Signs of hope, signs in life
Commentary
Perhaps it's time for the annual rant about the commercialization of Christmas, and the incredibly excessive busyness of the holiday. And if we are honest in our ranting, we will include our own complicity in the commercialization and the busyness.
There are certainly signs of the season out there. But our culture is not subtle. If we were to judge the holiday on the basis of the signs we see around us, we would decide that it has to do with the sacraments of buying and selling and consuming. We need to affirm that the Christmas tree lots and Santa Clauses in the departments stores, the decorations and the advertisements, and the vast sums of money that change hands are not the true signs of what is coming. They may do the economy some good, they may be fun, but as signs they only point to the credit-card bills that will be coming in January.
Even in the church, we look for the signs of Christmas Day instead of the Messiah. By now the congregation in most churches expects to move out of the "Advent" section of the hymnal and into the "Birth of Jesus Christ" section. After all, they have been hearing "Silent Night" and "Joy To The World" for the last six weeks in the stores.
The church needs signs, and certainly the world needs signs, of something deep and solid and lasting -- signs of something more than commerce and the feel-good, warm and fuzzy celebration of Christmas that the culture sells so well. We need to see the signs of Christ and hope and love and peace. In the midst of what has become a secular holiday disguising itself as religion, what are the signs that our faith, our commitment, our part in being God's people, are not in vain?
Well, if it's signs of Christ we want, we need to look some place other than Macy's department store or the local mall or Amazon dot com's online catalogue.
The signs that we are seeking are not out there in the shopping malls or even inside in our homes. The signs of Christ are to be found in people's lives. And maybe the most surprising thing about the season is that we in the church are to be the signs of Christ's coming.
Isaiah 35:1-10
As Elizabeth Achtemeier points out in her First Lesson Focus, there is disagreement on the writing of this passage. It is clearly post-exilic, which rules out the eighth century prophet Isaiah as its author. Others say it obviously belongs to second or third Isaiah (chs. 40-55 and 56-66). Still others say it was yet another author entirely, who had second Isaiah before him. Questions of the authorship and unity of a book of the Bible can be helpful in interpreting a passage in a general way, but it certainly is possible to get too caught up in the discussion. It should suffice to say that this passage is addressed to exiles in a far off land, who want to come home.
Chapter 35 of Isaiah is poetry, so a brief reminder on some aspects of Hebrew poetry might be in order. Hebrew poetry is less about rhyme, rhythm and meter than about parallelism, often called "thought rhyme." Different forms of parallelism have been identified, including synonymous, antithetic and formal. In general, parallelism is the restatement of a line of thought in slightly different terms, often more specifically, and often by stating the opposite of what is intended. The purpose of it all is to convey deep emotion, perhaps deep and fervent desire. William Barry points out in The Catholic Encyclopedia that passion and vision are the motive of all such poetry. So that is what's driving the poetic prophet in Isaiah 35: his passion and his vision of what is to come.
The lection can be divided into two parts: verses 1-6a, a description of the manifestations of God's glory, and verses 6b-10, how the exiles will be returned.
The signs of God's glory will be seen first in nature, as the arid desert blooms and flourishes (vv. 1-2), and then in the changed lives and bodies of the people, specifically the old and disabled. Weak knees will be strong, blind eyes will see, the lame will leap and all will know that it is God coming with recompense. Essentially, this is a preparation for what follows, the return of the exiles.
With 6b, we see the first step of the return: the transformation of the wilderness by the glorious introduction of water from the hand of God. Streams will flow in the desert, burning sand will become pools, and the jackals will live in a swamp. Then will come the Holy Way, a highway that is only for God's people, a red carpet that will not let people stray. There will be protection from the animals of the wilderness. And finally -- finally -- God's ransomed will come to Mount Zion, with joy forever.
Geographically, the wilderness is the Arabian Desert, which the Babylonian exiles would have to cross to get back to Palestine. Metaphorically, the wilderness is a place of isolation, especially isolation from God. Psalm 137 has the exiles asking, "How could we sing the Lord's song in a foreign land?" But Isaiah 35 shows that God's reach is much greater than the exiles ever thought. It extends even across the desert to Babylon. And beyond.
And what really is the Holy Way, the way back to Zion and to God? For the exiles it was a transformed wilderness that would permit travel. But we also acknowledge the advent of another Holy Way, utterly unexpected, not a blooming desert, but a person, whose task is to overcome the very same limits that we place on God's reach.
James 5:7-10
As we move through Advent drawing closer to Christmas, our tendency is to think more and more about the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem. Yet the lectionary, and this particular reading, persist in bringing us back to the expectation of Christ's return, the second coming.
The Letter of James was designated "an epistle of straw" by Martin Luther. Luther objected to the letter's discussion of faith and works, reading in it a theology of salvation by works instead of by God's grace. Unfortunately, that has become the thing the book is known for. The letter is addressed to Jewish Christians, specifically "the 12 tribes in the Dispersion" (1:1).
Once again we deal with the issue of the unmet expectation in the early church that Jesus would return within the people's lifetime. The frustration and impatience must have been even more acute for the addressees of the letter, the Jewish Christians outside of Palestine. That's what leads to this closing piece of encouragement, whose message is straightforward: Be patient until the Lord comes again.
