He Will Abundantly Pardon
Sermon
Sermons on the First Readings
Series II, Cycle C
Object:
Perhaps you have taken a vacation with the intention of seeking out some historical or national monument. Some of the favorites are probably Mount Rushmore, the Liberty Bell, the Gettysburg Battlefield, or Valley Forge. Indeed, this may have been the point of the whole vacation, to take in an important site that ties the past to the present, and on into the future.
Certainly, if you have been to Valley Forge, for instance, even on a warm summer's day, it is hard not to shiver as you consider the horrific winter conditions that tested the valiant few whose faithfulness preserved the liberties we enjoy today. Or, perhaps, you have watched the pattern of the shadows change on the four presidents memorialized on Mount Rushmore, and wondered if in the future some fifth face will prove worthy of being carved in stone.
Other times, however, you may have had another goal as you drove across this great country, moving swiftly along some highway on the great plains or in the midst of giant forests beneath the face of immense mountains, when you noticed a battered historical marker ahead. There may have been a warning --"Historical Marker Ahead." Or, perhaps, you spotted it as you drove down the highway. Did you wonder, "Should I stop? What is being memorialized out here in the middle of nowhere? What great and significant event occurred that later generations wished to preserve for the memory of humankind?"
If you have ever stopped for such memorials, you quickly discovered that while some are for famous events that many people have heard of, some commemorate obscure happenings. At one point, perhaps, these were famous things and are now forgotten. We have to ask: How long is human memory? How soon do we forget? That's one reason we need memorials. The things we think we will know forever slip our minds.
But there's another reason for memorials, and that is to influence how we look back on an event, how we interpret it. The Monocacy Battlefield, near the Monocacy River in Maryland, is a good illustration of this. There are two sets of contradictory monuments scattered throughout the Civil War battlefield. Both are right but only one is correct.
One set, erected about fifty years after the fighting ended by the Daughters of the Confederacy, celebrates a Confederate victory on Northern soil. The other set, erected by the Park Service, celebrates a Union victory. The truth is that veteran Southern troops did defeat raw Union troops, but the battle itself delayed the Confederate advance by a day and prevented them from reaching an undefended Washington, D.C. before it was reinforced with battle-hardened soldiers.
In today's scripture passage, Isaiah is trying to do two things when it comes to memorials -- he is trying to draw the memory of the people back to an important and forgotten historical perspective, and he is trying to influence that perspective, as well.
Isaiah is calling the people back to the memory of the good things God has done, is doing, and will do. One key word is berit, covenant. Isaiah wants to talk about the covenant God has made with the people, which is the source of the good things God has shared in the past and will share in the future. He is writing to a shell-shocked people who have suffered great trauma and after the manner of a road sign designed to catch our attention, Isaiah uses an image which can't help but cause them to take notice.
Isaiah phrases his memorial as an invitation. Just as Wisdom in the book of Proverbs cries aloud to get the attention of the people, so Isaiah hollers out an invitation, much like one would do in the marketplace to attract customers.
I'm reminded of the county fair, where vendors try to get our attention. What will you eat while you're there? Homemade donuts, fried bread, a cheese-steak sandwich, onions rings, a corn dog, or maybe just a giant pretzel! There are so many choices. Now, imagine that while we're salivating over all the choices and trying to figure out what it'll cost, a single voice rises above the din and offers it all for free!
Concrete gifts of water, wine, milk, and bread are offered, good things, necessary things, the staff of life. Come here and eat and drink, Isaiah shouts in the marketplace, and just when he has our attention, he tells us the most amazing thing of all.
What Isaiah is really talking about is the covenant God has made with his servant King David, but now God extends that covenant, that gift, that promise, with all the people -- and all of us!
This is God's plan. It's God's way of thinking. God is more aware than we of the king's failings, the people's failings, our failings, yet the promise is not only renewed, it is extended to cover a greater number of people.
What should our response be? It should be immediate. "Seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while he is near; let the wicked forsake their way and the unrighteous their thoughts; let them return to the Lord, that he may have mercy on them, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon" (vv. 6-7).
In a way this makes no sense. We're used to insurance firms restricting coverage, companies reducing their liability, fine print on all those marvelous medical ads on television making it clear the offer is not quite as breathtaking as we thought.
This is more than manna, which sustains us for our day's work, even in the desert, and which is generous enough. This is food for eternity. We may not fully realize its value, any more than did the people who received the bread from Jesus and who followed him until he talked about the living bread. So generous and breathtaking is this offer that we may simply fail to understand it, and fall back on our old mainstays.
That's why Isaiah is doing his best to get our attention. God is preparing to abundantly pardon. Not grudgingly, stingily, but abundantly. God's Word will "not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose ..." (v. 11). And we indeed "shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace" (v. 12).
