Dec. 16, 2007 - Peace and Joy in the Desert

Crescent Hill Baptist Church
Louisville, Kentucky
Advent 3
December 16, 2007
W. Gregory Pope

PEACE AND JOY IN THE DESERT
Isaiah 35:1-10; Luke 1:47-55; James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11

I have to tell you, I’ve never cared too much for the phrase, “Everything will be all right.” It has sounded too pollyannaish in the face of cancer and sudden death and divorce and war. I want to believe it to be true, but sometimes it’s just so hard to do.

VISION: Isaiah and Jesus

Isaiah, it seems, is holding up a sign in the middle of Israel’s despair, and the sign reads: “Everything will be all right.” One day, Isaiah says, God is coming, and is among us even now, to put things right and redress all wrongs, and all creation will rejoice and sing.

He says the wilderness will rejoice and so will God’s people. Springs of water will burst forth in the barren wilderness and streams will flow in the dry desert - a reminder to Israel of God’s care for them in the wilderness on their journey from Egypt to the Promised Land. Isaiah talks about Israel being “redeemed” and “ransomed,” again recalling their being bought back from slavery, freed from Egyptian bondage. Now he is speaking of their return from Babylonian exile traveling the Holy Way, a pilgrim highway where no one dangerous or threatening will travel. [1]

And Isaiah says as we make this pilgrimage of peace we will sing with joy all the way home. A home where one day all sorrow will scurry into the night. Everlasting joy will be upon us. Because the eyes of the blind will be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped. The lame will leap like deer and the voiceless will break into song.

Nobody sings “everything will be all right” like Isaiah.

And Mary singing her Magnificat makes it a fine duet, anticipating the reversal of fate for the poor and lowly in society that will one day come as the kingdom breaks into our world.

We want to believe such a vision of peace is true. But the reality of the world’s suffering and warring madness has a way of suffocating our joy and blinding our vision to the kingdom of God breaking in around us.

It happened to John the Baptist. John found himself in jail under the threat of death, wondering if all this kingdom of God stuff is true. He wants to know if Jesus really is the One ushering in a new day. Jesus sends word back through John’s disciples, pointing to signs along the pilgrim highway that the kingdom of God is breaking in among them: the deaf can hear, the blind can see, the leper is cleansed, and the poor have received good news.

The kingdom work of peacemaking can be daunting. So it is necessary for those of us who engage in such work to have the vision to see and believe what Jesus and Mary and Isaiah are trying to help us see and believe.

It will take more than wishing and praying to make peace a reality in our world. But it certainly will not come unless we imagine and envision it.

Henri Nouwen offers for our imagination this vision of a community of peace. He writes:

"When I think of this new community in our time I think about people from all over the world reaching out to each other in total vulnerability. . . . I see them moving over this world, visiting each other, binding each other’s wounds, confessing their brokenness to each other, and forgiving each other with a simple word, an embrace, a touch, or even a smile. I see them walking alone or together in the most simple clothes caring for the sick, feeding the hungry, comforting the lonely, and waiting quietly with the dying. I see them in apartment buildings, farm houses, schools and universities, hospitals, and office buildings as quiet witnesses of God’s presence. Wherever they are they bring peace . . . [and] they form a new community of hope . . . They need each other to remain faithful to their vocations as peacemakers. Most of all they need each other to form together the living body of Christ in the midst of this warring world." [2]

The work of peacemaking requires a community with a vision as large as that of Isaiah and Jesus, with a heart strong enough to trust that God has come to live among us, and courageous enough to believe that the kingdom of God is breaking into our world. Nouwen helps us see what it might look like. And history helps us see that it can happen.

Think about what is now that at one time was not. The defeat of Nazism and communism and Apartheid. The rise of Civil Rights and the treatments for diseases that once killed millions of children and wiped out large segments of the population. And we have learned before it was too late that Iran, like Iraq, has no nuclear program. The deaf are hearing and the blind are seeing, and the mute are singing while the lame are dancing for joy.

There is much still to be done: significant global action on global warming and our greedy destruction of the only earth we have; the creation of economic systems that are just and equitable for all - markets that are free and fair; and the transformation of global power driven by greed and violence to one built on justice and peace.

PATIENCE: James

Peacemaking requires a community with vision. It also requires the patience to see the vision break into reality.

James provides two examples of people who must live with patience: farmers and prophets.

The farmer as an image of peacemaker takes us back to the last couple of weeks to Isaiah’s visions of swords being turned into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks (Isaiah 2) and all of God’s creatures lying down in peace together (Isaiah 11). That will take awhile. And the patience of a farmer is required.

The farmer plants the seed and waits patiently for the rain and then the harvest. The essence of farming is to plow in hope. For those who must have immediate results, farming is the wrong profession. So is peacemaking. The pursuit of peace requires patience.

