestors and even still with you and your peers. It was because of disobedience and faithlessness that God had punished you, your family, and your countrymen. Your enemies were just pawns of your own God, but pawns nevertheless used to bring destruction on you. It was a fundamentally different explanation, yet one that offered no comfort or reassurance in your exile.
Now that you have children, maybe even grandchildren, of your own, there comes a prophet, one of your own countrymen likewise exiled far from homeland, announcing that God's anger is sated. God had finally, after more than a generation, "redeemed you; [God had] called you by name," and declared that you belonged to the Divine. The prophet proclaimed God's recognition of your hardship and promise for your deliverance: "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you shall walk through the fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you." Having suffered God's wrath, now "you are precious in [God's] sight," honored and loved. God having used other nations as instruments of punishment against you now "give[s] people in return for you, nations in exchange for your life." God promises you a return from exile. If only you could believe, for you remain far from your homeland, an exile in a foreign land.
Acts 8:14-17
Imagine yourself as an exile, but having lived your whole life in your homeland. It is an exile not of geography or politics, but of minor ethnic differences inflamed by major prejudices and bigotries. You live in the same land that your ancestors have lived for centuries, but your neighbors never tire of telling you that you just don't belong there. Sure, you have tried to dish out as good as you get, and the feelings of animosity and even hatred have been mutual for longer than anyone can remember. Yet you have not had the upper hand for generations, and they won't let you forget that although you may have once shared common ancestors, heritage, and land, they now consider you "half-breeds" at best, or complete foreigners at worst.
But now comes this character named Philip. It is a name that doesn't quite seem to fit. "Philip" is after all a Greek name -- the very name of Alexander the Great's father -- but this particular man who carries it is clearly of Jewish ethnicity. Must be one of those "Hellenists," those collaborators first with the Greeks and now with the Romans, a "wanna-be" equally ridiculed by "real" Jews and Gentiles alike, and even by Samaritans like yourself. But if he is a Roman wanna-be, he sure has a strange way of going about it. He keeps talking to everyone he meets about some guy named Jesus who, he claims, is the long-awaited Messiah.
You want to believe him. After all, Samaritans have long been waiting for the Messiah as well. They were Israel, at least until the Assyrians had conquered their homeland centuries earlier and forced their assimilation with peoples transplanted there from throughout the empire. If anyone could end the animosity between the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, then surely it would be the Messiah. Here at last was someone announcing the Messiah's arrival. Maybe it was because of that Hellenistic name and the cosmopolitan upbringing it revealed (or is it "betrayed"?), but here also was a Jew proclaiming the arrival of the Messiah to Samaritans -- and not in a vindictive, judgmental, "Now-you're-going-to-get-yours" tone either. No, he talked about this Jesus the Messiah as a certainty of joy for Jews and Samaritans alike. If only you could believe him, for you after all are a Samaritan surrounded by Jews and Romans.
Maybe it is because he senses your hesitation; maybe it is because God's blessings simply cannot be contained in the Messianic Age. Whatever it is, wonderful things are following in Philip's wake. People were being delivered from things that had long tormented them. Others were being healed of what everyone considered incurable diseases. "So there was great joy in that city." It all seems too good to be true, surely too good to last. Your fears suddenly seem confirmed. Word has spread back to Jerusalem, back to the ones who have considered you half-breeds and treated you dismissively. They simply can't believe that you -- Samaritans of all people! -- could have "accepted the word of God." So they have sent Peter and John on a fact-finding mission. Is all this joy really from God, or is it yet another Samaritan trick, the work of the Devil in religious guise? There is only one way to find out. Peter and John pray, and in response to their prayer the Holy Spirit of God comes and lays claim on your lives so plainly, so obviously that everyone can see it. Your exile in your own homeland has ended. There are no longer Jews and Samaritans, only people of the Messiah.
