Why Don't You Send Somebody?
Sermon
Why Don't You Send Somebody?
Sermons For Advent, Christmas, Epiphany
In the entrance of the magnificent modern cathedral of St.
Michael in Coventry, England, a most enigmatic statement is
emblazoned upon the floor in large gleaming brass letters that
demand to be read. There is no escaping it, for one has to walk
over it to enter the nave. It says, "TO THE GLORY OF GOD THIS
CHURCH BURNT, NOVEMBER 14, 1941."
The incredible irony of that statement is what grabs the
attention. "To the glory of God?" How can that be? That's the
kind of statement one inscribes under a stained glass window or
some other thing of beauty. How can it be said about the ruin of
a beautiful cathedral? The ruins of tragedy are there for anyone
to see. There beside the new ultra-modern cathedral is the burnt-
out shell of the once glorious medieval gothic church burned to
the ground by fire bombs during the wartime air raid. That was
certainly no "act of God," nor was the destruction of that great
church viewed at that time as in the most remote sense "to the
glory of God." It was indeed a tragedy mourned not only by that
city and the English people, but by people around the world. The
work and skill and devotion and artistry that had taken
generations to produce that glorious edifice took only one night
to destroy. Its spectral ruins remain, left as an awesome mute
reminder of what happens when we wander so far from God. The
cathedral
was only part of the destruction of course. Factories and homes
and lives were lost in that horrendous night of fire-bombing.
How then could anyone say, "To the glory of God this church
burnt?" One of the vergers of the new cathedral provided an
answer. He said that had it not been for the tragic destruction
and what followed it, "we would have just one more old cathedral,
beautiful to be sure, but probably not well used at all except to
be visited by tourists." But because of the notoriety of what
happened there, Coventry Cathedral has become an ecumenical
center for peace and mutual understanding of people. Thousands of
Christians representing many denominations and people of other
faiths speaking a variety of languages come to Coventry to pray
and work for world peace, to the end that such wanton destruction
of life and beauty will cease and people will learn at last to
live together peacefully and unafraid. No, it was not the
destruction, but what was called forth out of the ashes and
rubble that was to glorify God. It was the work of that great
church that was transformed and refined, beginning with that
terrible fiery night.
The reading from the 64th chapter of Isaiah is from the
portion that Bible scholars call Trito-Isaiah. It is of unknown
authorship, probably even the product of several minds, but
certainly from sometime around 520 B.C.E., not yet 70 years after
another time of war's destruction. Some were still alive who
remembered the devastating fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonian
armies and the terrible destruction that followed. The burned
ruin of the once glorious temple built by Solomon was still not
restored and stood as a gaunt reminder of defeat and destruction
and of people taken off into bondage in a foreign land.
The ruined temple was symbolic of a deeper devastation. Three
generations after that defeat those who had returned from
Babylonia discovered they escaped captivity in a foreign land
only to find themselves now captive to their own devastated land.
It was a time of sadness, and of dejected and empty spirits.
There was no inspiration among the people. None discerned a sign
from God, and the situation seemed hopeless.
Into this hapless context came a prophetic voice speaking and
writing in the name of the prophet Isaiah who two centuries
before had challenged his people and called and even goaded them
to courage and faith and godliness. This "Third Isaiah" appeals
to Yahweh to repeat the wonders of the time of the exodus.
Recalling how the people were led out from that earlier time of
bondage in Egypt, when Yahweh made himself known in the quaking
and smoking mountain, the prophets pray, "O that you would rend
the heavens and come down ..." Do it all again, Lord! Do
something new with us. Make something of this mess, this rubble,
this empty people!
The burned stones of Solomon's temple, some of which still
stand and are today called the "Wailing Wall," and Coventry's now
useless flying buttresses and empty window traceries that once
held jewel-like glass are but symbols of the disasters that
pervade and devastate the human spirit, and from which one must
seek to rise again. Let's face it, living among the ruins can be
pretty grim!
A friend who, as a child, lived in Berlin in 1945 still
remembers that she literally breathed the destruction in the dust
of shattered concrete and stone that was everywhere. It was on
every surface, in clothing, in the air one breathed and the food
and water that one consumed. As ubiquitous as the dust was, the
depressing reality of the devastation that was impossible to
escape. People walked around as in a nightmare, hollow-eyed and
demoralized in the midst of that once beautiful city.
You see, the victims are always individuals, not groups.