To a point, impatience can be energizing. The little boy waiting for Christmas morning and the presents under the tree can't sit still, can't calm down. In his impatience there is excess energy that needs to be burned off. After a while, though, after long waiting, something happens, something changes and impatience starts to grumble, it becomes depressed and cast down, wondering if, when it really comes down to it, the thing will ever happen at all.
That's the situation James is speaking to. He offers several examples. The farmer must wait for the rains; there is simply no other alternative. You wait. You accept that the thing will come when it comes; it will come in God's own time. Acceptance of God's time, then, is the key to patience. The prophets are another model, this time of patience in suffering. The point is made even clearer by verse 11, which the Revised Common Lectionary leaves out. Job's endurance (NRSV) or steadfastness (RSV) is the example for human beings.
James' real advice to his readers, however, is back in verse 8. "Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near." The RSV reading "establish your hearts," based on the KJV, misses the mark. The word is the same as that in Luke 9:51, "... he set his face to go to Jerusalem." It connotes strong determination. For people "to strengthen their hearts" means being active and deliberate in their trust of God, not merely living passively. God's purpose is alive and well and on its way, but sometimes we need to strengthen our hearts, working hard to put our faith in that purpose.
Matthew 11:2-11
John the Baptist is again in the lectionary (he is never far away) with this passage. There are two sections to the reading, verses 2-6 and verses 7-11. They deal with John's view of Jesus and Jesus' view of John, respectively.
The point of the first section is to affirm that Jesus is the Messiah, but a hard and fast answer is always elusive. John the Baptist had obviously been waiting, along with all Israel, and along with us, looking for signs. So when the rumors came, he wanted to know for sure. John's question isn't as clear as we might like it to be. He doesn't ask if Jesus is the Messiah, but simply "the one who is to come." Besides that, didn't John see Jesus at his baptism and recognize him for who he was? Yet whatever John knew or didn't know, his is a fundamental question about Jesus: Are you the one? And how should we know?
Jesus' list of signs in verse 5 is very similar to the list in Isaiah 35:5-6. The healings are the indication that the end times are at hand, and they are therefore the indication of the Messiah. But Jesus never makes the claim for himself, never gives a satisfactory answer to the direct questions posed to him. Instead he always allows people to draw their own conclusions about him, on the basis of the signs. But again, that is the crucial question of the Christian religion. And it is still one that is fought over. "Who is Jesus?" is always a new question, and it always needs to be asked and answered again.
Verse 6 is a strange addendum. Is it a slight jab at John, that John had taken offense at Jesus? Simply not taking offense at Jesus is hardly what you would call a ringing endorsement of his ministry. More likely, this verse simply means that Jesus will take whatever he can get from John, that even if John isn't a direct follower of his, it would be sufficient for John not to actively oppose him or get in his way.
Verses 7-11 turn around and deal with the issue of how Jesus regards John. The questions of verses 7-9 point out that John is by no means a trivial person. He is most assuredly not a reed shaken by the wind or a man in soft clothes. On the contrary, John is one of the more formidable people we come across in scripture. The quotation in verse 10, also quoted in Mark 1, is from Malachi 3:1, and it gets at precisely the role that John played in Jesus' ministry and God's plan. And again, by quoting Malachi, Jesus tacitly acknowledges himself as the Messiah. This is about as close as Jesus ever comes to making a claim for himself.
This theme drawn from this passage is about messianic signs: the signs that John was looking for, the signs that Jesus listed, and the unique sign of Jesus Christ that was John the Baptist. And this is the theme that brings the three readings together.
Application
Human beings cling to the visible, the certain, the hard and fast as opposed to the unclear, the nebulous, the ephemeral. We want assurance that what we believe, what we hope for, what we expect, is more than just the private workings of our own minds. Particularly during expectant times, when hope is aroused within us, and when we are frustrated with the wait, and when we are looking for a change, we want something to hang our faith on.
James was writing to an expectant people, urging them to remain strong, calling them to strengthen their hearts -- to renew their trust in God -- as they waited faithfully. They could have used some signs, signs of the coming change, signs of hope, a sign that their faith was genuine. If you've waited for the bus for an hour, you stand up often and peer down the street. Waiting people, frustrated people, need signs.
No place is that any truer than in our celebration of the major holidays of the faith, mostly Christmas, but increasingly Easter. We surround ourselves with the trappings of the season -- presents and trees and decorations and cookies at Christmas. Bunnies and eggs and bright new pastel clothes at Easter. It seems like we need to remind ourselves that something big and important is at work in the world. And it's true, something big and important is at work, but sometimes we have a hard time seeing it apart from the little tokens of it that we manufacture.
Isaiah spoke to the exiles promising them, assuring them, that God was at work on their case. He spoke poetically, with passion and vision and longing, telling them that hope was still alive, that they would come home. They would see the signs in a changed world, beginning with a transformed wilderness, a wilderness prepared for their return to Zion. A harsh desert would blossom and become a garden, with watercourses where dry gullies used to be. But there would be even more changes. There would be changes in people's lives. The blind would see, and the lame would walk.