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
The crowds that crossed the Judean wastes to hear John the Baptist preach on the banks of the Jordan made the arduous journey with their hearts filled with Messianic hopes. But John told them the Messiah had yet to be revealed. Moreover, John, in tones that must have sounded threatening, promised that the Messiah would baptize not with water, but with "the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork [would be] in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he [would] burn with unquenchable fire." God's judgment was coming upon the world, and these people were not ready.
What is most amazing about this story, however, is not its portrayal of an apocalyptic prophet out in the wilderness preaching coming destruction. No, such figures continue to be known to us even in the modern world. What is truly amazing about this part of our story is how Luke characterizes the episode. He wrote, "So, with many other exhortations, [John] proclaimed the good news to the people." The good news? The promise of being "baptized with fire" -- of being immersed and overwhelmed by the "unquenchable fire" of God's judgment and wrath -- this promise was the good news? If divine judgment was the "good news," then I am sure that the crowds on the banks of the Jordan did not want to hear the "bad news."
Were the imminence of divine judgment the only news, we could scarcely call it "good news." John's full message is that the one who would come to baptize us in the unquenchable fire of God's judgment would also baptize us with the Holy Spirit. And as Luke recounts the story of John's ministry, before the coming Messiah can baptize anyone with anything -- whether water or spirit or fire -- the Messiah himself must first be baptized with the Holy Spirit who descends as a dove. Yes, the sky is torn open, and yes, the voice of God is heard from the heavens. But the sound that is heard is not the battle cry announcing the arrival of judgment. The voice of God doesn't shout condemnation or recrimination, but rather whispers words of acceptance and affection: "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."
What are we to make of this situation? John tells his audience to expect apocalyptic judgment with the coming of the messianic age, but when the skies open to announce the dawn of that age, we hear from the heavens only terms of endearment and words of acceptance. Was John wrong? Or was it that while God loved and accepted the eternal, divine Son, only God's wrath was to be bestowed upon all the children whom God had created? Maybe the lesson to be learned from this story is that if you are as good and sinless as Jesus, then God will accept and love you, but otherwise expect only judgment.
That would not, however, be very "good news." None of us can claim to be without sin. No, the good news promised in this story is that God accepts and loves each of us even as God loved Jesus. In our own baptism, God speaks to us the same promise: "You are my child, my beloved; with you I am well pleased."
Application
Imagine yourself as an exile, but this time it may take a bit more effort. You see, you don't feel like an exile. Exiles are people who are forced from their homes by others or circumstances beyond their control. You, why you are right where you have been for years. True, you have felt increasingly isolated, even somewhat threatened. But the pressure has not been on you to leave; the pressure has built up from the fact that fewer and fewer have come to join with you as the world around you has changed more and more, has become more and more alien. You can remember a time when it was not this way, a time when it was simply expected that people living in your culture would share your faith, would join with you in worship and service. But as you look around at the surrounding culture you realize that those days are gone. Suddenly you are not sure whether you feel more like Samaritans who had been exiled and marginalized in their own land or Judahites who had found themselves exiled in a strange and foreign land.
Like all exiles, you are sometimes overwhelmed by feelings of despair. You have tried to return back to your home, to make things once again like they were before. But as the years pass you realize that there is no home to go back to. Things will never be just as they were before, never as they still exist in your parent's and grandparent's memories and maybe even your own. You recognize these are at best your memories, not your children's and certainly not your grandchildren's.
Just when despair begins to descend into hopelessness, you begin to see signs of the Spirit's activity. Long ago, the prophet of Judah's exile had announced God's promise to bring "sons from far away and ... daughters from the end of the earth." And now you regularly hear children's rambunctious laughter, a sound that had grown infrequent. You see signs that God is again drawing "offspring from the east" gathering people "from the west" as the long-dominant Euro-American church is broadened both in its scope and expression in global, multi-cultural ways. There is a new sense of the Spirit's presence that brings some excitement and some renewed energy. You want to believe that these signs are indeed indications that your exile is over.