The prophet also has to be patient, waiting for fulfillment and often suffering for what they’ve said. The essence of farming is to plow in hope. The essence of the prophetic task is to speak in hope, even if the prophet does not live to see their promises fulfilled. Which is often the case. Prophets who denounce the violence and greed of this world and call for justice and peace do not make it long in this world.

Jesus said of such prophets, like John the Baptist, that they are more than prophets; they are kingdom messengers preparing the way for the rule and reign of the Messiah in the world. John called the King to justice and found himself in jail. And while in jail he grew impatient, waiting for the kingdom to break into reality. His impatience, however, was cut short by Herod’s guillotine.

In recent history one thinks of Martin Luther King. He knew that prophets of peace and justice did not last long in this world. And he knew that it most likely would be true of him. He said, echoing Moses, that he had been to the mountain and seen a vision of the promised land, a land where people would not be judged by the color of their skin but the content of their character. “I’ve seen the promised land,” he said, “though I may not get there with you. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.” The next day his life was snuffed out by an assassin’s bullet.

Peacework requires a strong-hearted community with vision and the courageous patience to wait and even suffer for a vision of justice and peace.
As we patiently wait we continue to till the kingdom ground like a farmer and tell God’s truth like a prophet.

Robert Fulghum offers a third unlikely image of patience: college students. In his latest book, What On Earth Have I Done? Fulghum tells the story of giving two college students a ride. Making conversation he asked them what was happening in their lives.

And they said, “We’re eating a chair.”

It seems their college philosophy teacher gave them an extra-credit assignment to do something unique and memorable, not dangerous but creative and instructive; write it up, explain what was learned, and how it might apply to their philosophy of life. So, they’re eating a chair.

They bought a plain wooden kitchen chair. And using a wood rasp, they’ve been shaving away at the chair, mixing the dust into their granola for breakfast, and sprinkling the dust on their salads at dinner. They consulted a physician to make sure the wood dust was not harmful. And they say it doesn’t taste bad - especially if you mix in a little cinnamon at breakfast and a little lemon pepper at dinner.

They are quite pleased with themselves. They’re sure they’ll astound the professor when they’re able to tell him, “We ate a chair.” “It will blow the dude away,” said one of the students.

They say they’ve learned a few things along the way. Like how amazing long-term goals can be achieved in incremental stages. Things like patience and perseverance. They’ve learned that some things cannot be had except on a little-at-a-time, keep-the-long-view-in-mind, stay-focused basis.

In reflection Fulghum says: “Love and friendship are like that. Marriage and parenthood, too. And peace and justice and social change.” And then he writes: “In the foolishness of my young college friends lies the seed of What-Might-Be, little by little.” [3]

Such is the way of peacemaking. Like a farmer planting the seed of What-Might-Be and watching it grow little by little.

JOY: Mary

Such patience calls for a strong heart of courage rooted in joy. Because as we struggle to see the vision and wait patiently for it to become reality, we must willingly give of ourselves in the work of peacemaking.

Mary said yes to God’s invitation. In the midst of great fear there was an even greater joy as she recognized her role in the history of salvation: “My soul magnifies the Lord,” she sings, “and my Spirit rejoices in God my Savior. The Lord has looked with favor upon me and the Mighty One has done great things for me.”

There is joy in the work of the kingdom. A joy Jesus promises. A joy only Jesus can give. Scripture describes the joy of the kingdom as a joy like that of a mother after childbirth (John 17:21); a joy that no one can take away from us (John 16:22); a joy that is not of this world but a participation in the divine joy (John 15:11).

Many peacemakers, overwhelmed by the great threats of our time, have lost their joy and have become prophets of doom. But joy is a sign that we work in the Spirit of Jesus. Peace and joy are like brother and sister; they belong together. In the Gospels, joy and peace are always found together. The angel who announces the birth of the Prince of Peace, says to the shepherds, “Behold, I bring you good news of great joy to be shared with all people.”

This joy does not necessarily mean happiness. We are often led to believe that joy and sorrow are opposites and that joy excludes pain, suffering, and anguish. But the joy of the Gospel is a deep joy hidden in the midst of struggle. It is the joy of knowing that evil and death have no final power over us, a joy anchored in the words of Jesus who said: “In this world you will have trouble, but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). [4]

One woman found such joy and peace in the midst of the suffering desert of her life.

Tom Schmidt tells the story. Here are his words:

"The state-run convalescent hospital is not a pleasant place. It is large, understaffed, and filled with helpless, lonely people who are waiting to die. On the brightest of days, it seems dark inside, and it smells of sickness and stale urine. I went there once or twice a week for four years, but I never wanted to go there, and I always left with a sense of relief. It’s not the kind of place one gets used to.

