I have a friend who is a pastor of a small church in rural West Virginia. Recently, she told me about a member of her congregation who stopped by her office to talk. He told her that he was “worn out with politics” and was hoping for something different, something “peppy”, from worship that coming Sunday.
My friend, like many preachers – myself included – follows the Revised Common Lectionary, a pre-established cycle of Biblical texts for every Sunday of the year. And, well, let’s just say that based on the Scripture passages the lectionary has offered in recent weeks, the odds of a “peppy” sermon, devoid of any ‘political’ ramifications, were not in this man’s favor!
Based on the rest of the conversation my friend recounted, I am fairly certain that this man and I come down in different places on the political spectrum. But you know, I think I understand where he’s coming from on this one. After all, if there’s anything that perhaps nearly all Americans can agree on, it’s that we’ve heard enough – more than enough – about politics. In the last few weeks, and honestly, in the last year. It’s an overload, isn’t it? More than our brains and our hearts can really take in. And many of us have started to grow weary of the sheer weight of everything going on in our world.
Yes, I can understand why this man was looking for something “peppy”, perhaps something entirely spiritual, detached from the public world. The world outside our own doors is just…messy. People politics and relationships and community are…exhausting! Whether we are thrilled or horrified by what we are hearing on the news, I imagine this man is not the only person of faith coming to church and seeking a break from it all. Maybe something that could just be about me and Jesus, you know? Anyone up for a round of “I’ll Fly Away?” Or “Jesus Loves Me”?
But, as my friend pointed out, the lectionary just won’t cut us a break, and our texts this morning – perhaps especially our Old Testament reading from Isaiah – are no exception! Because at its core, this thing we call “politics” really has to do with the way we as people relate to one another, doesn’t it? We get our English word politics comes from the Greek word ‘polis’, meaning “city”, or perhaps more broadly and generally understood, the community. The way we live and love and go about our daily lives – together. So, while my friend could reassure this man that he wasn’t going to get an earful of Democrats vs. Republicans on Sunday morning, that the sermon wasn’t going to wade through court rulings and cabinet nominations…well…if he was looking for a place to retreat from the public, the political world into his own, inner, spiritual life…the Gospel of Jesus Christ was probably not going to give him what he wanted.
It’s a natural desire, though, and I think, the people first heard the words of the prophet in this morning’s Old Testament reading certainly understood this desire to retreat into the inner world of the spirit, of religion, rather than engage in and closely examine the public life of their community. Not unlike us today, they’d just been through a lot, in the life of their nation, with no sign that things would get back to “normal” anytime soon. The people of Israel were just returning to their own land after nearly 70 years of exile in Babylon, seventy years of being pawns in political and territorial wars between competing superpowers – Assyria, Babylonia, Persia. Their families had been forced to leave behind everything they knew and loved, and they have been living as strangers in a strange land. And in today’s text, at long last, they have come home – only to find that their city of Jerusalem devastated, the Temple so essential to the Israelites’ relationship with God lying in ruins.
And so they begin the hard work of rebuilding – not only their city but their whole lives, their community. And as they do, they worship, they fast, they put on the clothes of mourning – sackcloth, and ashes. They cry out for help to the God who has promised to be faithful to them.
And yet, as we hear in our text this morning, something isn’t working. The people accuse God, saying, “Why do we fast, but you do not see? Look, we are bowing down, praying, humbling ourselves, but it’s as if you don’t even notice!”
As it turns out, God does hear them, and he sends a prophet with his response. What God tells the people of Israel is “Look, you’re getting it wrong. I am not looking for your private religious devotion. That is not the kind of fast, the kind of worship, that I seek. What I want,” God says, “is for you to remove the yoke of oppression, and inequality, and injustice from your community. I want to see you share your food with the hungry, your clothes with the naked, your own homes with the homeless and the poor.”
It’s essentially the same message we heard from the prophet Micah in last week’s Old Testament reading, which ended with the famous quote from Micah 6:8: “What does the Lord require of you, but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.” God is quite consistent in this message. “I’m not concerned whether you have the ‘right’ spiritual, practices,” God says. “I want to see your faith manifested in your public life. I want to see you living in right relationship with your neighbor and your community.”
Friends, if I understand the text, God is speaking these same words into our lives today. We cannot hide behind our Bibles, our church services, our devotionals, and prayers. We are called, as Christians, to go out and face those realities in our world that, if we are honest with ourselves, we might rather ignore. We are called to be neighbors to those people that, perhaps, we wish weren’t our neighbors. We’re called to worship God by giving of ourselves to those who are in need.
