Isaiah 58: 1-14

Fr. Nutter was ill on November 25th. Fr. Todd Bryant, Associate Rector of Palmer, filled in during Fr. Nutter’s absence.

In last week’s study of Isaiah 56:1-8, Fr. Nutter focused us on Sabbath. “Happy is the mortal…who keeps the sabbath.” (v.2). The discussion that followed has stuck with me all week. How does one keep sabbath in a culture that does not, maybe cannot, help us rest in the Lord? Ultimately prayer, love, support can check our tendency to avoid the renewing energy of sabbath taking.

The text for this week, Isaiah 58, offers another picture of how to love people and keep sabbath. After reading the text someone said, “I like this kind of Sabbath. It seems different from last week’s text.” He was referring to an active side of sabbath taking (focusing on the needs of others) as compared to the more passive side of sabbath we talked about last week in Chapter 56 which invited the hearer to think about sabbath as refraining from doing evil (v.2).

Like a good Episcopal clergyperson I like “both/and” answers. Your sabbath taking will be the most effective when there is passive rest in God and when there is active pursuit of the economic, spiritual, and emotional welfare of others. If we experience rest and bliss while others suffer our sabbath will not be complete. Furthermore, there is a strong connection between how skillfully we rest in the Lord and how effectively we love the people around us. How many of you are filled with light and hope at the end of a 40 hour work week? I suspect most of you would answer that you have the space to love your partners and kids well (even if you don’t). How do you do with family at 50 hours? 60 hours? Or even 70 hours and up? At some point we move from fulfilling our commitment to fulfilling a broken image of ourselves that resembles a bad caricature of duty. Sabbath helps us to remember our smallness in the context of God’s love.

We are called by God to make work a holy endeavor. However, it can become a mistress when it starts whispering to you, “You are indispensable. No one can do it like you can.” Live, work, and love but never forget that you are God’s precious creation. Live, work, and love but never forget the commitments you made outside yourself and work to family, friends, and even foes.

Isaiah 56: 1-8

This section, chapters 56-66, is sometimes called Third Isaiah. It is a collection of oracles dating from about 535-520 BCE (before the common era), which was shortly after the return of the Israelites from exile in Babylon.

In this particular chapter begins by God calling upon the people “to maintain justice, and do what is right, for soon my salvation will come and my deliverance be revealed.” This verse looks to God for redemption, but it also suggests that this deliverance, this restoration, is predicated upon the people’s acting righteously and seeking justice. God will act when he sees us acting, God will move towards justice when we move towards justice. Now, we could well ask what justice looks like? The Hebrew scriptures are clear that justice is about feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, protecting the widows and orphans, visiting the sick and those in prison, freeing the oppressed, tending to the afflicted, and seeking fairness for all. We sign on to be agents for justice every time we recite the Baptismal Covenant, which asks us, among other questions, if we “Will… strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” (BCP, p. 305)

This piece of scripture goes on to say that “Happy is the mortal who does this [who works for justice], the one who holds it fast, who keeps Sabbath, not profaning it…” Keeping Sabbath—I can remember in the late 1950s and early 1960s when people did keep the Sabbath, when they didn’t shop, when going out for a drive in the country was the event of the day, when gathering with family was expected. What have we lost by not thinking about the Sabbath? What have we lost as a culture and society? What have we lost as individuals? When every day resembles every other day, when our Sundays are just as busy and frenetic as Monday through Saturday, what happens to our souls and hearts? The practice of the Sabbath comes, of course, from God taking a day to rest after God had finished the whole created order (see Genesis 2:3). The practice also comes from the 10 Commandments that God gave to Moses to give to the people on Mount Sinai (see Exodus 20). Jesus himself practiced the Sabbath. You can see where I am going with this. If we are made in God’s image, and if our savior himself honored the Sabbath, then it must somehow be good for us, good for our relationship with God, good for our faith, to practice it ourselves. What would it mean, what would it look like, for us to do so? I always cringe and am saddened when people tell me that they are too busy to come to church, to worship, to join with their friends at Palmer. When we don’t worship, when we don’t pause and give thanks and confess and sing God’s praises, we are all prone to forget who we are, whose we are, what we need to be about, and how we are to live. The Old Man, the Old Woman, in us is very strong, and without worship and Sabbath we can begin to think and act like we are a little more central to running the universe than we really are.

The scripture goes on to say, “For thus says the Lord: To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths, who choose the things that please me and hold fast my covenant, I will give, in my house and within my walls, a monument and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off. And the foreigners who join themselves to the Lord, to minister to him, to love the name of the Lord, and to be his servants… these I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer… for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.” (vss. 4f)

Once upon a time in Israel eunuchs were rejected. Once upon a time foreigners were, too. It was thought that one had to be perfect to be in God’s presence and that one had to be born into the clan to be one of God’s people. But now no more. Now, you can be someone who is scarred, marred, wounded, less-than-perfect. And that is good news because we all are. All of us. And foreigners can come too, and that is also good news for us because few of us were born into the House of Israel. Room for us because we are all God’s children. It is not where you were born that matters, but that you live and acknowledge your need for God. It is not blood, not our blood anyway, but faith that matters, not our clan, but our commitment.

There have been two competing forces in religion for a long time now, maybe always. There are those who think that religion needs to isolate us and those who think that it needs to connect us; those who think that religion is about making distinctions and those who think it is about leveling them; those who want to use religion to separate and those who want to unite. Are we chosen from or are we chosen for? There is huge difference between these two visions.