But returning from exile is not the same as going back to the way things were. God is active, but God is not overturning our cultural aphorism that "you can't go back home again." Yet the reason we cannot go back is not one of despair but one of hope. There is no going back to the old things because God is doing a new thing. Like the Samaritans' experience with Philip, the signs and wonders of this age of Spirit and Messiah cannot be contained. It takes faith and courage to return from exile. History tells us that not all the Jews who had been exiled to Babylon found the courage to return to the new beginning God was making in Jerusalem. History tells that not all the Samaritans and Jews of the first century embraced Philip's message about the Messiah. And history tells us that those who were the first exiles to return were often confronted with uncertainty and even struggle. But God was with those who returned to Jerusalem to join in building God's future. The Holy Spirit was undeniably with those who accepted the call to join with the Messiah. And the same Spirit of God awaits us if we will return from our exile.
An Alternative Application
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22. You don't hear much about divine judgment in some parts of the church anymore. There are enough problems and threats in our lives. There is tension and war rather than peace among the nations of the world as they wrestle with one another over the disparate distribution of resources and power. The willingness of nations to build and stockpile weapons of mass destruction or to engage in acts of terrorism causes us all to live under a cloud of suspicion and threat. There is the social unrest of our communities brought on by poverty and crime. In far too many cases, some can no longer retreat into the shelter of their homes, for even there, threats and recriminations erupt into domestic violence. So pervasive are the perceived threats of modern life that the only thing we want to hear about God is the constant surety of divine love and grace.
But whether we want to hear it or not, Luke was right when he wrote that the prophecy of God's impending judgment is an essential part of the "good news," the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We need to recall what God's judgment upon the world was expected to accomplish, for the wrath of God is not after all a senseless temper tantrum or a groundless pique of anger. God's judgment does not target all of humanity indiscriminately, but rather is a tool for accomplishing divine justice. If we fear the coming of God's judgment, if the promise that divine justice is to be restored in the world does not strike us as "good news," then truly the announcement of its impending arrival is a warning to us that we are not prepared. If we are afraid that we will be the objects of God's wrath, then it can only be because we recognize that we have adopted the standards of those who oppress others to advance themselves. Exhortations to repent and become people who seek God's justice for the world can indeed be "good news" for those who heed this call to prepare themselves for the time of God's judgment through repentance and service to accomplish that justice.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 29
It seems likely that this psalm was inspired by a storm. The psalmist hears the voice of the Lord "over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord, over mighty waters" (v. 3). The imagery of a great storm also calls to mind the great primeval storm that preceded the creation (Genesis 1:2). It is more than likely that the psalmist wants us to make those connections.
The psalm opens with an imperative section calling on all "heavenly beings" to give glory to God (vv. 1-2). This call to praise is repeated three times, each call becoming progressively longer. The "heavenly beings" called to praise are those supernatural creatures (angels?) who surround the Lord's throne.
"Glory" is an important word in this psalm occurring in verses 1, 2, and 9. The basic sense of the word is "abundance," or "heaviness." A cloud, for instance, may be described as being "heavy" with rain.
When used of the Lord, the derived meaning of "glory" (kabod) has reference to splendor, majesty, magnificence. If we wanted to find a rendering in our more common vernacular, the idea of "reputation" comes close to the meaning of glory.
After the introductory call to praise, the psalm continues by giving reasons for praise (vv. 3-9). This is where the imagery of the storm becomes important. The thunder heard in the approaching storm is like the voice of God. Additional divine power is revealed in the lightning flash and in the wind that brings down the mighty cedar (v. 9). God is the great power in the world that gives and sustains life. God is able to defeat the chaos with storm-like power. For those who live through occasional encounters with chaos, this is good news.
The open heavens, the voice of God, and the imagery of water are also features in the narrative of Jesus' baptism. This explains the selection of Psalm 29 for Baptism of the Lord Sunday. However, it is not these images alone that allow us to draw parallels between this storm and Jesus' baptism.
