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Children of God, Called to Heal the World, January 13, 2008 |
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Written by Jeanne Knepper
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Tuesday, 15 January 2008 |
CHILDREN OF GOD, CALLED TO HEAL THE WORLD
Isaiah 42:1-9; Matthew 3:13-17
January 13, 2008
Who are the prophets, in our day? Do you ever wonder that, as we read the words of Jeremiah or Isaiah, do you wonder whether we still have prophets, and who they might be? Who holds up the plumb line; who speaks for the poor, sold for a pair of Nikes, or for the bruised reeds, poor, mentally ill, sick and elderly, unable to get medical care they need so desperately? Where are our great lights, shining in darkness?
For me, when I want to hear words of prophecy, brought forward in words that echo in my soul and stay with me in times of deep darkness, I go to my sounds system, to music that will stir my soul, crank up my courage, quiet my heart and set my feet to dancing and my hands to working. If I were called upon to name the prophets of our era, I would name Martin Luther King, Jr., yes, and Carter Heyward and Cesar Chavez. But I would also name Holly Near, Tracy Chapman, Fred Small. I want to share a song—actually, I suppose, a poem, as I’m not going to sing it—with you today. It’s called, “Planet Called Home.”
Can you call on your imagination, as if telling a myth to a child?
Put in the fantastical, wonderful, magical; add the romantic, the brave and the wild.
Once upon a time there was a power so great that no one could know its name.
People tried to claim it and rule with it; always such arrogance ended in shame.
Thousands of years would pass in a moment; hundreds of cultures would come and go,
each generation with a glorious calling, even when they were too busy to know.
Then one day after two millennia, which after all is was a small part of time,
hundreds of souls found their way out of nowhere to be on earth at the threat of decline.
“Let’s all go,” they moved as one being, even though each would arrive here alone.
They promised to work in grace with each other, to brave the beautiful planet called home.
There was no promise that they could save it, but how exciting to give it a try:
If each one did just one thing beautifully, complex life on earth might not die.
And so they arrived in a spectrum of colors. The population on earth did explode.
Some threw themselves in front of disaster; others slowly carried their load.
Some adopted small girls from China; some lived high in the branches of trees;
some died as martyrs, some lived as healers, some bravely walked with a dreadful disease.
They mingled among each class and each culture. No one of them could be identified,
but together they altered just enough moments to help the lost and the terrified.
To step outside of our egos and our bodies, to know for once that we truly are one—
then quickly, we would forget to remember, but that’s okay; their job was well done.
And earth went on for another millennium. Now it’s time for my song to end
this magical story of hope and wonder; invite you all to wake up and pretend to be
Fabulous creatures sent from the power, souls that have come with one purpose in mind:
To do one thing that will alter the outcome, and maybe together we’ll do it in time.
Can you call on your imagination, as if telling a myth to a child?
Put in the fantastical, wonderful, magical; add the romantic, the brave and the wild.
The souls are coming back!
Do you hear the connections with Isaiah? Somehow, someone needs to come forward, to set the planet right, to bring healing and justice to the world. God will call up that someone; God will call forth a servant of God who will open eyes that are blind, bring prisoners out of their dungeons and bring a light to the nations and justice to the people. Matthew and his interpreters have often claimed that Isaiah was predicting the birth and life of Jesus, that Jesus was the fulfillment of Hebrew Scriptures and the longed for Messiah. We’ve probably all thrilled to the majesty of the music of Handel’s Messiah, which proclaims that Jesus was and is the suffering servant of Isaiah 42.
There are several problems with this line of reasoning. One is that it misinterprets the point of prophetic writings. How often have you heard the word prophecy used to describe magically prescient predictions of an unknowable—except to the powerful prophet—future? Another is that it discredits all those who lived between the times of Isaiah and Jesus. How could Isaiah be scripture, the word of God, for them, when they did not and could not know the story of Jesus? Finally, and perhaps most important, such reasoning demeans Judaism. To argue that Isaiah was writing solely about the coming of Jesus is to assert that the Jewish faith is incomplete and obtuse, unable to recognize that the Messiah, the awaited one, God’s beloved servant, has already come, once and for all.
Our lectionary, following common Christian tradition, has paired these texts, Isaiah 42 and the baptism of Jesus, commonly understood as the beginning of his ministry and the time when God claimed Him as the fulfillment of generations of longing. Can we, in turn, deal with these passages together in a way that is both honest and respectful?
