Let the people lament (Isaiah 64:1-9)

The prophet cries out to the Lord, “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down”. It is the beginning of a powerful evocation of God’s mighty acts in the life of ancient Israel. The prophet calls upon the people’s seminal stories, narratives passed down from generation to generation. Stories of creation as God, and not any other god, spoke into existence all known things, from whose Spirit we draw our very breath. Stories of faithfulness as an old man builds an ark even when there’s not a drop of rain in sight, or an old woman giving birth even when she laughed at the thought nine months previous. Stories of deliverance from bondage in Egypt through plagues upon the defiant Egyptians and the incredible parting of the Red Sea. Stories of God shaking the heavens and the earth as only the divine can do.

The children learn these stories upstairs in their Sunday school classes. Whether with soft wooden figurines and imagination with Rhonda or little workbooks and earnest questions with Alyssa, these are the stories that we tell our children. We let them ponder the idea that God could part the waters, shake the mountains, yet take delight in each and every part of creation, including that little child who is learning these stories. We tell these stories to children not because they are “childish” stories, dispensable when one outgrows them. We tell them these stories so that they might begin to know the ways of God, the one who created them, the one who calls them to live life faithfully, attentive to good and right ways of living and relating to God and neighbor. We hope that they learn Isaiah’s wisdom:

From ages past, no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who works for those who wait for him. You meet those who gladly do right, those who remember you in your ways.

We hope that we learn this early on, for children soon learn that the world is chaotic and broken. That is why we continue with religious education. Learning the biblical narratives and wrestling with the sacred texts is a lifelong pursuit, and I would hope, passion. Moreover, quite frankly, we approach the Bible as adults with sets of questions formed from our life experience, as we grow more aware of life’s complexities and ponder hard questions. In this text from Isaiah, one of the most difficult questions is posed. The people of God have been through great difficulty and face continuing adversity. Where is God in all this?

Calling upon God, the mighty force of Creation, the shaper of history despite the odds, Isaiah gives voice to the people’s plight and pondering. The people know that they sinned against God, causing the downfall of the nation, the Babylonian captivity, and beloved Jerusalem reduced to ruins by violent siege and then decades of neglect. As they stand in the midst of a city slowly (very slowly) coming back to life, as they take stock of the many hardships that have befallen them, they wonder if God withdrew from their situation, became angry enough that God disappeared from the scene altogether. Where was God when everything came tumbling down: people, political and religious might, and finally even Jerusalem?

Isaiah calls upon Israel to name their failings, to give a truthful accounting of their inattention to God. The middle part of this text serves as a confession as well as a lament. The prophet calls the people to realize their sins (as if “dirty clothes”) and in a poetic turn, renounce their myths of self-reliance as if a leaf, fallen, withering away, and gone with the mere gust of wind.

It is an odd text to hear at the beginning of what our culture dubs “the beginning of the holidays” and the countdown is underway, marking the shopping days remaining until Christmas. This talk of human sin, the chaotic world, and God’s presence and wondering about God’s absence, does not seem to square with the high euphoria (supposedly) of post-Thanksgiving retail sales and the joy (perhaps) of family gatherings over the civic holiday weekend. Why does Isaiah 64 make it into the lectionary at this time of year? Should we not be singing carols and getting ready to deck the halls?

The Christian observance of Christmas (note that there is a distinct difference between the secular, economic-driven Hallmark Cards version) is about recalling the hopes of a messiah, watching expectantly (and therefore with less haste and impatience) for the Advent of our Savior. The Church is a place where we encourage one another to do as the old familiar carol suggests: “Let every heart prepare him room”. Isaiah 64 summons us to reflect about life in the chaotic world, prone to random and systemic violence, prone to our sin and its implications, prone to humans who wander away, thinking that their way will get them there. Advent should nudge (perhaps even push a little) on our worries and anxieties about making the holidays “perfect” or resigning ourselves to the thought that our pain or grief has no place in the midst of the twinkling lights.

The stark imagery of a sinful people standing in the midst of a broken city offsets by the prophet’s appeal to God. Isaiah recalls God’s mighty works, the times of God’s great intervening in the middle of impossible situations, confesses the shortcomings of the people, then tosses in a powerful word: “yet”. Isaiah claims, “Yet, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand”. The prophet boldly steps forward with a word contrary to the realities of a broken city and a people who have quite the recalcitrant record. In his commentary on Isaiah, Walter Brueggemann claims that this word of “yet” “makes hope possible when logic and circumstance dictate a harsh ending”. The great promise of Scripture is revealed in this one little word “yet”. Despite all of the brokenness of our world, the brokenness of our humanity, we can turn to God again.

This is remarkably good news. That God is with us, even when we feel like we have angered God or that God is absent. We return to those lessons of childhood (if we were in the church at that point) and add a few more words with adult perspective added in. God can shake heavens and earth yet be at work, shaping the very clay of our lives. This is a great word of consolation.

The people of ruined Jerusalem would go onwards and rebuild, even though it took years of great toil, even though it was not remotely an easy task, reconstructing city streets as well as a people’s soul.  I take great courage from this part of the Bible. Isaiah’s latter chapters (especially the last ten) are splendid passages to read and reflect upon. In the midst of great crisis also comes great hope. In the confession drawn from one’s frank self-examination arises the assurance of pardon and the prospect of renewal. In the middle of a chaotic world, there can be the promise of deliverance by the Lord, maker of heaven and earth, who never turns away, even when angry or disappointed by our failings.

Scholars look at Isaiah 63 and 64 as writings about the hopes of the people as well as the people’s lamenting of the broken relationship with God and the broken nature of this world. Lament is a powerful form of earnest prayer. One looks critically at the world and our own ways of living, taking into full account our failings and the chaotic way that this world works. Offering a lament to God means that we can confess our part in messing things up, whether it be within our relationships or within our nation or within the community of faith. Space is made in the midst of all the other prayers we offer to God so that we can get frank with God about the disappointments, the perplexing questions that shake our faith, and the sin that weighs upon us. And then we can claim with unfailing certainty that prophetic word of “yet”, that God will still be with us and never withdrawn. We may not comprehend everything, but we can take to heart that God is with us always.

In this season of Advent, we gather each week to light candles, sing songs, offer prayers, and let the biblical texts speak their words, especially when they go contrary to what one might suspect ought to be heard at a church service near to Christmas. It is a time to be moving slowly toward Bethlehem, taking care that we make the journey not with haste but intention. We are fellow pilgrims, a people moving with holy intention even in the midst of a world wracked with pain, not to be “aloof” to all of it, but to be in the midst of it, giving witness to the One who shapes the clay of our lives, so that we might all have life abundant.

AMEN.