The voice of God that Jesus hears establishes and affirms his messianic identity. The voice reveals the direction and character of Jesus' ministry. Jesus emerges from the storm of baptism committed to this identity and the path it demands.
In the psalm, the voice of God in the storm affirms the identity of the gathered congregation as God's people. The psalmist sees in the great power unleashed in the storm the power needed to protect and sustain God's people, assuring them of their ability to achieve what God has called them to do. The God who speaks through the storm will attend to God's people giving them strength and providing for them peace (v. 11).
But we in the American church generally do not find ourselves in a cultural location that easily resonates with these shaping experiences of the scriptural tradition. We live in the nation that is now more widely regarded globally as the empire rather than the colonies (a self-concept kept alive for us by retelling the story of our nation's founding), the sole remaining "hyper-power" following the end of the "superpower" struggle of the Cold War. We are part of a society that sends others into exile, not one that lives at the whims of other more powerful nations.
Nevertheless, many of those same biblical scholars who emphasize the shaping influence of the exile experience on the scriptural tradition contend that "exile" can be an important theological category for the contemporary church. Not only does it open our awareness to what it means for others to be on the "wrong side" of the so-called American empire, but it provides an invaluable resource for the church as it loses its privileged position within American culture. The end of Christendom in western culture marks, in some senses, the sending of the church into cultural exile. Yet churches are so accustomed to privileged status, it will require some real imagination to not only see ourselves as exiles but also to claim for ourselves the promises of the God who delivers from exile.
Isaiah 43:1-7
Imagine yourself as a foreign exile, having lived your whole life never having seen your homeland. Oh, you have heard all the stories from your parents and grandparents about how things used to be. Your family was one of the most important in your nation's capital city. Perhaps your grandfather was a courtesan in the royal court -- probably not a direct advisor to the king, but certainly an advisor or assistant to the king's advisors. Or perhaps your grandfather was a priest, and your father (much younger then, of course) had been training for the priesthood. Maybe your family had controlled a key economic sector, involved in the very difficult business of international trade in a world that would not know even a steam engine for more than another two millennia. Whatever the particulars, you had been raised on the memories of your family's social influence, wealth, and power. But these were your father's and grandfather's memories, not your own.
No, your only memories were of exile. Even before you were born, an invading army had captured your homeland's capital and stripped your family of its wealth and prestige. Nor were they content to leave them dispossessed; they had brought your family back to their own capital city so that they could keep an eye on things. Your family had hardly been enslaved or relegated to a life of abject poverty. You had been born into a family ensconced in the skilled castes, but just how much wealth and control they had been allowed to accumulate was carefully monitored and limited. You and your family were reminded at every turn that this was not your land. Your land, your ancestral home, had been conquered and humiliated.
How had this happened? What could have caused such great social, financial, and even geographic dislocation? Well, the only thing your people and those who had forced them into exile could agree on was that the ultimate answers were theological. They said it was because the patron god of your ancestors simply had been unequal to the task of protecting you from the powers of their empire and the supernatural exploits of their patron gods. Not too different than the playground taunts of children -- "My dad can beat up your dad!" -- they taunted that their gods had overpowered your god. But your father and grandfather had raised you on another explanation. The problem was not in the might and grandeur of your God -- the only real God in a universe populated with supernatural beings, some of whom were pretenders to the title. No, the problem was with your ancestors and even still with you and your peers. It was because of disobedience and faithlessness that God had punished you, your family, and your countrymen. Your enemies were just pawns of your own God, but pawns nevertheless used to bring destruction on you. It was a fundamentally different explanation, yet one that offered no comfort or reassurance in your exile.