John the Baptist, in prison for his preaching, sent his followers to Jesus. John, too, was looking for signs that Jesus was the one whom he had been expecting. He wanted the hope that hard evidence would bring. And Jesus' response? In much the same list as Isaiah's, he recited how people's lives were changed: the blind see, the lame walk, the deaf hear, and the poor hear good news.
We look to the physical things, the symbols of the season, presents and packages and the Christmas dinner table. Santa Claus, whom we can see on the street corner, instead of God. But that's not where God works, as a rule. The signs of Christ are to be seen not in the external things, either of Christmas or of the world. The field where God labors is in the lives of human beings, so the signs of God are in human lives too. If we are looking for signs of Christ, we need to look to people's lives, changed lives.
* The old man in the hospital, nearing the end, who finds peace and hope in the face of death. That's a sign of Jesus Christ.
* The child who has new clothes to wear as a result of a church's mission outreach ministry. That's a sign of Jesus Christ.
* The joy on the face of the young African immigrant when he finds his home in a new community of faith. That's a sign of Jesus Christ.
* The gay man who finally has found maybe just a little bit of acceptance when a church welcomes him. That's a sign of Jesus Christ.
People fed, people who have hope, people who feel accepted and cared about, those are all signs that Jesus Christ is in the world, working, living, loving. And it is an Advent sign that Christ will come to those in need.
Beyond that, in some way each of us is a sign to the world of Jesus Christ. John the Baptist wanted a sign that Jesus was the Christ, apparently forgetting for the moment that he himself was a sign of Jesus Christ. We want, we need, signs of God in the world, but we must never forget that we are one of the signs that God has given the world.
Alternative Application
Isaiah: How Far Can God Reach?: The prophet's vision was about a transformed desert, with a highway for God to come to Babylon and bring home the exiles. It was a very long and a very dangerous way, a dangerous and thirsty way. How far can God reach? Across the desert and into another country? Like the exiles, we limit God's reach, we draw boundaries on how far God can go. Can God reach into the lives of human sinners? How about someone who doesn't even love himself? Can God reach into the world and into time as a baby? In Advent we talk about the coming of Christ. But how far can Christ come? Probably pretty far.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Isaiah 35:1-10
Certainly this text is a metaphorical depiction of the new age in the kingdom of God. Certain also is the fact that it belongs firmly in the tradition of the whole of Isaiah, sharing many of the emphases of that tradition. But there is uncertainty among scholars as to whether it belongs to Isaiah of Jerusalem (chs. 1-39), to Second Isaiah (chs. 40-55), or to Third Isaiah (chs. 56-66). Many have assigned it to Second Isaiah, but his prominent context of the exodus is missing here, and probably this passage is post-exilic, dealing with the return of diaspora Jews from exile after 538 B.C.
The passage is replete with pictorial language. If we use those pictures to apply to our time, then what we find is a contrast between B.C. and A.D., between the conditions of the old age, before Christ, and of the new age, when God's kingdom, promised here and elsewhere in the Old Testament, began to break into our world in Christ's person (cf. Mark 1:15).
We all know the old age, don't we, because we have lived in it for a very long time? It is, says our prophet, an age of desolation, of thirst, of wandering aimlessly through the wilderness of life. Or in the words of T. S. Eliot, the old age is a "wasteland," a time of despair, of no hope in the world, when generation after generation of young men go to war's bloody graves, with few good results from their sacrifice; the time when the strong strut ruthlessly through the earth, and the weak have no helper; the age when violence rules a city's streets, and the dark is a place of terror; the age when hatreds fester in our living rooms, and families fall part. The old age is a time without God, when fulfillment lies only in ourselves; a time when pride drives us to a life of constant competition with our fellows; a time when there is no ultimate meaning to all we are doing, and work after all is just a way to make a buck.
The ruler of the old age is the specter death, and all through the course of it, he inexorably claims his victims, putting an end to every dream, every joy, every lovely human relationship.
Yes, I think we know the old age, because you and I are living in it. Scholars sometimes call it B.C.E. -- before the common era -- but it is all too common in our lives now. And so our forebears in the faith gave it another title. They said it was B.C. -- before Christ -- before Christmas ever came. And the glad news of the Christian Gospel is that there is also an A.D. -- anno domini -- the year of our Lord -- the new age of Jesus Christ. And it is the breaking in of that new age that Third Isaiah foretold and that we celebrate at this Christmastime.
What are the characteristics of this totally new time? It is, said the prophet, peering into God's future, no longer a time of desert, of aimless wandering through the wilderness (for in the Isaiah tradition, the "wilderness" is a symbol of life without God). No, the new age that God planned is like a time of well-watered abundance, a time when flowers bloom in the crannies of human lives, and bent souls are straightened and given some majesty. It is a time when sorrow and sighing have been done away, and joyful song has broken the stillness. It is a time when the powers of death no longer reign on the earth, and human beings are ransomed from the evil forces that hold them captive -- from fear, from sin, from anxiety and weakness, from meaningless wandering through their days.
Indeed, proclaimed Third Isaiah, when the new age comes, the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; the lame man shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the dumb sing for joy. Human life, with all of its still, sad song of sorrow, will be transformed into praise and joy, into wholeness and health.