"On one particular day, I was walking in a hallway that I had not visited before, looking in vain for a few people who were alive enough to receive a flower and a few words of encouragement. This hallway seemed to contain some of the worst cases strapped onto carts or into wheelchairs and looking completely helpless.

"As I neared the end of this hallway, I saw an old woman strapped in a wheelchair. Her face was an absolute horror. The empty stare and white pupils of her eyes told me she was blind. The large hearing aid over one ear told me she was almost deaf. One side of her face was being eaten by cancer. There was a discolored and running sore covering part of one cheek, and it had pushed her nose to one side, dropped one eye and distorted her jaw so that what should have been the corner of her mouth was the bottom of her mouth. As a consequence, she drooled constantly.

"I was told later that when new nurses arrived, the supervisors would send them to feed this woman, thinking that if they could stand this sight, they could stand anything in the building.

"I also learned later that this woman was eighty-nine years old, and that she had been here bedridden, blind and nearly deaf, and alone for twenty-nine years. This was Mabel.

"I don’t know why I spoke to her. She looked less likely to respond than most of the people I saw in that hall, but I put a flower in her hand, and I said, “Here’s a flower for you. Happy Mother’s Day.

"She held the flower up to her face and tried to smell it. And then she spoke. And to my surprise, her words, though somewhat garbled by her deformity, were obviously produced by a clear mind.

"She said, 'Thank you. It’s lovely. But can I give it to someone else. I’m blind and cannot see it.'

"I said, 'Of course.' And I pushed her in her chair down the hallway to a place I thought I could find some alert patients. I found one and stopped the chair.

"Mabel held out the flower and said, 'Here. This is from Jesus.'

"This is when it began to dawn on me that this was not an ordinary human being.

"Later I wheeled her back to her room and learned more about her life story. She had grown up on a small farm that she managed with only her mom until her mother died. Then she ran the farm alone until 1950 when her blindness and sickness sent her to the convalescent hospital. For twenty-five years, she got weaker and sicker with constant headaches, backaches, stomachaches, and then the cancer came. Her three roommates were all human vegetables who screamed occasionally, but never talked.

"Mabel and I became friends over the next few weeks, and I went to see her once or twice a week for the next three years. Her first words to me were usually an offer of hard candy from a tissue box near her bed. Some days I would read to her from the Bible and often I would pause, and she would continue reciting the passage from memory word for word.

"Other days, I would take a book of hymns and sing with her, and she would know all the words to the old songs. For Mabel, these were not merely exercises in memory. She would often stop in mid-hymn, and make a brief comment about lyrics she considered particularly relevant to her own situation. I never heard her speak of loneliness or pain except in the stress she placed on certain lines in certain hymns. It was not many weeks that I turned from a sense that I was being helpful to a sense of wonder. And I would go to her with pen and paper to write down the things she would say.

"During one hectic week of final exams, I was frustrated because my mind seemed pulled in ten directions at once with all the things I had to think about. And the question occurred to me: What does Mabel have to think about hour after hour, day after day, week after week?

"So I went to her and asked, 'Mabel, what do you think about when you lie there?'

"And she said, 'I think about my Jesus. I think about how good he’s been to me in my life. He’s been awfully good to me. I’m one of those kind of people who is mostly satisfied. I’d just rather have Jesus. He’s all the world to me.'

"And then Mabel began to sing an old hymn:

"Jesus is all the world to me, my life, my joy, my all.
He is my strength from day to day. Without him I would fall.
When I am sad to him I go. No other one can cheer me so.
When I am sad, He makes me glad. He’s my friend." [5]

As I read that story I saw Mabel’s life putting flesh and blood on the words of Isaiah and Mary, Jesus and James.

She was living proof of Jesus’ words that the blind can see and the deaf can hear. Mabel had vision to see what not many other people can see and to hear what not many other people can hear.

And she had a voice like Mary: “He has done great things for me.”

And running beneath her life was a courageous patience, a strong-hearted patient waiting and suffering for the day Isaiah’s vision would be reality, the day when everything will be all right.

So pilgrim, keep going down the highway toward the place where God’s peace reigns. Along the pilgrimage:

Band with others and sing.
Catch the vision and see.
Like a good farmer till the ground of the kingdom.
And like a prophet tell the truth of God’s good news.
And if you have to: Eat a chair.

Oh yes, Isaiah, peace and joy can be found in the desert of our lives. And one day everything will be all right. It just has to be.

______________

1. Gene Tucker, “Isaiah” The New Interpreters Bible, Vol. VI, Abingdon, 2001, 281-282
2. Nouwen, Peacework, Orbis, 2005, 110-111
3. Robert Fulghum, What On Earth Have I Done? St. Martin’s Press, 2007, 29-31
4. Nouwen, 80-81
5. As told by John Ortberg in “How God Works In You,” an unpublished sermon delivered February 29, 2004 at Menlo Park Presbyterian Church, Menlo Park, California.