Tear open the Heavens
An article cross posted at https://adventhealingandhope.wordpress.com/2014/12/01/tear-open-heaven/
O that you would tear open the heavens and come down,
so that the mountains would quake at your presence—
as when fire kindles brushwood
and the fire causes water to boil—
to make your name known to your adversaries,
so that the nations might tremble at your presence!
When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect,
you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence.
Isaiah 64:1-3
There’s been a lot going on in my beloved city of Philadelphia, and so much of is is heartbreaking.
On election day, a few weeks ago, there was a shooting at the gas station across the street from my church. I was in the church at the time, as were the polling volunteers, and several voters. School was out, so there lots of people–young and old–moving up and down the street.
After I watched part of the shooting from the window of my church office, and saw the victim get into his car, and race away, I called 911. I ran downstairs to check on the rest of the folks in the building, and found them huddled together in fear. I was filled with anger. Why is this happening in my neighborhood? What were these guys thinking, settling their disputes about family issues with guns and in such a public place?
How I wish that God would tear open the heavens and fix this mess!
On Monday, we heard the news from Furgeson, that there would be no indictment for Darren Wilson, the police officer that shot and killed Michael Brown. I gathered with other Philadelphia clergy to hear the decision, and we grieved and marched in the streets of Philadelphia. We offered a peaceful presence in the march as young people of color expressed their rage at the injustice as they screamed, “Hands up, don’t shoot!” and “No justice, no peace!”
That night, I wanted the sky to open, and for God’s justice to rain down on this terrible system we have in place. Instead police helicopters watched the protests from the sky, and officers on bikes and on foot surrounded the protest.
“Tear open the heavens!” This was the cry of the people of Israel in the diaspora. “Tear open the heavens, God! Fix this mess, just as you have in times before!” They too had enough of their enslavement, of a system that was not in place to protect them. They cried out to God to rescue them, to save them from this mess.
This passage from Isaiah introduces Advent this season with our communal cry for help and salvation. “Help us! Save us, God!” And what we later learn from the incarnation, is that God is already here; the reign of God is among us. We don’t have to beg God to rip open the sky because God is present among us. This is what my friend, Bishop Duane Royster, reminded the angry crowds in Philadelphia on Monday night, “God is here with us, sharing in our pain.”
There’s been a lot going on in my city, and so much of is is heartbreaking. But there is still hope.
While I’ve been angry about the violence that threatens the neighborhood I live in and love, I’ve been encouraged too. The week of the shooting across from the church, I drove by another neighborhood church and found a memorial to the victims of gun violence in their front yard. I’m not alone in feeling this anger and pain. Others hold it with me. And we’re trying to do something about it.
My heart has broken for the family of Michael Brown, for Furgeson, and for all the places in our world where the laws and systems in place to protect are skewed against people of color. But, while marching in the streets of Philadelphia on Monday night, I received a series of texts from my thirteen year old son–he wanted to know the verdict, and how people were doing. His heart was breaking too. Living in a multi-racial city, and going to one of the most diverse schools in the state, he understood what this verdict meant. He and all the young folks marching in Philadelphia gave me hope that maybe the next generation could do this better, and that perhaps we may learn from this death.
This is what the incarnation looks like. We cry for God to save us, yet God is already here, embodied in human flesh, and walking with us.
The violence in my city feels unbearable some days. The events of Furguson makes me question our humanity. But God is here among us, feeling the pain with us, weeping and mourning with us. We look up, we cry out for God to tear open the heavens, but God is here–the incarnate one, God with us.
Tear open the Heavens
Tear open the Heavens
A Sermon based on Matthew 13:24-37 and Isaiah 64:1-9 on November 30, 2014
Several weeks ago, the Advent committee gathered to look at the assigned tests for the season. As we read them we kept coming back to the first text from Isaiah. “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down.” This has been a difficult year for our nation, and no words have never spoken my mind than those cries of the people of Israel–”Oh that you would tear open the heavens and come down.” Rescue us God. Save us from this mess.
This summer, we watch from afar as the conflict erupted in Gaza and the West Bank. At the same time–and with too many parallels–protests began in Ferguson, Missouri after Michael Brown was shot by police officer, Darren Wilson. I can’t tell you how many times I looked up to the heavens and begged God for help, to save us from ourselves.
