Sermons

“Sighs Too Deep for Words”

Romans 8:24-26; Isaiah 40:1-11 – Rev. Rebecca Littlejohn

Vista La Mesa Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), La Mesa, California – October 8, 2017

Holy God, bless the speaking and the hearing of these words that we might feel you near and find comfort and hope in your faithfulness. In the name of Jesus we pray, Amen.

“The grass withers, the flower fades.” Second Isaiah wasn’t wrong. We mortals are nothing if not unreliable and flaky. I suppose it’s comforting, at some level, to know that we’ve always been that way. Even more comforting though, is the reminder that God’s relationship with us is not determined by our nature, but by the nature of God, who is gracious and faithful.

I struggled, this week, to figure out what to preach. The lectionary was no help. It suggested that I preach on the Ten Commandments. And I suppose I could have zeroed in on Exodus 20:13, and asked which part of “You shall not murder” we don’t understand. But that seemed a little too on the nose. Eventually, my heart brought me back to Isaiah 40, mostly, I expect, because it’s what I needed to hear.

I don’t, of course, have any claim to knowing what it’s like to live in exile. I have not been forced from the only home I know and sent somewhere else to live out the rest of my days. And yet, I’m guessing I’m not the only one who feels like I’m in exile in my own country. I bet there are people on both sides of the gun debate in this nation who would say they feel like they’re in exile in their own country. And we need to talk about that.

What’s especially demoralizing is that the gun debate is just one example of the unprecedented polarization that has taken root in our times. The middle ground has caved in, and we’re left with two sides that have retreated into separate bubbles, without shared sources of information and authority, and increasingly, without even much occasion to interact with one another. Those of us in Disciples churches may be some of the few who are most likely to have real relationships with people who see the many issues dividing our country differently. And yet, we rarely have the necessary conversations with one another. Are we too shy? Too worn out? Too hopeless that it would make any difference? “The people are grass.”

The difference of course, with this particular issue, is that 59 people are dead and over 500 are wounded. We could light candles, but I’m not sure we have that many. We could read their names, but our service isn’t supposed to take that long. And it’s not just them: 33,000 Americans are killed by guns every year. 20,000 of them are suicides. There is no point in pretending: I have definitively placed myself on one very angry side of this debate. I had the opportunity to speak at a Vigil for Las Vegas on Wednesday evening, organized by the pastor at MissionGathering Christian Church, and if you’re uncomfortable now, you should be glad I did, because it gave me a chance to let off some steam in a more appropriate venue. I wasn’t the only one. There was a general sense of “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore” in the room that night. But what difference will all those words make? “The people are grass. … The grass withers, the flowers fades.”

This is one of those instances in which we must turn to our faith in God for help, because our faith in humanity is falling flat, just like Isaiah’s. It’s comforting to contemplate an image of God feeling sorry for us because we’ve been paying a double penalty for our sins for far too long now. When we do gird our loins and enter into the conversation, with its emotional hyperbole and defensive rhetoric, the image of the valleys being lifted up and the mountains being made low – everything just being leveled out, calmed like a storm on the Sea of Galilee – helps us breathe easier. When we’re wallowing in pain and hopelessness, picturing ourselves as lambs being gathered into the arms of God is a balm for our souls.

It’s perhaps presumptuous to claim the image of being in exile, when we know there are so many in our world these days who have actually been forced from their homelands. But there is a deep unsettledness in our midst these days, a sense that the place that formed us is shifting under our feet. And we’re flailing about, desperately trying to grab hold of something, anything, that will steady us. Unfortunately, so much of what we’re catching hold of is no sturdier than grass. But what does Isaiah tell us? “The word of our God will stand forever.” And the angel insists there are still good tidings to be shared, shouted even, from atop a high mountain. Regardless of what humanity might be doing, regardless of what sorts of messes we’ve created for ourselves, regardless of how hopeless things may seem, God is faithful. And God is good and gentle and powerful. God will protect us and feed us and carry us through all trials.

“Hope is the thing with feathers,” writes Emily Dickinson, “That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all.” Or as Paul puts it, “hope that is seen is not hope …that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.” It’s not easy to hold onto, but maybe what they’re trying to tell us is that we don’t need to grasp it in order to trust that it won’t leave. Breathe, just breathe. Let the breath remind you that God is as near as your own lungs. Let the Spirit intercede. Let the presence of Christ gather you up and hold you.

And eventually, we will be renewed. Our souls will be restored to the point that we can shout good news from the hilltops again. We will come to this Table and discover that the middle ground isn’t as shaky as we thought, because all of us want to be loved. All of us are seeking mercy for our shortcomings. All of us need comfort. All of us have something to offer, gifts empowered by that very same Spirit, the Breath of Life that we share. “The people are grass. The grass withers and the flower fades.” We are grass. But the grass is beautiful. The grass moves in the breeze and shows us the breath of God. May it be so. Alleluia and Amen.