Now that you have children, maybe even grandchildren, of your own, there comes a prophet, one of your own countrymen likewise exiled far from homeland, announcing that God's anger is sated. God had finally, after more than a generation, "redeemed you; [God had] called you by name," and declared that you belonged to the Divine. The prophet proclaimed God's recognition of your hardship and promise for your deliverance: "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you shall walk through the fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you." Having suffered God's wrath, now "you are precious in [God's] sight," honored and loved. God having used other nations as instruments of punishment against you now "give[s] people in return for you, nations in exchange for your life." God promises you a return from exile. If only you could believe, for you remain far from your homeland, an exile in a foreign land.
Acts 8:14-17
Imagine yourself as an exile, but having lived your whole life in your homeland. It is an exile not of geography or politics, but of minor ethnic differences inflamed by major prejudices and bigotries. You live in the same land that your ancestors have lived for centuries, but your neighbors never tire of telling you that you just don't belong there. Sure, you have tried to dish out as good as you get, and the feelings of animosity and even hatred have been mutual for longer than anyone can remember. Yet you have not had the upper hand for generations, and they won't let you forget that although you may have once shared common ancestors, heritage, and land, they now consider you "half-breeds" at best, or complete foreigners at worst.
But now comes this character named Philip. It is a name that doesn't quite seem to fit. "Philip" is after all a Greek name -- the very name of Alexander the Great's father -- but this particular man who carries it is clearly of Jewish ethnicity. Must be one of those "Hellenists," those collaborators first with the Greeks and now with the Romans, a "wanna-be" equally ridiculed by "real" Jews and Gentiles alike, and even by Samaritans like yourself. But if he is a Roman wanna-be, he sure has a strange way of going about it. He keeps talking to everyone he meets about some guy named Jesus who, he claims, is the long-awaited Messiah.
You want to believe him. After all, Samaritans have long been waiting for the Messiah as well. They were Israel, at least until the Assyrians had conquered their homeland centuries earlier and forced their assimilation with peoples transplanted there from throughout the empire. If anyone could end the animosity between the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, then surely it would be the Messiah. Here at last was someone announcing the Messiah's arrival. Maybe it was because of that Hellenistic name and the cosmopolitan upbringing it revealed (or is it "betrayed"?), but here also was a Jew proclaiming the arrival of the Messiah to Samaritans -- and not in a vindictive, judgmental, "Now-you're-going-to-get-yours" tone either. No, he talked about this Jesus the Messiah as a certainty of joy for Jews and Samaritans alike. If only you could believe him, for you after all are a Samaritan surrounded by Jews and Romans.
Maybe it is because he senses your hesitation; maybe it is because God's blessings simply cannot be contained in the Messianic Age. Whatever it is, wonderful things are following in Philip's wake. People were being delivered from things that had long tormented them. Others were being healed of what everyone considered incurable diseases. "So there was great joy in that city." It all seems too good to be true, surely too good to last. Your fears suddenly seem confirmed. Word has spread back to Jerusalem, back to the ones who have considered you half-breeds and treated you dismissively. They simply can't believe that you -- Samaritans of all people! -- could have "accepted the word of God." So they have sent Peter and John on a fact-finding mission. Is all this joy really from God, or is it yet another Samaritan trick, the work of the Devil in religious guise? There is only one way to find out. Peter and John pray, and in response to their prayer the Holy Spirit of God comes and lays claim on your lives so plainly, so obviously that everyone can see it. Your exile in your own homeland has ended. There are no longer Jews and Samaritans, only people of the Messiah.
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
The crowds that crossed the Judean wastes to hear John the Baptist preach on the banks of the Jordan made the arduous journey with their hearts filled with Messianic hopes. But John told them the Messiah had yet to be revealed. Moreover, John, in tones that must have sounded threatening, promised that the Messiah would baptize not with water, but with "the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork [would be] in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he [would] burn with unquenchable fire." God's judgment was coming upon the world, and these people were not ready.