And so, says our New Testament Lesson in Matthew 11:2-11, to the blind, Jesus Christ said, "See!"; to the deaf, he commanded, "Hear!"; to the dumb, he gave the power of speech; and the lame man took up his bed and walked. The new age, the age of A.D. has broken into human history. It has begun to come in the person of our Lord Jesus Christ, and that is what we celebrate at Christmastime.
But we share the skepticism of John the Baptist in our New Testament Lesson, don't we, for we have a very hard time seeing any evidence of a new age in our world? The forces of death, of fear, of want and brokenness still seem very much with us, as they seemed also to those scattered Jews in Third Isaiah's time. Human lives do not seem much different than they were in B.C. times. After all, for many people, the Christmas season is still the loneliest time of the year.
But the new age for which all of us long, comes to us in the most hidden and unlikely fashion, not gloriously with great exhibitions, as we might expect, but quietly, through the faithfulness of a peasant woman in a stable, giving birth to a helpless infant, who grows up in a carpenter's shop. Godhead is hidden in weak human flesh, and only faith, like those of shepherds or wise men from the East, can discern his presence.
And since that birth at Bethlehem, has not the evidence of God's new age in Jesus Christ been shown among us, manifesting all the traits that our Old Testament text promised? Desolate lives blossom into abundant wholeness through the work of Christ's Spirit. Old sins are forgiven and cast away, so that persons can start all over again. Food is fed to the hungry by Christ's people, and relief is sent to the suffering by his church. Comfort and healing are given to the ill, and hope is lent to the dying. The German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer languished in Hitler's prison, but his faith peered beyond those gray walls, and facing his execution, he wrote from his captivity, "By good powers, wonderfully hidden, we cheerfully await, come what may." Good powers, wonderfully hidden, in a birth at Bethlehem. A new age has broken into our lives at Christmastime.
You and I can live in that new age. We can be the inhabitants of A.D. and not of B.C., and all the wondrous powers of Christ's rule, foretold by Isaiah, can work their way in our lives and hearts. We can be those redeemed by the Lord that the prophet talks about -- ransomed, set free from the clutches of our guilt and sin. We can be those rid of our fear of the morrow, and cheerfully await, come what may, knowing that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. We can walk a holy way, as our text says, that is not an aimless wandering through a desolate life, but a joyful companionship with a guiding Lord who has promised never to leave us. We can know strength in our weakness, joy in our sorrow, peace that only Christ can give, because it is the peace of God that passes understanding and that the world can never take away. We can learn justice and righteousness, mercy and love from a Lord who is their only source, and find those holy powers working through us to minister to our world in his name and by his Spirit. And yes, we can be among those whom Christ will raise from the dead, free of the finality of the grave and now nevermore fearful of it.
A new age breaks into our lives, its good powers wonderfully hidden in the incarnation of God in his Son, born at Bethlehem. And by faith, if we will, we can celebrate that with exceeding great joy at this Christmastime.
*Portions of this exposition were first printed as a full-length sermon in the author's book, Nature, God, and Pulpit, Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1992.
THE POLITICAL PULPIT
Isaiah 35:1-10
American life in the last decades has impacted children in detrimental ways. It has finally become a little less politically incorrect to identify what the divorce epidemic is doing to our children. Hang around today's kids and young adults. They are in many ways less trusting and innocent, more cautious and conservative in their thought patterns (even if they have liberated themselves from old-fashioned morality). The school shootings have contributed to these dynamics, but they are as much a symptom as a cause of our youth's cynicism and cautiousness. These dynamics are rooted more in the loss of innocence and confidence that transpire when you can no longer be certain of even the most permanent thing in your life -- your family.
Social critic Allen Bloom said it well in his book, The Closing of the American Mind (pp. 82-84, 120): American youth, he claimed, have none of the longings that used to make bourgeois society repugnant to the young. Survivalism has taken the place of heroism and intellectual adventure for today's children of divorce. Young people, Bloom notes (and I concur), "habitually are able to jettison their habits of belief for an exciting idea ... But children of divorced parents often lack this intellectual daring because they lack the natural youthful confidence in the future. Fear of both isolation and attachment clouds their prospects. A large measure of their enthusiasm has been extinguished and replaced by self-protectiveness."
Does Bloom have a point? The divorce epidemic is robbing America's youth of their yearnings. The self-indulgence that causes many divorces nurtures self-indulgence in the next generation. Augustine and Paul would have told us that.
Even in today's intact families we are messing up our children. Have you noticed how seldom today's pre-teen children organize themselves in outdoor activities in the neighborhoods? Eminent social critic Christopher Leach thinks it has to do with the heavy emphasis on adult-organized athletics. As a result, he claims, "Children and adolescents have less opportunity to improvise a local life of their own and to appropriate adult territory for their own use" (The Revolt of the Elites, p. 126). Don't get me wrong: I cherish my own experience playing high school and college varsity athletics. But by extending Little League or middle-school basketball schedules to 30 games per season, to every-night practices and to regular out-of-state games, as is now common in many parts of the country, will we pay the price down the road in burning kids out by the time they're in high school and of raising generations of kids who cannot do administration because they never had experience organizing themselves when they were young?
You will have to be delicate in addressing themes relevant to our children's welfare. We may need to step on some toes. But could we not use today's text pertaining to eschatology and the future to paint a picture of the "former things" with which we live before the new era that Christ is bringing to us? We could present the social trends and statistics mentioned here as leading to a dead end that must be eradicated in the new era that Christ is ushering in.