Tragedy is always specific in its effect upon people. One does
not have to have been the victim of war or violence, or an
outside force or enemy, to understand the desolation of the human
spirit. The social ills we can all name do not just affect
nameless and faceless groups. They are not statistical tables,
but people who have the spirit crushed out of them by poverty,
and unemployment, and racism. Whole sections of our society
suffer together from these scourges, but it is individual people
who are hurt by them.
There are also personal tragedies that befall individuals in
the course of life that often are not shared with anyone else,
when beautiful dreams come crashing down around one's ears and
all that is left are the stark reminders living amidst the ruins
of happier times, but which are now haunted with tragedy, as when
every breath is heavy with the memory of loss of a husband or
wife, or a child, or beloved parent. For others that personal
tragedy may be the pain of divorce, or life wracked by addiction
or violence. Or one may suddenly find the future and financial
security threatened by failing health, or possessions and home
swept away by natural disaster. No act of God, these tragedies,
but it is difficult to shake off captivity to them, or see any
way out. And inwardly the question is asked, "How will I be able
to go on?" Some, reaching out from faith, and others crying out
in desperation, turn to God for help.
Where is God when we sit among the ruins? Frequently we hear
the expression of anger and bitterness, "O God, why did you let
this happen to me?" God often gets the blame for the wreckage
that happens in life. When tragedy is no one's fault there seems
no way to explain it except to blame God. But God is not the
culprit. A more cogent conclusion is that God is the One who
helps a person do something creative with what is left. It is God
who calls forth something new from the ash heap. It is God who
helps us transform the rubble of destruction.
The Isaiah scripture was addressed to people who were immersed
in the deep dark night of the human soul. They had all but given
up on any help from the Lord. In fact no one was even calling
upon the name of the Lord or reaching out to take hold of the
hand that could lead them through their wilderness. We can
understand some of that feeling, for sometimes in the depths of
our own struggles we may have felt alone, and even that God is
remote from us. That is the very feeling of those who sat amidst
Jerusalem's ruins. But the prophetic word of hope to them
suggests another prayer, "O that you would rend the heavens and
come down!" Lord, do it all again!
Mark's gospel for the first Sunday in Advent records Jesus
telling his followers to be alert and watchful for the coming of
the Son of Man. "It will be like a man who goes away from home on
a trip and leaves his servants in charge, each with his own work
to do; and he tells the doorkeeper to keep watch." (Mark 13:32ff)
The watchfulness he describes is not mere idleness, but the work
of faithfulness and discipline. God comes to those who watch
expectantly; who do not give up or fall idle, or simply go to
sleep. Those who anticipate the coming of the Lord do something
to prepare. If Christ is to come once more to us we need to be
watching and waiting. This season of Advent reminds us it is time
to prepare. As we approach Christmas and read once again the
familiar narratives of the nativity we may notice that the
scriptures lead us to understand that most people in that time
seemed unaware of the coming of Jesus. That quiet event was
revealed only to those who watched and waited. This Advent season
reminds us that God does indeed come to those who wait and watch
and prepare.
We are the self-proclaimed servants of God. We are the ones
whose work of preparation is to proclaim that God has indeed
riven the heavens and come down among humankind in a very special
way in Jesus.
God does not visit calamity upon us. Rather, God has already
rent the skies and come down, and in Christ opened our eyes to
what God is already doing in the world. Our transformation begins
when we realize that whatever "testing by fire" we have been
through we are not finished. We are just refined. God has still
greater purposes for each of us than we yet realize.
All about us in the communities where we live are people
sitting dejected among the ruins of some tragedy. For them life
is heavy and painful and enfolded by gloom, and it seems as
though there is no light of God breaking in upon that darkness.
But for them we have a message. We must tell them, "Don't give
up!" Dejected spirits are immobilizing and defeating. To those
who hope for a word of encouragement
or direction from God we need give them the unmistakable message
of compassionate love we have seen in Jesus. If they have seen no
light upon their situation then we must embody that light in ways
and deeds that bring some very personal light into another's
personal darkness. This is our work; the work of the church. This
is our faithful and watchful preparation for the advent of
Christ, to bring the love of God into people's lives now.
There is a wonderful story from rabbinic lore of a man who
looked around at the world and was deeply distressed by what he
saw. On every hand there was trouble and turmoil and
exploitation. He saw people suffering in poverty and ignorance.
There was pain and grief and anguish in their lives. So he cried
out in prayer to God, "Lord, look at this world of yours. Look at
what is going on. The world is in such a mess. There is so much
misery and pain. Why don't you send somebody to help?" And to his
surprise God answered and said, "I did. I sent you."