All of nature will join in this celebration. Just as we celebrate God's breathtaking wonders in our national parks, so too these wonders celebrate with us, according to Isaiah, in response to God's promises. All "the trees of the field shall clap their hands" (v. 12).
God doesn't think like us. God's ways are not our ways, and you cannot receive this gift if you insist on clinging to the old ways. Time and again this is what God's people did, in response to the Old Covenant and the New Covenant. We are afraid to take a risk, to try something new, to stop and listen, truly listen, to what God has to offer. Instead, we fall back on the old ways and forget.
The sin of forgetting what God has done for us as individuals and as people, that's something we see with God's people in the desert, and ourselves in our own desert. We cling to the ways of violence instead of redemption, of hatred instead of risking love, of fear instead of overwhelming joy. It's not that the world is not dangerous. Of course it is. But we are the people of God's peace. We were not given a spirit of fear, but of joy.
There are plenty of things to fear in today's world, but they should not dominate our thinking. Most of us make it through the day. Most of us are not shot, punched, diced, clipped, bent, folded, or mutilated. Most of us don't have to be survivors. We can be team players. We can work together for all, rather than striving to eliminate all others.
As for those who do suffer, who have suffered, who are victims -- that's where we are called as God's people, as messengers like Isaiah, to spread the good news. We do not apply Band-Aids. We do not make things well with a word. But, we walk with those who are hurting in order to bring hope.
Isaiah didn't turn to a people who were shell-shocked from invasion and captivity and say there was nothing wrong. He didn't say that as God's people we don't grieve. There is plenty wrong, and we do grieve, but he told us that in a broken world where sorrowful things happen, God intends always to be a part of our future, a future filled with hope and purpose. His presence was a reminder that in sorrow, God is present. The historical markers that proclaim the exile and return are hope and peace.
It's not a message the world is ready for. We want to hold on to the old hatreds, the old grudges. We want to respond to hate with hate, to violence with violence. But God will abundantly pardon. Not just pardon, not grudgingly pardon, but abundantly pardon. Can we do less, with each other, and with those around the world? We must tell them of this abundant joy, in the midst of all of life's travails and beyond.
Jesus was criticized because he and his disciples didn't fast, didn't wear ashes, but ate, drank, and displayed the marks of life and living. The cross lay ahead for Jesus and many of his disciples, and for us as well, but as today's scripture tells us, as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are God's ways higher than our ways.
Stop. In the midst of our technological marketplace, listen to the voice that rises above the others. On the journey of life in which we hurry, often without purpose or joy, slow down, stop, read the memorializing marker. Remember God's history, God's promises, and adopt a different way of looking at the world.
Things aren't what you think -- they're much, much better. Amen.
Certainly, if you have been to Valley Forge, for instance, even on a warm summer's day, it is hard not to shiver as you consider the horrific winter conditions that tested the valiant few whose faithfulness preserved the liberties we enjoy today. Or, perhaps, you have watched the pattern of the shadows change on the four presidents memorialized on Mount Rushmore, and wondered if in the future some fifth face will prove worthy of being carved in stone.
Other times, however, you may have had another goal as you drove across this great country, moving swiftly along some highway on the great plains or in the midst of giant forests beneath the face of immense mountains, when you noticed a battered historical marker ahead. There may have been a warning --"Historical Marker Ahead." Or, perhaps, you spotted it as you drove down the highway. Did you wonder, "Should I stop? What is being memorialized out here in the middle of nowhere? What great and significant event occurred that later generations wished to preserve for the memory of humankind?"
If you have ever stopped for such memorials, you quickly discovered that while some are for famous events that many people have heard of, some commemorate obscure happenings. At one point, perhaps, these were famous things and are now forgotten. We have to ask: How long is human memory? How soon do we forget? That's one reason we need memorials. The things we think we will know forever slip our minds.
But there's another reason for memorials, and that is to influence how we look back on an event, how we interpret it. The Monocacy Battlefield, near the Monocacy River in Maryland, is a good illustration of this. There are two sets of contradictory monuments scattered throughout the Civil War battlefield. Both are right but only one is correct.
One set, erected about fifty years after the fighting ended by the Daughters of the Confederacy, celebrates a Confederate victory on Northern soil. The other set, erected by the Park Service, celebrates a Union victory. The truth is that veteran Southern troops did defeat raw Union troops, but the battle itself delayed the Confederate advance by a day and prevented them from reaching an undefended Washington, D.C. before it was reinforced with battle-hardened soldiers.
In today's scripture passage, Isaiah is trying to do two things when it comes to memorials -- he is trying to draw the memory of the people back to an important and forgotten historical perspective, and he is trying to influence that perspective, as well.
Isaiah is calling the people back to the memory of the good things God has done, is doing, and will do. One key word is berit, covenant. Isaiah wants to talk about the covenant God has made with the people, which is the source of the good things God has shared in the past and will share in the future. He is writing to a shell-shocked people who have suffered great trauma and after the manner of a road sign designed to catch our attention, Isaiah uses an image which can't help but cause them to take notice.