There are certainly signs of the season out there. But our culture is not subtle. If we were to judge the holiday on the basis of the signs we see around us, we would decide that it has to do with the sacraments of buying and selling and consuming. We need to affirm that the Christmas tree lots and Santa Clauses in the departments stores, the decorations and the advertisements, and the vast sums of money that change hands are not the true signs of what is coming. They may do the economy some good, they may be fun, but as signs they only point to the credit-card bills that will be coming in January.
Even in the church, we look for the signs of Christmas Day instead of the Messiah. By now the congregation in most churches expects to move out of the "Advent" section of the hymnal and into the "Birth of Jesus Christ" section. After all, they have been hearing "Silent Night" and "Joy To The World" for the last six weeks in the stores.
The church needs signs, and certainly the world needs signs, of something deep and solid and lasting -- signs of something more than commerce and the feel-good, warm and fuzzy celebration of Christmas that the culture sells so well. We need to see the signs of Christ and hope and love and peace. In the midst of what has become a secular holiday disguising itself as religion, what are the signs that our faith, our commitment, our part in being God's people, are not in vain?
Well, if it's signs of Christ we want, we need to look some place other than Macy's department store or the local mall or Amazon dot com's online catalogue.
The signs that we are seeking are not out there in the shopping malls or even inside in our homes. The signs of Christ are to be found in people's lives. And maybe the most surprising thing about the season is that we in the church are to be the signs of Christ's coming.
Isaiah 35:1-10
As Elizabeth Achtemeier points out in her First Lesson Focus, there is disagreement on the writing of this passage. It is clearly post-exilic, which rules out the eighth century prophet Isaiah as its author. Others say it obviously belongs to second or third Isaiah (chs. 40-55 and 56-66). Still others say it was yet another author entirely, who had second Isaiah before him. Questions of the authorship and unity of a book of the Bible can be helpful in interpreting a passage in a general way, but it certainly is possible to get too caught up in the discussion. It should suffice to say that this passage is addressed to exiles in a far off land, who want to come home.
Chapter 35 of Isaiah is poetry, so a brief reminder on some aspects of Hebrew poetry might be in order. Hebrew poetry is less about rhyme, rhythm and meter than about parallelism, often called "thought rhyme." Different forms of parallelism have been identified, including synonymous, antithetic and formal. In general, parallelism is the restatement of a line of thought in slightly different terms, often more specifically, and often by stating the opposite of what is intended. The purpose of it all is to convey deep emotion, perhaps deep and fervent desire. William Barry points out in The Catholic Encyclopedia that passion and vision are the motive of all such poetry. So that is what's driving the poetic prophet in Isaiah 35: his passion and his vision of what is to come.
The lection can be divided into two parts: verses 1-6a, a description of the manifestations of God's glory, and verses 6b-10, how the exiles will be returned.
The signs of God's glory will be seen first in nature, as the arid desert blooms and flourishes (vv. 1-2), and then in the changed lives and bodies of the people, specifically the old and disabled. Weak knees will be strong, blind eyes will see, the lame will leap and all will know that it is God coming with recompense. Essentially, this is a preparation for what follows, the return of the exiles.
With 6b, we see the first step of the return: the transformation of the wilderness by the glorious introduction of water from the hand of God. Streams will flow in the desert, burning sand will become pools, and the jackals will live in a swamp. Then will come the Holy Way, a highway that is only for God's people, a red carpet that will not let people stray. There will be protection from the animals of the wilderness. And finally -- finally -- God's ransomed will come to Mount Zion, with joy forever.
Geographically, the wilderness is the Arabian Desert, which the Babylonian exiles would have to cross to get back to Palestine. Metaphorically, the wilderness is a place of isolation, especially isolation from God. Psalm 137 has the exiles asking, "How could we sing the Lord's song in a foreign land?" But Isaiah 35 shows that God's reach is much greater than the exiles ever thought. It extends even across the desert to Babylon. And beyond.
And what really is the Holy Way, the way back to Zion and to God? For the exiles it was a transformed wilderness that would permit travel. But we also acknowledge the advent of another Holy Way, utterly unexpected, not a blooming desert, but a person, whose task is to overcome the very same limits that we place on God's reach.
James 5:7-10
As we move through Advent drawing closer to Christmas, our tendency is to think more and more about the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem. Yet the lectionary, and this particular reading, persist in bringing us back to the expectation of Christ's return, the second coming.
The Letter of James was designated "an epistle of straw" by Martin Luther. Luther objected to the letter's discussion of faith and works, reading in it a theology of salvation by works instead of by God's grace. Unfortunately, that has become the thing the book is known for. The letter is addressed to Jewish Christians, specifically "the 12 tribes in the Dispersion" (1:1).
Once again we deal with the issue of the unmet expectation in the early church that Jesus would return within the people's lifetime. The frustration and impatience must have been even more acute for the addressees of the letter, the Jewish Christians outside of Palestine. That's what leads to this closing piece of encouragement, whose message is straightforward: Be patient until the Lord comes again.