What is most amazing about this story, however, is not its portrayal of an apocalyptic prophet out in the wilderness preaching coming destruction. No, such figures continue to be known to us even in the modern world. What is truly amazing about this part of our story is how Luke characterizes the episode. He wrote, "So, with many other exhortations, [John] proclaimed the good news to the people." The good news? The promise of being "baptized with fire" -- of being immersed and overwhelmed by the "unquenchable fire" of God's judgment and wrath -- this promise was the good news? If divine judgment was the "good news," then I am sure that the crowds on the banks of the Jordan did not want to hear the "bad news."
Were the imminence of divine judgment the only news, we could scarcely call it "good news." John's full message is that the one who would come to baptize us in the unquenchable fire of God's judgment would also baptize us with the Holy Spirit. And as Luke recounts the story of John's ministry, before the coming Messiah can baptize anyone with anything -- whether water or spirit or fire -- the Messiah himself must first be baptized with the Holy Spirit who descends as a dove. Yes, the sky is torn open, and yes, the voice of God is heard from the heavens. But the sound that is heard is not the battle cry announcing the arrival of judgment. The voice of God doesn't shout condemnation or recrimination, but rather whispers words of acceptance and affection: "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."
What are we to make of this situation? John tells his audience to expect apocalyptic judgment with the coming of the messianic age, but when the skies open to announce the dawn of that age, we hear from the heavens only terms of endearment and words of acceptance. Was John wrong? Or was it that while God loved and accepted the eternal, divine Son, only God's wrath was to be bestowed upon all the children whom God had created? Maybe the lesson to be learned from this story is that if you are as good and sinless as Jesus, then God will accept and love you, but otherwise expect only judgment.
That would not, however, be very "good news." None of us can claim to be without sin. No, the good news promised in this story is that God accepts and loves each of us even as God loved Jesus. In our own baptism, God speaks to us the same promise: "You are my child, my beloved; with you I am well pleased."
Application
Imagine yourself as an exile, but this time it may take a bit more effort. You see, you don't feel like an exile. Exiles are people who are forced from their homes by others or circumstances beyond their control. You, why you are right where you have been for years. True, you have felt increasingly isolated, even somewhat threatened. But the pressure has not been on you to leave; the pressure has built up from the fact that fewer and fewer have come to join with you as the world around you has changed more and more, has become more and more alien. You can remember a time when it was not this way, a time when it was simply expected that people living in your culture would share your faith, would join with you in worship and service. But as you look around at the surrounding culture you realize that those days are gone. Suddenly you are not sure whether you feel more like Samaritans who had been exiled and marginalized in their own land or Judahites who had found themselves exiled in a strange and foreign land.
Like all exiles, you are sometimes overwhelmed by feelings of despair. You have tried to return back to your home, to make things once again like they were before. But as the years pass you realize that there is no home to go back to. Things will never be just as they were before, never as they still exist in your parent's and grandparent's memories and maybe even your own. You recognize these are at best your memories, not your children's and certainly not your grandchildren's.
Just when despair begins to descend into hopelessness, you begin to see signs of the Spirit's activity. Long ago, the prophet of Judah's exile had announced God's promise to bring "sons from far away and ... daughters from the end of the earth." And now you regularly hear children's rambunctious laughter, a sound that had grown infrequent. You see signs that God is again drawing "offspring from the east" gathering people "from the west" as the long-dominant Euro-American church is broadened both in its scope and expression in global, multi-cultural ways. There is a new sense of the Spirit's presence that brings some excitement and some renewed energy. You want to believe that these signs are indeed indications that your exile is over.
But returning from exile is not the same as going back to the way things were. God is active, but God is not overturning our cultural aphorism that "you can't go back home again." Yet the reason we cannot go back is not one of despair but one of hope. There is no going back to the old things because God is doing a new thing. Like the Samaritans' experience with Philip, the signs and wonders of this age of Spirit and Messiah cannot be contained. It takes faith and courage to return from exile. History tells us that not all the Jews who had been exiled to Babylon found the courage to return to the new beginning God was making in Jerusalem. History tells that not all the Samaritans and Jews of the first century embraced Philip's message about the Messiah. And history tells us that those who were the first exiles to return were often confronted with uncertainty and even struggle. But God was with those who returned to Jerusalem to join in building God's future. The Holy Spirit was undeniably with those who accepted the call to join with the Messiah. And the same Spirit of God awaits us if we will return from our exile.