What might this look like in your life? Or in your family? Or in the community of Taos? In a town where nearly a quarter of the population lives below the poverty line, what does it look like to share our bread with the hungry, or our homes with the poor? Or perhaps you are sitting here today are among those who are hungry, or poor, seeking clothing or shelter. What does that yoke of oppression, of injustice, look like? What does it feel like, for you?
As a church, what might it look like for us to “remove the yoke from among ourselves, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil” or to “offer our food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted?” Where in the life of our congregation are we doing this work? Where do we fall short?
If we want to be Christ’s disciples in the world today, these are the kinds of questions we need to be asking. And ultimately, these are the kinds of things we need to be doing. After all, we Presbyterians are good at asking the questions, at studying, and analyzing, and parsing things out. Which is important, don’t get me wrong. Study matters. Worship matters. But when it comes down to it, God is telling us it’s time to put some skin in the game. It’s time to put our hands and feet where our minds and hearts are.
We know that Christ calls us to feed the hungry: so let’s feed them. Or even better, let’s partner with the many organizations in this town to work for sustainable solutions to hunger – combating food insecurity so that those we might feed today don’t wake up tomorrow wondering again, as they do every day, where their next meal will come from.
We know that Christ calls us to care for the sick and the afflicted: so let’s care for them. Let’s listen to their concerns about the ever-rising costs of healthcare, and make those concerns our own. Let’s look around at the high levels of addiction and mental illness in our community –
and how often they lead to suicide, particularly among our young people. And let’s reach out to those who face these struggles – in our families, in our church, in our community. Let’s make their concerns our own concerns, lending our time and our effort to the places in our community that are working for adequate prevention, and treatment, and support.
We know that Christ calls us to welcome the stranger or the one who is homeless: so let’s welcome them. Whether they come from Texas, or Canada, or Mexico, or Syria, or a neighborhood in Taos that you try not to be caught in after dark. Let’s say hello to them, learn their names, and call them by name. Let’s share a meal with them, learn their story.
And again, let’s make their concerns our own. Let us remove the yoke from among us – perhaps by lifting it off their tired shoulders and carrying it on our own shoulders for a little while. Let us be repairers of the breach and restorers of streets to live in by learning what breaches there are between ourselves and our neighbors, acknowledging them, and stepping across to the other side.
And yes, please, let us keep praying for all who suffer – fervently and every day! Let us never give up our call to pray for those in need. But even so, we would do well to remember what we learn in this text from Isaiah: that God’s ultimate concern is not how we worship and pray. It’s about the lives we live, in and outside of these doors. Worship matters, yes, but only to the extent that it is congruent with our daily lives and practice.
I don’t know exactly what being “repairers of the breach” in this community will look like. I have some ideas, some hopes, some dreams. I imagine many of you do as well. But I do believe that God is calling us, as a church, as a community of disciples of Jesus Christ, to put our heads, and our hearts, and our hands and feet together. To discern together where God is calling us in this community,
And friends, as we participate in and respond to God’s mission through our public lives, I think we will begin to find that we, too, will be transformed. Did you hear all the possibility and hope present in Isaiah’s words? He tells his listeners, “Do these things, live a life that is concerned with the needs of your neighbor, and your light shall break forth like the dawn; your healing shall spring up. God shall be with you, going before you and following behind you. When you call on the Lord, God will answer. God will guide you, and satisfy you when you are parched, make you strong and fill you with abundant life. Your ruins shall be rebuilt, and you shall be called the repairers of the breach, the restorers of streets to live in.” Or, as Jesus puts it in our Gospel reading this morning, “You will be the light of the world, and when people see your light shining like a city on a hill, all people will know the glory and the grace of God.”
When we reach out to our neighbors, we participate not only in their salvation but in our own as well. Because as it turns out, our salvation, our healing, our wholeness, is bound up in one another. That is why our public life, our life in the community, is what matters most to God. Because we are not God’s “persons” but God’s “people.” And as we open ourselves to one another, as we hear one another’s concerns and bear one another’s burdens, we just might begin to recognize the face of Christ in one another. In our friend, our stranger, our enemy. We draw near to God, and God draws near to us. We begin to understand what it means to be the Body of Christ, where well-being for one member comes only with well-being for all members.
In a few minutes, we will gather at the Table – Christ’s Table – perhaps the ultimate symbol of the community of God. We come to this table as guests of Jesus himself, the one who crosses all boundaries, repairs all breaches. The one that we call our Lord, who put some skin – his whole body, in fact – into the game
So come. Eat, drink, and breathe in God’s love, justice, and peace, until you are completely filled and satisfied, body and soul. For when we leave this place, we do so with the call to go and breathe out that same love, justice, and peace, into a broken and hurting world. Thanks be to God. Amen.