To a point, impatience can be energizing. The little boy waiting for Christmas morning and the presents under the tree can't sit still, can't calm down. In his impatience there is excess energy that needs to be burned off. After a while, though, after long waiting, something happens, something changes and impatience starts to grumble, it becomes depressed and cast down, wondering if, when it really comes down to it, the thing will ever happen at all.
That's the situation James is speaking to. He offers several examples. The farmer must wait for the rains; there is simply no other alternative. You wait. You accept that the thing will come when it comes; it will come in God's own time. Acceptance of God's time, then, is the key to patience. The prophets are another model, this time of patience in suffering. The point is made even clearer by verse 11, which the Revised Common Lectionary leaves out. Job's endurance (NRSV) or steadfastness (RSV) is the example for human beings.
James' real advice to his readers, however, is back in verse 8. "Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near." The RSV reading "establish your hearts," based on the KJV, misses the mark. The word is the same as that in Luke 9:51, "... he set his face to go to Jerusalem." It connotes strong determination. For people "to strengthen their hearts" means being active and deliberate in their trust of God, not merely living passively. God's purpose is alive and well and on its way, but sometimes we need to strengthen our hearts, working hard to put our faith in that purpose.
Matthew 11:2-11
John the Baptist is again in the lectionary (he is never far away) with this passage. There are two sections to the reading, verses 2-6 and verses 7-11. They deal with John's view of Jesus and Jesus' view of John, respectively.
The point of the first section is to affirm that Jesus is the Messiah, but a hard and fast answer is always elusive. John the Baptist had obviously been waiting, along with all Israel, and along with us, looking for signs. So when the rumors came, he wanted to know for sure. John's question isn't as clear as we might like it to be. He doesn't ask if Jesus is the Messiah, but simply "the one who is to come." Besides that, didn't John see Jesus at his baptism and recognize him for who he was? Yet whatever John knew or didn't know, his is a fundamental question about Jesus: Are you the one? And how should we know?
Jesus' list of signs in verse 5 is very similar to the list in Isaiah 35:5-6. The healings are the indication that the end times are at hand, and they are therefore the indication of the Messiah. But Jesus never makes the claim for himself, never gives a satisfactory answer to the direct questions posed to him. Instead he always allows people to draw their own conclusions about him, on the basis of the signs. But again, that is the crucial question of the Christian religion. And it is still one that is fought over. "Who is Jesus?" is always a new question, and it always needs to be asked and answered again.
Verse 6 is a strange addendum. Is it a slight jab at John, that John had taken offense at Jesus? Simply not taking offense at Jesus is hardly what you would call a ringing endorsement of his ministry. More likely, this verse simply means that Jesus will take whatever he can get from John, that even if John isn't a direct follower of his, it would be sufficient for John not to actively oppose him or get in his way.
Verses 7-11 turn around and deal with the issue of how Jesus regards John. The questions of verses 7-9 point out that John is by no means a trivial person. He is most assuredly not a reed shaken by the wind or a man in soft clothes. On the contrary, John is one of the more formidable people we come across in scripture. The quotation in verse 10, also quoted in Mark 1, is from Malachi 3:1, and it gets at precisely the role that John played in Jesus' ministry and God's plan. And again, by quoting Malachi, Jesus tacitly acknowledges himself as the Messiah. This is about as close as Jesus ever comes to making a claim for himself.
This theme drawn from this passage is about messianic signs: the signs that John was looking for, the signs that Jesus listed, and the unique sign of Jesus Christ that was John the Baptist. And this is the theme that brings the three readings together.
Application
Human beings cling to the visible, the certain, the hard and fast as opposed to the unclear, the nebulous, the ephemeral. We want assurance that what we believe, what we hope for, what we expect, is more than just the private workings of our own minds. Particularly during expectant times, when hope is aroused within us, and when we are frustrated with the wait, and when we are looking for a change, we want something to hang our faith on.
James was writing to an expectant people, urging them to remain strong, calling them to strengthen their hearts -- to renew their trust in God -- as they waited faithfully. They could have used some signs, signs of the coming change, signs of hope, a sign that their faith was genuine. If you've waited for the bus for an hour, you stand up often and peer down the street. Waiting people, frustrated people, need signs.
No place is that any truer than in our celebration of the major holidays of the faith, mostly Christmas, but increasingly Easter. We surround ourselves with the trappings of the season -- presents and trees and decorations and cookies at Christmas. Bunnies and eggs and bright new pastel clothes at Easter. It seems like we need to remind ourselves that something big and important is at work in the world. And it's true, something big and important is at work, but sometimes we have a hard time seeing it apart from the little tokens of it that we manufacture.
Isaiah spoke to the exiles promising them, assuring them, that God was at work on their case. He spoke poetically, with passion and vision and longing, telling them that hope was still alive, that they would come home. They would see the signs in a changed world, beginning with a transformed wilderness, a wilderness prepared for their return to Zion. A harsh desert would blossom and become a garden, with watercourses where dry gullies used to be. But there would be even more changes. There would be changes in people's lives. The blind would see, and the lame would walk.
John the Baptist, in prison for his preaching, sent his followers to Jesus. John, too, was looking for signs that Jesus was the one whom he had been expecting. He wanted the hope that hard evidence would bring. And Jesus' response? In much the same list as Isaiah's, he recited how people's lives were changed: the blind see, the lame walk, the deaf hear, and the poor hear good news.