Michael in Coventry, England, a most enigmatic statement is
emblazoned upon the floor in large gleaming brass letters that
demand to be read. There is no escaping it, for one has to walk
over it to enter the nave. It says, "TO THE GLORY OF GOD THIS
CHURCH BURNT, NOVEMBER 14, 1941."
The incredible irony of that statement is what grabs the
attention. "To the glory of God?" How can that be? That's the
kind of statement one inscribes under a stained glass window or
some other thing of beauty. How can it be said about the ruin of
a beautiful cathedral? The ruins of tragedy are there for anyone
to see. There beside the new ultra-modern cathedral is the burnt-
out shell of the once glorious medieval gothic church burned to
the ground by fire bombs during the wartime air raid. That was
certainly no "act of God," nor was the destruction of that great
church viewed at that time as in the most remote sense "to the
glory of God." It was indeed a tragedy mourned not only by that
city and the English people, but by people around the world. The
work and skill and devotion and artistry that had taken
generations to produce that glorious edifice took only one night
to destroy. Its spectral ruins remain, left as an awesome mute
reminder of what happens when we wander so far from God. The
cathedral
was only part of the destruction of course. Factories and homes
and lives were lost in that horrendous night of fire-bombing.
How then could anyone say, "To the glory of God this church
burnt?" One of the vergers of the new cathedral provided an
answer. He said that had it not been for the tragic destruction
and what followed it, "we would have just one more old cathedral,
beautiful to be sure, but probably not well used at all except to
be visited by tourists." But because of the notoriety of what
happened there, Coventry Cathedral has become an ecumenical
center for peace and mutual understanding of people. Thousands of
Christians representing many denominations and people of other
faiths speaking a variety of languages come to Coventry to pray
and work for world peace, to the end that such wanton destruction
of life and beauty will cease and people will learn at last to
live together peacefully and unafraid. No, it was not the
destruction, but what was called forth out of the ashes and
rubble that was to glorify God. It was the work of that great
church that was transformed and refined, beginning with that
terrible fiery night.
The reading from the 64th chapter of Isaiah is from the
portion that Bible scholars call Trito-Isaiah. It is of unknown
authorship, probably even the product of several minds, but
certainly from sometime around 520 B.C.E., not yet 70 years after
another time of war's destruction. Some were still alive who
remembered the devastating fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonian
armies and the terrible destruction that followed. The burned
ruin of the once glorious temple built by Solomon was still not
restored and stood as a gaunt reminder of defeat and destruction
and of people taken off into bondage in a foreign land.
The ruined temple was symbolic of a deeper devastation. Three
generations after that defeat those who had returned from
Babylonia discovered they escaped captivity in a foreign land
only to find themselves now captive to their own devastated land.
It was a time of sadness, and of dejected and empty spirits.
There was no inspiration among the people. None discerned a sign
from God, and the situation seemed hopeless.
Into this hapless context came a prophetic voice speaking and
writing in the name of the prophet Isaiah who two centuries
before had challenged his people and called and even goaded them
to courage and faith and godliness. This "Third Isaiah" appeals
to Yahweh to repeat the wonders of the time of the exodus.
Recalling how the people were led out from that earlier time of
bondage in Egypt, when Yahweh made himself known in the quaking
and smoking mountain, the prophets pray, "O that you would rend
the heavens and come down ..." Do it all again, Lord! Do
something new with us. Make something of this mess, this rubble,
this empty people!
The burned stones of Solomon's temple, some of which still
stand and are today called the "Wailing Wall," and Coventry's now
useless flying buttresses and empty window traceries that once
held jewel-like glass are but symbols of the disasters that
pervade and devastate the human spirit, and from which one must
seek to rise again. Let's face it, living among the ruins can be
pretty grim!
A friend who, as a child, lived in Berlin in 1945 still
remembers that she literally breathed the destruction in the dust
of shattered concrete and stone that was everywhere. It was on
every surface, in clothing, in the air one breathed and the food
and water that one consumed. As ubiquitous as the dust was, the
depressing reality of the devastation that was impossible to
escape. People walked around as in a nightmare, hollow-eyed and
demoralized in the midst of that once beautiful city.
You see, the victims are always individuals, not groups.