I think the first step is to start with Isaiah, in his own time. What was he living through; what was he writing about? Do you remember that the prophet Jeremiah wrote his messages as he foresaw and awaited the defeat of Judah at the hands of Babylon? The nation of Judah was defeated and many of its people were carried off to exile, to live as captives in Babylon, forbidden to go home. But history moved on. Many scholars think that the latter half of the book of Isaiah was written to the people in exile, written by someone who saw the hand of God in the shape of political fortune. By this time, Cyrus, King of Persia, was waging war against Babylon. Babylon had built its empire on the backs of conquered peoples, carried off from their homelands to be workers and captives in the Babylonian empire. Cyrus realized that he could undermine Babylon form within by cultivating the support of the captive peoples in Babylon, promising that he would allow them to return to their homelands and practice their own religious faiths. Cyrus, some scholars argue, became the unwitting servant of God, the one who would let the prisoners out of the dungeon, who would set the captives free.
Other scholars argue that the servant image of Isaiah is a reference to the faithfulness of Abraham and Sarah and Moses, to all within the people of god who kept the covenant, who established righteousness by honoring God’s commandments. In their view, the one who saves, the suffering servant, is not an individual but is instead the people, the People of God. The servant in whom God delights is the whole people of God, the ones who do not quench the lowly but faithfully and steadily call forth justice.
We are the inheritors of long traditions of interpretation, and that’s a good thing. This is how I would like to tie our stories together. Jesus, entering his ministry, was inspired and galvanized by the words and actions of John. He began to follow John, and went to him to receive John’s baptism, a ritual of repentance, of washing clean. John, recognizing God at work in Jesus and seeing baptism as an act of taking Jesus as a disciple, a hierarchical act, was hesitant. But Jesus understood baptism differently, and was confirmed in this different understanding when he saw the heavens open and heard God proclaim that he was God’s Child, Beloved and pleasing to God.
This was a life-changing event of the biggest sort. Think about it, being called a beloved child of God, by God. The gospels tell us that he went off into the wilderness to think through what that could mean, to figure out what he was called to do and be. He came back ready to be the Christ, the one who put God’s will at the center of his being, a true Child of God.
Baptism—a simple act makes a profound statement: we are children of God, or, as Holly Near put it, “fabulous creatures sent form the power, souls that have come with one purpose in mind, to do one thing that will alter the outcome, and maybe together we’ll do it in time.” Through our baptism, we renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness, reject the evil powers of this world, and accept the freedom and power God gives us to resist evil, injustice and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves. Those are the very words we use as we recognize and claim that God calls us to set the world aright, to welcome and create the Realm of God here, in North Portland.
We are one small church, doing God’s work in the world, doing it here, on this small peninsula that is North Portland. We’re a few people, but we are enough so that together, we might “alter the outcome,” in ways that we might not ever fully recognize. What does it mean to the boys who skate board on our front step that we treat them with respect and openness? Will we ever know whether we have planted seeds of self-respect with our conversations? What does it mean to a man or woman struggling to overcome the manifestation of evil that is addiction that we provide and protect space for Alcoholics Anonymous to meet three times each week?
Alone, we can wonder whether this neighborhood will hold together in the face of rising costs, poverty, and looming recession. Together, we can articulate a vision of communal wholeness, provide space for meetings and conversations, feed the hungry, and encourage those who are struggling on the edges of addictions and despair. Alone, we can feel great sorrow as people we love struggle with grief and pain and chronic illness. Together, we can invite them—and ourselves—to meet and serve and draw support from one another and from the constant presence of God.
Alone—but we are not alone. That’s the point. Through our baptism, through our belonging here, we have joined the people of God. We are God’s Beloved, now, inheritors of Isaiah’s promise, the souls of Holly Near’s imagining, the Christ, alive in the world.
Sometimes, when I pick up a newspaper and find myself near despair, I remember the words of poet Adrienne Rich, found on the front of today’s bulletin:
My heart is moved by all I cannot save. So much has been destroyed. I have to cast my lot with those who age after age, perversely, with no extraordinary power, reconstitute the world.
It’s a huge task, but we are not alone. And with God, I think we are up to it. Do you? I hope so.
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