Epiphany 3 Year C |
St James’, Peace River |
|
When we think about how the Bible handles Beginnings, I suspect what first comes to mind is a blank slate. “In the beginning”, when God created heaven and earth, there was nothing. God didn't have to build to code; he didn't have employees already in the system who had to be reassigned to new tasks; he didn't have to consider the environmental impact of the project! It was a true beginning. Even in the New Testament, what is striking about the beginning of Jesus' ministry is how brand new it is. It is, in fact, NEWS. It's not proclaimed against a background of emptiness and chaos, but it carves out a brand new space. In Luke's gospel, Jesus announces the coming of the “year of the Lord”, the time of jubilee when everything would be set right, when everything would go back to the way it was supposed to be. In a sense people have been waiting for that – it doesn't come in a vacuum, it's what God's people had been hoping for for a long time. But the agency of this new thing comes from outside – it's God's announcement – and the whole point of it is that whatever has happened up to this point is water under the bridge. Today is a fresh start. Of course, the reality is that we rarely experience beginnings as a fresh start or a blank slate. Early in our lives, perhaps more so. Going off to school for the first time – or even college for that matter – is like contemplating a whole new world where everything is going to be different. But the more ties we accumulate, to people places and things, the harder it is ever to begin again. Even within ourselves, our history follows us around. We are who our past has made us, and we carry that baggage along. That's what we see in the scene from the book of Nehemiah that forms today's first reading. It's a more familiar picture, a more human kind of beginning. That's not to say it isn't a significant turning point in the story of the Old Testament. The Jewish people, or some of them at any rate, have made their way back from exile in Babylon, and are resettling Jerusalem and the surrounding towns. It's hard to imagine their circumstances. The place must have been in rack and ruin, either left to deteriorate or deliberately wrecked by invaders and absentee landlords. Remember these are the courageous few – it would have taken an adventurous spirit even to set out on the journey. So we already know something about their faith. But everything we read about the return suggests that their courage failed them at some point as they were faced with the magnitude of beginning again. Whether that happened before or after today's story isn't completely clear. We see them trying to put their challenge into the framework of faith. Ezra the scribe brings everyone together – there's courage in numbers sometimes – and he reads them the book of the law. It's an act of remembering, the same kind of action we do when we gather to retell God's new covenant made with us at Jesus' last supper. They remember what God has done and said. That's supposed to be comforting, but it turns out to be the opposite in this case. Even once the words of the book are explained – perhaps especially when they're explained – their response is weeping. They are coming face to face with the reality of all that baggage they're carrying. It's one thing to come back to a broken land and determine to make a new start. It's a whole other thing to try starting over with God. God's aims, God's expectations, are so far beyond ours that we would be daunted by them at the best of times,... and this is not the best of times. It's like the armchair athlete who shows up at the gym in January hoping to work off their Christmas weight gain, only to be told that the real goal is getting to the Olympics in three weeks! So they weep. Hearing the book of the law read and explained only reminds them of their failures. The past failures, which led to the consequences they are now living with – and the present failures, their hopelessness and inadequacy in the face of the overwhelming task, of creating God's new society. This is not going to be a simple or easy beginning. That's when Nehemiah says something striking. He and the rest of the leadership go around telling people to rejoice rather than mourn, because “the joy of the Lord is your strength.” This is more than encouraging the troops to buck up on the eve of battle. Nehemiah is sharing a lesson hard-won during the time of exile, that the success of God's purpose actually doesn't depend on us. The people know they're not up to the job, but you can almost hear Nehemiah saying, “Do you think God doesn't know that?” God is joyfully going about his purpose no matter what, and the only question is whether we want to be included in what God is doing. If we do, then there is nothing to do but share the joy of what God is up to. Re-reading God's plan at this time of beginning again in a ruined city – yes, it reminds everyone of how much has gone wrong. But it also reminds them that, despite everything, God is still there, God is still moving, and in the light of all that has gone before they now know that nothing can hold God back. I think there's a message in there for those of us who are here listening to God's word in 2010. You can draw a lot of parallels between where we are and where Nehemiah was. A couple of generations ago we lived in a society that thought of itself as Christian. We're not there any more. In between we've gone through what appeared to be a time of loss for the church – loss of influence, loss of numbers, maybe even loss of confidence. Now we're starting to focus on rebuilding in a very different world. It's a daunting challenge, and you can find lots of reasons to think that it's not going to be possible, that we're just not going to have an impact in the world we live in today. And on the other side, only one reason to think that it IS possible – the same one Nehemiah pointed to. If what we're about is God's plan, then nothing can stop us. That's also a valuable message for each of us individually when we get to those points in our lives that seem like dead ends. You can't start again as though your life to this point never happened. And digging yourself out of the hole you've dug yourself into usually requires the kind of energy and exuberance which is exactly what you're lacking when you're in the hole. Self-confidence, too, is in pretty short supply after we've made a false start. But it's at that point you could say that God has us exactly where he wants us. If we're going to start again, it needs to be in God's strength rather than our own. Our confidence needs to be in the unstoppable purposes of God rather than in our own ambitions for self-fulfilment. And the unstoppable purposes of God come clear only to people with baggage. It was the people who mourned when they heard God's law who watched and waited, fearlessly and patiently, for the Messiah to come. It was the poor, the captives, the blind, the oppressed, to whom Jesus proclaimed the year of the Lord. It's the disciples who fled and abandoned Jesus, to whom the risen Lord returned. From that point of view we're as qualified as anyone to be part of God's fresh purpose in our day and age! But I want to be clear about this. God's invitation to us is not, “You're no good, but I'll take you on anyway.” It's not even, “You've got problems, and I've got answers” - though that is part of it. God's invitation to us is to find our strength in his joy. To be the bearers of good news, not because we're better than anyone else, not because we're worse either, but because God is making a fresh start and we're tasting it. Being part of God's plan, part of God's sheer joy and delight at leading the world to where it needs to be – that's enough to get each of us out of those holes we've dug, enough to shape us into a community of disciples that looks something like God's purpose for us, and enough to get folks around us wondering what all the fuss is about. That's good news. * |
|