Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; Psalm 126

Advent 3/Service of Hope and Remembrance

Psalm 126

¹ When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream.

² Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then it was said among the nations, “The Lord has done great things for them.”

³ The Lord has done great things for us, and we rejoiced.

⁴ Restore our fortunes, O Lord , like the watercourses in the Negeb.

⁵ May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy.

⁶ Those who go out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, carrying their sheaves.

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

^61:1 The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; ²to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; ³to provide for those who mourn in Zion—to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. They will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord , to display his glory.

⁴ They shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations…

⁸ For I the Lord love justice, I hate robbery and wrongdoing; I will faithfully give them their recompense, and I will make an everlasting covenant with them. ⁹Their descendants shall be known among the nations, and their offspring among the peoples; all who see them shall acknowledge that they are a people whom the Lord has blessed.

¹⁰ I will greatly rejoice in the Lord , my whole being shall exult in my God; for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation, he has covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. ¹¹For as the earth brings forth its shoots, and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up, so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations.

The Sermon

The occasion we observe this day and this season—the third Sunday of the season of Advent—confirms a terribly radical idea that was also heard, and was also terribly radical, in the psalms of David and the prophets of Israel:

the idea that there can be peace and hope and joy and love.

And not only that we can have all of those things, and have all of them at once, and abundantly, but that it is God’s will that we have them, and God’s will will be done.

This is all terribly, terribly radical (that doesn’t sound very Presbyterian.)—“radical” as in, according to the Merriam Webster Online dictionary, “tending or disposed to make extreme changes in existing views, habits, conditions, or institutions.”

It’s radical in that it dares to remember a time when we were in some ways innocent of the burdens we carry with us today:

“When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then it was said among the nations, ‘The Lord has done great things for them.’”

I can’t remember the exact statistic, and I don’t know how you’d determine this, but it’s something like, the average adult laughs about 15 times a day; the average little kid laughs 210 times a day. Those may not be the right numbers, but that is definitely the idea.

“Restore our fortunes, O Lord... May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy. Those who go out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, carrying their sheaves.”

It was radical for the psalmist to remember when God had done it before, and to think that you could go back, after life has thrown you some serious curve balls and you’ve got a little more mileage; you’re a little more experienced, a little more jaded.

It was radical to think that after all that, that you could even dare to dream about going back to God, and saying, “Do that again, O God. Bring me back to hope, and joy…the ability to remember without crying, to think without brooding, to dream without correcting myself, as if it were such a crime to live in hope.”

And it was radical—it represented a real change in existing views, habits, conditions, or institutions, when Isaiah gave the prophecy:

“The Lord has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,

to bind up the brokenhearted,

to proclaim liberty to the captives,

and release to the prisoners;

to comfort all who mourn;

to provide for those who mourn

—to give them a garland instead of ashes,

the oil of gladness instead of mourning,

the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.

They shall build up the ancient ruins,

they shall raise up the former devastations;

they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations…”

Nobody was living with that kind of hope. You’d think somebody talking like that was delusional.

But maybe it’s for those who know what it means to be burdened with a few difficult memories, a few harsh and seemingly inescapable thoughts, those who have felt the pain when worry has turned to sorrow—maybe it’s for them to know what it really means to dream.

Maybe they above all others truly know, in some deep place within them, that there can be peace, and hope, and joy, and love.

Ann Weems wrote,

Too often our answer to the darkness

is not running toward Bethlehem

but running away.

We ought to know by now that we can’t see

where we’re going in the dark.

Running away is rampant…

separation is stylish:

separation from mates, from friends, from self.

Run and tranquilize,

don’t talk about it,

avoid.

Run away and join the army

of those who have already run away.

When are we going to learn that Christmas Peace

comes only when we turn and face the darkness?

Only then will we be able to see

the Light of the World (“Toward the Light,” in Kneeling in Bethlehem).

Such a radical idea: one that, if we truly hang onto it, can help us make extreme changes in our existing views, habits, conditions, or even institutions.

We live for hope, even as we long for it.

We live for peace, even as sometimes it feels just out of our grasp.

We live for joy, because we know it’s out there somewhere, and if it’s out there, then it’s in here.

And we live for love. Because the one who loved us more than we can ever know has found and made a way to reach down into the world and into our hearts and claim us again, so that we will never be alone, never be forgotten, never be abandoned, but will always be at home in God’s love.