An Alternative Application
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22. You don't hear much about divine judgment in some parts of the church anymore. There are enough problems and threats in our lives. There is tension and war rather than peace among the nations of the world as they wrestle with one another over the disparate distribution of resources and power. The willingness of nations to build and stockpile weapons of mass destruction or to engage in acts of terrorism causes us all to live under a cloud of suspicion and threat. There is the social unrest of our communities brought on by poverty and crime. In far too many cases, some can no longer retreat into the shelter of their homes, for even there, threats and recriminations erupt into domestic violence. So pervasive are the perceived threats of modern life that the only thing we want to hear about God is the constant surety of divine love and grace.
But whether we want to hear it or not, Luke was right when he wrote that the prophecy of God's impending judgment is an essential part of the "good news," the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We need to recall what God's judgment upon the world was expected to accomplish, for the wrath of God is not after all a senseless temper tantrum or a groundless pique of anger. God's judgment does not target all of humanity indiscriminately, but rather is a tool for accomplishing divine justice. If we fear the coming of God's judgment, if the promise that divine justice is to be restored in the world does not strike us as "good news," then truly the announcement of its impending arrival is a warning to us that we are not prepared. If we are afraid that we will be the objects of God's wrath, then it can only be because we recognize that we have adopted the standards of those who oppress others to advance themselves. Exhortations to repent and become people who seek God's justice for the world can indeed be "good news" for those who heed this call to prepare themselves for the time of God's judgment through repentance and service to accomplish that justice.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 29
It seems likely that this psalm was inspired by a storm. The psalmist hears the voice of the Lord "over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord, over mighty waters" (v. 3). The imagery of a great storm also calls to mind the great primeval storm that preceded the creation (Genesis 1:2). It is more than likely that the psalmist wants us to make those connections.
The psalm opens with an imperative section calling on all "heavenly beings" to give glory to God (vv. 1-2). This call to praise is repeated three times, each call becoming progressively longer. The "heavenly beings" called to praise are those supernatural creatures (angels?) who surround the Lord's throne.
"Glory" is an important word in this psalm occurring in verses 1, 2, and 9. The basic sense of the word is "abundance," or "heaviness." A cloud, for instance, may be described as being "heavy" with rain.
When used of the Lord, the derived meaning of "glory" (kabod) has reference to splendor, majesty, magnificence. If we wanted to find a rendering in our more common vernacular, the idea of "reputation" comes close to the meaning of glory.
After the introductory call to praise, the psalm continues by giving reasons for praise (vv. 3-9). This is where the imagery of the storm becomes important. The thunder heard in the approaching storm is like the voice of God. Additional divine power is revealed in the lightning flash and in the wind that brings down the mighty cedar (v. 9). God is the great power in the world that gives and sustains life. God is able to defeat the chaos with storm-like power. For those who live through occasional encounters with chaos, this is good news.
The open heavens, the voice of God, and the imagery of water are also features in the narrative of Jesus' baptism. This explains the selection of Psalm 29 for Baptism of the Lord Sunday. However, it is not these images alone that allow us to draw parallels between this storm and Jesus' baptism.
The voice of God that Jesus hears establishes and affirms his messianic identity. The voice reveals the direction and character of Jesus' ministry. Jesus emerges from the storm of baptism committed to this identity and the path it demands.
In the psalm, the voice of God in the storm affirms the identity of the gathered congregation as God's people. The psalmist sees in the great power unleashed in the storm the power needed to protect and sustain God's people, assuring them of their ability to achieve what God has called them to do. The God who speaks through the storm will attend to God's people giving them strength and providing for them peace (v. 11).