Isaiah phrases his memorial as an invitation. Just as Wisdom in the book of Proverbs cries aloud to get the attention of the people, so Isaiah hollers out an invitation, much like one would do in the marketplace to attract customers.
I'm reminded of the county fair, where vendors try to get our attention. What will you eat while you're there? Homemade donuts, fried bread, a cheese-steak sandwich, onions rings, a corn dog, or maybe just a giant pretzel! There are so many choices. Now, imagine that while we're salivating over all the choices and trying to figure out what it'll cost, a single voice rises above the din and offers it all for free!
Concrete gifts of water, wine, milk, and bread are offered, good things, necessary things, the staff of life. Come here and eat and drink, Isaiah shouts in the marketplace, and just when he has our attention, he tells us the most amazing thing of all.
What Isaiah is really talking about is the covenant God has made with his servant King David, but now God extends that covenant, that gift, that promise, with all the people -- and all of us!
This is God's plan. It's God's way of thinking. God is more aware than we of the king's failings, the people's failings, our failings, yet the promise is not only renewed, it is extended to cover a greater number of people.
What should our response be? It should be immediate. "Seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while he is near; let the wicked forsake their way and the unrighteous their thoughts; let them return to the Lord, that he may have mercy on them, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon" (vv. 6-7).
In a way this makes no sense. We're used to insurance firms restricting coverage, companies reducing their liability, fine print on all those marvelous medical ads on television making it clear the offer is not quite as breathtaking as we thought.
This is more than manna, which sustains us for our day's work, even in the desert, and which is generous enough. This is food for eternity. We may not fully realize its value, any more than did the people who received the bread from Jesus and who followed him until he talked about the living bread. So generous and breathtaking is this offer that we may simply fail to understand it, and fall back on our old mainstays.
That's why Isaiah is doing his best to get our attention. God is preparing to abundantly pardon. Not grudgingly, stingily, but abundantly. God's Word will "not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose ..." (v. 11). And we indeed "shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace" (v. 12).
All of nature will join in this celebration. Just as we celebrate God's breathtaking wonders in our national parks, so too these wonders celebrate with us, according to Isaiah, in response to God's promises. All "the trees of the field shall clap their hands" (v. 12).
God doesn't think like us. God's ways are not our ways, and you cannot receive this gift if you insist on clinging to the old ways. Time and again this is what God's people did, in response to the Old Covenant and the New Covenant. We are afraid to take a risk, to try something new, to stop and listen, truly listen, to what God has to offer. Instead, we fall back on the old ways and forget.
The sin of forgetting what God has done for us as individuals and as people, that's something we see with God's people in the desert, and ourselves in our own desert. We cling to the ways of violence instead of redemption, of hatred instead of risking love, of fear instead of overwhelming joy. It's not that the world is not dangerous. Of course it is. But we are the people of God's peace. We were not given a spirit of fear, but of joy.
There are plenty of things to fear in today's world, but they should not dominate our thinking. Most of us make it through the day. Most of us are not shot, punched, diced, clipped, bent, folded, or mutilated. Most of us don't have to be survivors. We can be team players. We can work together for all, rather than striving to eliminate all others.
As for those who do suffer, who have suffered, who are victims -- that's where we are called as God's people, as messengers like Isaiah, to spread the good news. We do not apply Band-Aids. We do not make things well with a word. But, we walk with those who are hurting in order to bring hope.
Isaiah didn't turn to a people who were shell-shocked from invasion and captivity and say there was nothing wrong. He didn't say that as God's people we don't grieve. There is plenty wrong, and we do grieve, but he told us that in a broken world where sorrowful things happen, God intends always to be a part of our future, a future filled with hope and purpose. His presence was a reminder that in sorrow, God is present. The historical markers that proclaim the exile and return are hope and peace.
It's not a message the world is ready for. We want to hold on to the old hatreds, the old grudges. We want to respond to hate with hate, to violence with violence. But God will abundantly pardon. Not just pardon, not grudgingly pardon, but abundantly pardon. Can we do less, with each other, and with those around the world? We must tell them of this abundant joy, in the midst of all of life's travails and beyond.
Jesus was criticized because he and his disciples didn't fast, didn't wear ashes, but ate, drank, and displayed the marks of life and living. The cross lay ahead for Jesus and many of his disciples, and for us as well, but as today's scripture tells us, as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are God's ways higher than our ways.
Stop. In the midst of our technological marketplace, listen to the voice that rises above the others. On the journey of life in which we hurry, often without purpose or joy, slow down, stop, read the memorializing marker. Remember God's history, God's promises, and adopt a different way of looking at the world.
Things aren't what you think -- they're much, much better. Amen.