I once believed the former vision. I don’t any more. Jesus almost always choose the second path, the path towards inclusion, the path towards erasing all lines and divisions and boundaries in order to draw circles around all of God’s children. From lines to circles—this was one of the things that got him killed. This is the path he calls upon us to follow. This is the path that this last part of Isaiah proclaims. You don’t have to be perfect, you don’t have to be born into the family, all you have to do is show up and want God and desire to worship and honor and adore and serve Him. That is enough. It was enough when these words were first written in 530 BCE, and it is enough for today.

Isaiah 55: 1-11

“Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat!” If you have no money, how can you buy? Without money, how can you eat? What sense is there in these words? The prophet is here inviting people to come and feast upon God’s word. Verse three when he invites us to “listen carefully” reveals this to us—that we are, again, called to feast upon God’s words to us. We can feast on the Word privately and corporately.

From these opening reflections we turned to verse two, which reads: “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?” “How,” I asked the gentlemen this morning and now all the rest of you who may now be reading these words,” have you spent your money, your time, your work, your efforts on things, projects, endeavors that have not satisfied you, that have left you more hungry, more unfulfilled, more empty, more desperate? How might these words speak to our current financial crisis?

Verse six and following: “Seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while he is near… For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.” These verses give us a combination of movements. First, we are invited to seek God, to pursue God, to call upon God; but then we are told that we will never entirely find or capture or encapsulate God, that God is mysterious, that he eludes us, that just when we think we have God all figured out God moves on us. I think this combination of seeking God and yet knowing that we will never finally “get” God are really important. These scriptures hold together an active faith with a humble faith. We must do our part in seeking and wanting and trying to follow God, while also remembering that God is God, we are not, and that faith is a journey filled with surprises and mystery and hints and guesses. Words like these dispel the magical notion that all we need to do is follow these 6 steps, these 7 truths, these 8 rules, and then we will have God entirely. Flee from such programmatic over simplification and theological hubris.

Verse 10 and following: “For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth… so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty.” When I asked the fellows what these words might mean, one of them said that God’s word is to germinate in us and then we are called to bear fruit for God. This is exactly right. I then asked what “fruits” we are to bear and someone else said that we are called to “bear the fruits of the Spirit.” Now, this sparked a connection to Paul’s letter to the Galatians that reads this way: “… the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” (5: 22-23) For the rest of our time together we reflected on this list and I asked everyone to do an inventory of this list of fruits in their own lives and commitments. How about you? Are you bearing these fruits in your life?

I finished out the session by talking about a man I had once known whose life had been changed by reading through this piece of scripture dozens of times each day. At a very low and difficult time in his life he knew that if he continued to live as he was he was going to die, and die with a great deal of fall-out and pain and disappointment all around him. He decided to change. One of the ways he changed was by carrying these words around with him wherever he went. Over time, by the grace of God, these words changed his life; these words bore fruit. I commend them to you.

Isaiah 54: 1-10

Several recent e-mails have jump-started me back into the writing business.

So, let me catch you up since the last time I wrote about where we are right now in the Bible study. We are in Isaiah chapter 54 and it is a complicated time for the Jews. After many years of living under the growing menace of the Babylonians, the city of Jerusalem was finally sacked in 587 B.C. The invading army burned the temple, they captured and blinded the king, and then they deported the “best and brightest” of the Jewish people to a foreign city and land. In 539 B.C., Cyrus the Persian defeated the Babylonians and then told the exiled peoples that he found in Babylon that they could return home. That is the good news that we read about in Isaiah 40, when the prophet says, “Comfort, O comfort my people…”

In chapter 54 most of the exiled Jews are still in Babylon. They are trying to pack their bags but it is hard work—some of them have become used to Babylon, some of them are not looking forward to the dangerous trek across the desert, and some of them are fearful and anxious about what they will find once they arrive back in Jerusalem. Will their home still be there? Might there be someone, a protective foreigner, who has settled into it? Is there anything to return to at all? They have heard good news that they can go home, but they have not yet assimilated the good news into their lives.

Into this mixed situation Isaiah writes, “Sing O barren one who did not bear; burst into song and shout, you who have not been in labor! For the children of the desolate woman will be more than the children of her that is married, say the Lord.” In the midst of this grim and daunting time the prophet tells them to sing and shout and dance. Odd news, really, when you think about the outward circumstances of their lives, but this is exactly when we need good news, sometimes even bracing and challenging news of hope to move us ahead.

And then in verse two the prophet says, “Enlarge the site of your tent, and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out; do not hold back; lengthen your cords and strengthen your stakes.” I know that I have read those words before, but somehow I didn’t read them, didn’t get them, didn’t see the implications of and the applications to them. Enlarge your tent. It is a metaphor, of course. The Jews were not then living in tents. They were living in reduced circumstances certainly, but not in tents. I think what the prophet is trying to tell them is that just at a time when they want to close up, batten up, God is calling them to enlarge their tents—their minds, their hearts, their trust. During times of duress and stress and displacement and loss, we humans tend to “circle the wagons,” and get safe and pull back; but no, says God—don’t do that to your selves or to each other. Enlarge the tent. Make it bigger. Lean into love, not fear.

We didn’t need any more material this morning to work through and discuss. I simply asked the gentlemen how these words could be speaking to them individually and to us as a country right now. Yes, times are difficult; and yes, people—maybe even many of us—are tempted to shrink our tents, close down our borders, put up walls and barriers, withdraw our support, and suppress our dreams and hopes. But, again, God says, “My people, please don’t. Please trust. Please breathe. Please know that I am with you. Enlarge your tents—for your sake, for My sake, for the world’s sake.” That is what I hear in these words. What do you hear?