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    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.

     

    Amy
    1 December, 2014
    sermon
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