We look to the physical things, the symbols of the season, presents and packages and the Christmas dinner table. Santa Claus, whom we can see on the street corner, instead of God. But that's not where God works, as a rule. The signs of Christ are to be seen not in the external things, either of Christmas or of the world. The field where God labors is in the lives of human beings, so the signs of God are in human lives too. If we are looking for signs of Christ, we need to look to people's lives, changed lives.
* The old man in the hospital, nearing the end, who finds peace and hope in the face of death. That's a sign of Jesus Christ.
* The child who has new clothes to wear as a result of a church's mission outreach ministry. That's a sign of Jesus Christ.
* The joy on the face of the young African immigrant when he finds his home in a new community of faith. That's a sign of Jesus Christ.
* The gay man who finally has found maybe just a little bit of acceptance when a church welcomes him. That's a sign of Jesus Christ.
People fed, people who have hope, people who feel accepted and cared about, those are all signs that Jesus Christ is in the world, working, living, loving. And it is an Advent sign that Christ will come to those in need.
Beyond that, in some way each of us is a sign to the world of Jesus Christ. John the Baptist wanted a sign that Jesus was the Christ, apparently forgetting for the moment that he himself was a sign of Jesus Christ. We want, we need, signs of God in the world, but we must never forget that we are one of the signs that God has given the world.
Alternative Application
Isaiah: How Far Can God Reach?: The prophet's vision was about a transformed desert, with a highway for God to come to Babylon and bring home the exiles. It was a very long and a very dangerous way, a dangerous and thirsty way. How far can God reach? Across the desert and into another country? Like the exiles, we limit God's reach, we draw boundaries on how far God can go. Can God reach into the lives of human sinners? How about someone who doesn't even love himself? Can God reach into the world and into time as a baby? In Advent we talk about the coming of Christ. But how far can Christ come? Probably pretty far.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Isaiah 35:1-10
Certainly this text is a metaphorical depiction of the new age in the kingdom of God. Certain also is the fact that it belongs firmly in the tradition of the whole of Isaiah, sharing many of the emphases of that tradition. But there is uncertainty among scholars as to whether it belongs to Isaiah of Jerusalem (chs. 1-39), to Second Isaiah (chs. 40-55), or to Third Isaiah (chs. 56-66). Many have assigned it to Second Isaiah, but his prominent context of the exodus is missing here, and probably this passage is post-exilic, dealing with the return of diaspora Jews from exile after 538 B.C.
The passage is replete with pictorial language. If we use those pictures to apply to our time, then what we find is a contrast between B.C. and A.D., between the conditions of the old age, before Christ, and of the new age, when God's kingdom, promised here and elsewhere in the Old Testament, began to break into our world in Christ's person (cf. Mark 1:15).
We all know the old age, don't we, because we have lived in it for a very long time? It is, says our prophet, an age of desolation, of thirst, of wandering aimlessly through the wilderness of life. Or in the words of T. S. Eliot, the old age is a "wasteland," a time of despair, of no hope in the world, when generation after generation of young men go to war's bloody graves, with few good results from their sacrifice; the time when the strong strut ruthlessly through the earth, and the weak have no helper; the age when violence rules a city's streets, and the dark is a place of terror; the age when hatreds fester in our living rooms, and families fall part. The old age is a time without God, when fulfillment lies only in ourselves; a time when pride drives us to a life of constant competition with our fellows; a time when there is no ultimate meaning to all we are doing, and work after all is just a way to make a buck.
The ruler of the old age is the specter death, and all through the course of it, he inexorably claims his victims, putting an end to every dream, every joy, every lovely human relationship.
Yes, I think we know the old age, because you and I are living in it. Scholars sometimes call it B.C.E. -- before the common era -- but it is all too common in our lives now. And so our forebears in the faith gave it another title. They said it was B.C. -- before Christ -- before Christmas ever came. And the glad news of the Christian Gospel is that there is also an A.D. -- anno domini -- the year of our Lord -- the new age of Jesus Christ. And it is the breaking in of that new age that Third Isaiah foretold and that we celebrate at this Christmastime.
What are the characteristics of this totally new time? It is, said the prophet, peering into God's future, no longer a time of desert, of aimless wandering through the wilderness (for in the Isaiah tradition, the "wilderness" is a symbol of life without God). No, the new age that God planned is like a time of well-watered abundance, a time when flowers bloom in the crannies of human lives, and bent souls are straightened and given some majesty. It is a time when sorrow and sighing have been done away, and joyful song has broken the stillness. It is a time when the powers of death no longer reign on the earth, and human beings are ransomed from the evil forces that hold them captive -- from fear, from sin, from anxiety and weakness, from meaningless wandering through their days.
Indeed, proclaimed Third Isaiah, when the new age comes, the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; the lame man shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the dumb sing for joy. Human life, with all of its still, sad song of sorrow, will be transformed into praise and joy, into wholeness and health.
And so, says our New Testament Lesson in Matthew 11:2-11, to the blind, Jesus Christ said, "See!"; to the deaf, he commanded, "Hear!"; to the dumb, he gave the power of speech; and the lame man took up his bed and walked. The new age, the age of A.D. has broken into human history. It has begun to come in the person of our Lord Jesus Christ, and that is what we celebrate at Christmastime.
