Text: Isaiah 64:1-9
Other texts: Mark 13:24-37
Come down, God! O that you would come down! O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!
There is such longing in these words, these words in Isaiah. So much loneliness. These are words of a people abandoned. People left alone. People confused and without direction. You hid yourself, they say, and we have faded like the leaves in the late autumn days. You have hidden yourself from us, they say, and we are blown about by the cold wind.
When these words were written, it was a time of fragile and uncertain hopefulness. Somewhat like our time now. The exile of the people of Israel was at an end, they were returning or had returned home, but their land and nation had been devastated. They look forward to rebuilding. Yet in this hopefulness the prophet calls expectantly for God’s presence and guidance. God had hidden God’s face.
We are living in uneasy, queasy, times at the moment. Yet the presentation each of us makes is unchanged. As always, we show to the world the best we can. We put on a good face. No one wants to hear about our troubles, we think. If they only knew, we think, they would think less of us. To reveal ourselves to others or to an other makes us vulnerable. Being vulnerable is the last thing we want to do when we do not feel so great inside. When someone asks us how things are going, we might answer “OK” instead of “great” Just a hint. That’s about as much information as they need. Maybe too much.
Everyone else seems fine. They are all smiles. They are doing well, it looks like. But we are reminded not to compare our insides with someone else’s outside. Who knows what is going on in their lives, their homes, their families, their heads? Maybe they are hard on the outside and soft on the inside, just like us.
For many, for much of the time, suffering and sadness are not far below our OK exteriors. There are no shortage of causes: worries about money, safety, food. Disappointments about careers, relationships, performance. Regrets and unresolved conflicts. And for some, worse: war, poverty, hunger, grief. You have fed us, the psalm says, with the bread of tears. You have given us bowls of tears to drink.
We suffer. Why is that so? It seems to be our nature as human creatures. Perhaps it is because we so easily imagine the future. A time yet to come when the present will be as it should be, could be. Yet it never comes. Or perhaps it is because as social beings we long for intimate and complete unity with others. And yet we are aware of our fundamental loneliness. Or perhaps it is because, even lonely, we are connected with—feel with, which is what the word compassion means—connected with others, even strangers, and bear the burden of all their sorrows. Yet we can do little to relieve them.
O that you would come down! O that you would tear open the heavens and come down! says Isaiah, who tries to explain in this passage people’s sadness. It is because God has abandoned God’s people, he says. We sinned, Isaiah says, because God hid God’s self. The passage through its symbols reminds God and reminds Israel of the time when God last came. Of that time when God came down on the mountain of Sinai and adopted Israel as a people. And gave them guidance. Of that time when God came as fire, burning a bush, speaking to them in a clear voice, and making promises. Come down, God.
We call for one who can know our sorrow and can heal our sorrow. So in our deepest prayers, we pray with the Israelites: Come here, God. Come here, be with me. Come here, guide me. Come here, comfort me. Come here, heal me. Come here, bring me peace.
For some, and in some times, people have felt there is no solution in their age for the suffering that they endure. They have felt that the only solution to suffering is the end of the world as we know it. They cannot imagine a healing powerful enough to restore our present existence to the way it should be. In those times those people hope for a grand upheaval and see it coming. Writings about that upheaval are called apocalyptic. The word comes from the name in Greek of the Book of Revelation, which is the most extensive writing we have of its type. But a smaller version of this kind of story appears also in Mark (which we heard today) and in Matthew and Luke. The verses in these Gospel passages are called the “little apocalypse.” They all predict the immediate return of Jesus and a drastic change in the world. These passages are a problem now because “these things,” as Jesus said, did not happen in the lifetime of his disciples. We can try all sorts of ways to explain this, but it seems to me that these passages are just another way of saying what we have already heard in Isaiah. Come here, Jesus. Come here, be with me. Come down from the cross and return to your people. Help us. Deliver us from suffering and sadness.
This is the season of Advent. Advent is traditionally a time of reflection. It is a time to look at ourselves and our lives and see how well things are going. On the inside. It is time to keep awake, as Jesus says in Mark. It is the kind of awake you feel when you’ve just worked out at the gym (before you get endorphin-sleepy). Where all your senses are sharp and when your mind is open. And with those senses and with this open mind, we try to look closely at the intersection of our lives and God in our lives. During most of our days that spot, where God meets us, is a little vague and easily missed among all the other conversations we have inside our heads. And among all the sorrows that are calling, seeking to be relieved. To attend to God, to stay awake, takes the same energy and concern that attending to any other relationship we might have. Sometimes you take someone you love for granted, but you cannot keep doing that and have the relationship work. And the same is true of the relationship you have with God.
The spiritual disciplines of Lent apply to Advent, too. Especially the discipline of prayer. During these days, talk to God in prayer. Thank God. Ask God for what you want and need. Ask God to help you find out what you want and need. Ask for help, for comfort, for understanding of things. For patience, clarity, and enthusiasm (or whatever are your inside desires). Tell God of your sorrows. Tell God you’d like God to come down and talk with you clearly and immediately.
Our hope is in God because God is our maker. We are the clay and you are the potter, says the prophet Isaiah. Who else knows us better? Who else has more of a stake in us? Who else greets us with such powerful intention? Come down here, God. We need you. We are the work of your hand. We are your people.
No comments:
Post a Comment