I found myself thinking about this Isaiah text on Monday night after the grand jury decision was read from Furguson. I was downtown with a group of clergy, watching the verdict at Arch Street Methodist–after the decision was read, we headed to Dilworth Plaza at City Hall, joining young people from all over the city who were peacefully protesting in the streets of Philadelphia.
As a pastor, I go to these protests, not because I like to, but because I believe that folks who are hurting and in pain need to know that the church cares about what is happening in our world. While folks in the crowd were chanting, “no justice, no peace,” I found myself praying, “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, God!” But, my prayers were not answered that way–instead, as I looked up in the sky, the heavens were torn open by police and news helicopters watching the protests, just waiting for peaceful demonstrations to turn ugly.
The people of Israel, were calling out to God, begging God to come near to them in a dramatic way, to tear open the heavens and save them. It’s such an evocative image, isn’t it? God, crack the sky open, rip it apart, come down to us. Be apart from us no more. Imagine the desperation of the people of God that they’d beg for such a dramatic and catastrophic show of force.
The Israelites had been in exile, and had just been granted the right of return to their homeland. They returned home, saw the destruction, and were distraught and brokenhearted. The hopefulness that they would return was replaced by anger at what was left of the home they loved. They longed to feel God with them.
And so they call out to God to be absent no more–to fix this mess. And not just to fix the mess, but to destroy their enemies with fire and molten lava exploding from mountains. On the edge of the new and hopeful, there was fear and terror, there was uncertainty, and there was a sense that God was not present, that God was not showing up in their most frightening moments.
We are no different from our Israelite ancestors centuries ago. We want God to show up with a big grand sweeping gesture, and fix the mess we are in right now.
And here’s the thing about Advent–in this time when we remember to stay alert for God to reveal God’s self among us, God comes to us in the most small and simple of packages. God came to us in the form of a small child. It’s not a lightening bolt from the sky, it’s not a big grand gesture. It’s a small, fragile, vulnerable child.
We are up looking for the spectacular, for the sky ripping open, for the easy fix for the grand gesture. God seems to be more interested in the small things, the subtle things, the everyday moments of presence. God doesn’t seem to be the type to rip open the sky, but instead sends a little child to us.
Maybe that feels disappointing, but perhaps given the events of the week, it’s the only thing that makes sense. We look up for God to save us, but God is already here.
There have been a lot of folks asking me this week what I think about what happened in Furgeson. And there’s been a lot of chatter about the verdict on social media. Everyone is trying to figure out how this happened and to fix this, how to make the problem of racial injustice go away. And there is no easy answer. There’s no one big fix to the problems in our society.
When we look up at the sky the problems of the world seem so big, and we seem so small. And when we continue to look up, we miss what’s in front of us. We miss God at work right in front of us. We miss the moments when we can participate in the work of God, right here and now.
When I look at the problems in Ferguson I feel overwhelmed and depressed. I’m tempted to tune out, to give up and ignore what’s happening around us. But there are so many ways I can participate in the work of God, right here and now.
The people of Israel didn’t stay in that place of desperation. Even in the passage we read today, Isaiah comes to understand that God is at work, “You are the potter; we are the clay.” They get to work on rebuilding, they organize, they pool their resources. And God is in it.
Monday night my prayers were not answered by a grand gesture from on high, but from everyday folks–full of God’s presence–acting with compassion. Clergy spoke to the crowd, and reminded them that God loves them, hears thier pain and is present. Police officers were kind and gave space to the protesters to be in pain. They took the angry verbal blows from some in the crowd, and they did not respond. And the protesters stayed organized, and kept their voices strong and united.
I wish God would open up the heavens and reveal God’s power on a grand scale, but God continues to surprise us by coming in the form of an innocent child. We wish that God would come and fix this mess, and God sends us a child, that will grow up to show us a new way. God shows us the way in the little things, and those little things lead to the big things. If we keep looking up for the sky to be ripped open, we miss those everyday, growing signs of God made known among us.
Stay awake, watch for God among us. God is being made real, here and now, right in front of us. AMEN.