But we share the skepticism of John the Baptist in our New Testament Lesson, don't we, for we have a very hard time seeing any evidence of a new age in our world? The forces of death, of fear, of want and brokenness still seem very much with us, as they seemed also to those scattered Jews in Third Isaiah's time. Human lives do not seem much different than they were in B.C. times. After all, for many people, the Christmas season is still the loneliest time of the year.
But the new age for which all of us long, comes to us in the most hidden and unlikely fashion, not gloriously with great exhibitions, as we might expect, but quietly, through the faithfulness of a peasant woman in a stable, giving birth to a helpless infant, who grows up in a carpenter's shop. Godhead is hidden in weak human flesh, and only faith, like those of shepherds or wise men from the East, can discern his presence.
And since that birth at Bethlehem, has not the evidence of God's new age in Jesus Christ been shown among us, manifesting all the traits that our Old Testament text promised? Desolate lives blossom into abundant wholeness through the work of Christ's Spirit. Old sins are forgiven and cast away, so that persons can start all over again. Food is fed to the hungry by Christ's people, and relief is sent to the suffering by his church. Comfort and healing are given to the ill, and hope is lent to the dying. The German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer languished in Hitler's prison, but his faith peered beyond those gray walls, and facing his execution, he wrote from his captivity, "By good powers, wonderfully hidden, we cheerfully await, come what may." Good powers, wonderfully hidden, in a birth at Bethlehem. A new age has broken into our lives at Christmastime.
You and I can live in that new age. We can be the inhabitants of A.D. and not of B.C., and all the wondrous powers of Christ's rule, foretold by Isaiah, can work their way in our lives and hearts. We can be those redeemed by the Lord that the prophet talks about -- ransomed, set free from the clutches of our guilt and sin. We can be those rid of our fear of the morrow, and cheerfully await, come what may, knowing that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. We can walk a holy way, as our text says, that is not an aimless wandering through a desolate life, but a joyful companionship with a guiding Lord who has promised never to leave us. We can know strength in our weakness, joy in our sorrow, peace that only Christ can give, because it is the peace of God that passes understanding and that the world can never take away. We can learn justice and righteousness, mercy and love from a Lord who is their only source, and find those holy powers working through us to minister to our world in his name and by his Spirit. And yes, we can be among those whom Christ will raise from the dead, free of the finality of the grave and now nevermore fearful of it.
A new age breaks into our lives, its good powers wonderfully hidden in the incarnation of God in his Son, born at Bethlehem. And by faith, if we will, we can celebrate that with exceeding great joy at this Christmastime.
*Portions of this exposition were first printed as a full-length sermon in the author's book, Nature, God, and Pulpit, Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1992.
THE POLITICAL PULPIT
Isaiah 35:1-10
American life in the last decades has impacted children in detrimental ways. It has finally become a little less politically incorrect to identify what the divorce epidemic is doing to our children. Hang around today's kids and young adults. They are in many ways less trusting and innocent, more cautious and conservative in their thought patterns (even if they have liberated themselves from old-fashioned morality). The school shootings have contributed to these dynamics, but they are as much a symptom as a cause of our youth's cynicism and cautiousness. These dynamics are rooted more in the loss of innocence and confidence that transpire when you can no longer be certain of even the most permanent thing in your life -- your family.
Social critic Allen Bloom said it well in his book, The Closing of the American Mind (pp. 82-84, 120): American youth, he claimed, have none of the longings that used to make bourgeois society repugnant to the young. Survivalism has taken the place of heroism and intellectual adventure for today's children of divorce. Young people, Bloom notes (and I concur), "habitually are able to jettison their habits of belief for an exciting idea ... But children of divorced parents often lack this intellectual daring because they lack the natural youthful confidence in the future. Fear of both isolation and attachment clouds their prospects. A large measure of their enthusiasm has been extinguished and replaced by self-protectiveness."
Does Bloom have a point? The divorce epidemic is robbing America's youth of their yearnings. The self-indulgence that causes many divorces nurtures self-indulgence in the next generation. Augustine and Paul would have told us that.
Even in today's intact families we are messing up our children. Have you noticed how seldom today's pre-teen children organize themselves in outdoor activities in the neighborhoods? Eminent social critic Christopher Leach thinks it has to do with the heavy emphasis on adult-organized athletics. As a result, he claims, "Children and adolescents have less opportunity to improvise a local life of their own and to appropriate adult territory for their own use" (The Revolt of the Elites, p. 126). Don't get me wrong: I cherish my own experience playing high school and college varsity athletics. But by extending Little League or middle-school basketball schedules to 30 games per season, to every-night practices and to regular out-of-state games, as is now common in many parts of the country, will we pay the price down the road in burning kids out by the time they're in high school and of raising generations of kids who cannot do administration because they never had experience organizing themselves when they were young?
You will have to be delicate in addressing themes relevant to our children's welfare. We may need to step on some toes. But could we not use today's text pertaining to eschatology and the future to paint a picture of the "former things" with which we live before the new era that Christ is bringing to us? We could present the social trends and statistics mentioned here as leading to a dead end that must be eradicated in the new era that Christ is ushering in.