Tragedy is always specific in its effect upon people. One does
not have to have been the victim of war or violence, or an
outside force or enemy, to understand the desolation of the human
spirit. The social ills we can all name do not just affect
nameless and faceless groups. They are not statistical tables,
but people who have the spirit crushed out of them by poverty,
and unemployment, and racism. Whole sections of our society
suffer together from these scourges, but it is individual people
who are hurt by them.
There are also personal tragedies that befall individuals in
the course of life that often are not shared with anyone else,
when beautiful dreams come crashing down around one's ears and
all that is left are the stark reminders living amidst the ruins
of happier times, but which are now haunted with tragedy, as when
every breath is heavy with the memory of loss of a husband or
wife, or a child, or beloved parent. For others that personal
tragedy may be the pain of divorce, or life wracked by addiction
or violence. Or one may suddenly find the future and financial
security threatened by failing health, or possessions and home
swept away by natural disaster. No act of God, these tragedies,
but it is difficult to shake off captivity to them, or see any
way out. And inwardly the question is asked, "How will I be able
to go on?" Some, reaching out from faith, and others crying out
in desperation, turn to God for help.
Where is God when we sit among the ruins? Frequently we hear
the expression of anger and bitterness, "O God, why did you let
this happen to me?" God often gets the blame for the wreckage
that happens in life. When tragedy is no one's fault there seems
no way to explain it except to blame God. But God is not the
culprit. A more cogent conclusion is that God is the One who
helps a person do something creative with what is left. It is God
who calls forth something new from the ash heap. It is God who
helps us transform the rubble of destruction.
The Isaiah scripture was addressed to people who were immersed
in the deep dark night of the human soul. They had all but given
up on any help from the Lord. In fact no one was even calling
upon the name of the Lord or reaching out to take hold of the
hand that could lead them through their wilderness. We can
understand some of that feeling, for sometimes in the depths of
our own struggles we may have felt alone, and even that God is
remote from us. That is the very feeling of those who sat amidst
Jerusalem's ruins. But the prophetic word of hope to them
suggests another prayer, "O that you would rend the heavens and
come down!" Lord, do it all again!
Mark's gospel for the first Sunday in Advent records Jesus
telling his followers to be alert and watchful for the coming of
the Son of Man. "It will be like a man who goes away from home on
a trip and leaves his servants in charge, each with his own work
to do; and he tells the doorkeeper to keep watch." (Mark 13:32ff)
The watchfulness he describes is not mere idleness, but the work
of faithfulness and discipline. God comes to those who watch
expectantly; who do not give up or fall idle, or simply go to
sleep. Those who anticipate the coming of the Lord do something
to prepare. If Christ is to come once more to us we need to be
watching and waiting. This season of Advent reminds us it is time
to prepare. As we approach Christmas and read once again the
familiar narratives of the nativity we may notice that the
scriptures lead us to understand that most people in that time
seemed unaware of the coming of Jesus. That quiet event was
revealed only to those who watched and waited. This Advent season
reminds us that God does indeed come to those who wait and watch
and prepare.
We are the self-proclaimed servants of God. We are the ones
whose work of preparation is to proclaim that God has indeed
riven the heavens and come down among humankind in a very special
way in Jesus.
God does not visit calamity upon us. Rather, God has already
rent the skies and come down, and in Christ opened our eyes to
what God is already doing in the world. Our transformation begins
when we realize that whatever "testing by fire" we have been
through we are not finished. We are just refined. God has still
greater purposes for each of us than we yet realize.
All about us in the communities where we live are people
sitting dejected among the ruins of some tragedy. For them life
is heavy and painful and enfolded by gloom, and it seems as
though there is no light of God breaking in upon that darkness.
But for them we have a message. We must tell them, "Don't give
up!" Dejected spirits are immobilizing and defeating. To those
who hope for a word of encouragement
or direction from God we need give them the unmistakable message
of compassionate love we have seen in Jesus. If they have seen no
light upon their situation then we must embody that light in ways
and deeds that bring some very personal light into another's
personal darkness. This is our work; the work of the church. This
is our faithful and watchful preparation for the advent of
Christ, to bring the love of God into people's lives now.
There is a wonderful story from rabbinic lore of a man who
looked around at the world and was deeply distressed by what he
saw. On every hand there was trouble and turmoil and
exploitation. He saw people suffering in poverty and ignorance.
There was pain and grief and anguish in their lives. So he cried
out in prayer to God, "Lord, look at this world of yours. Look at
what is going on. The world is in such a mess. There is so much
misery and pain. Why don't you send somebody to help?" And to his
surprise God answered and said, "I did. I sent you."
