Hope and Future
I think I speak for more than just myself today when I say that we come into our worship this morning… our first face-to-face worship in months… with a mix of emotions. I know this morning that I am feeling joy. Just to stand in this pulpit, to worship with real, live people, to preach to actual humans and not to a computer screen. I feel joy to be here in this sanctuary, in the presence of God’s people.
I feel trepidation. Uncertainty. Anxiety. I worry. This first Sunday back has been on my mind for many weeks – even before we set this date. When we first heard that singing in the company of other people – as in a church congregation – might not be such a good idea… I worried. What would our service be like if we could not sing? How do we make a joyful noise unto God if we cannot sing our praises? How would we have to adapt our worship with seating, with the offering, with the passing of the peace, with communion, with bulletins? So I am experiencing anxiety… to see just how many hiccups we have this morning as we move through an unfamiliar worship pattern.
I feel sorrow. Sorrow because the whole church cannot be gathered together all at once. Because the nature of this pandemic means that some people will choose to stay home, should stay home… and so I am mindful that though we rejoice in our reunion this morning, it is not a complete reunion. We are but a fragment of a whole.
All together, I feel love and joy to be here, I feel anxiety for the unfamiliar, I feel longing for the faces and voices we all wish were here with us.
And I feel hope. I feel hope because, though this is not the day we imagined, with hugs and singing and breaking bread together, it is a first step. One step of many out of a time like none other I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. One step out of seclusion and isolation and back towards some semblance of togetherness again. Certainly we all know that today is not the end of the road, but the first step in a greater journey.
We read this morning from the prophet Jeremiah, his letter to the exiled people of Israel, taking their first steps in an uncertain future. A great swath of the Jewish people have been gathered and taken from their homes and brought east, along the Taurus Mountains of southern Turkey and down the Euphrates Valley, into Babylon. And in this letter he has a message for the people – and it is a message of hope.
God’s call to the people through Jeremiah is that the exiled people should seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which they have been brought. That they should settle down. Plant gardens. Build houses. Marry, and have sons and daughters. That even living under the dark shadow of captivity, that God still desires his people to prosper.
It’s not an ideal circumstance that the people are in. They are far from home, living in the lands of their enemies. They might be forgiven if seeking the peace and prosperity of the Babylonians who have captured them and dragged them across the desert is not their first impulse. But God’s message is plain. The plain and simple truth of their condition – their location and the captivity – that’s not changing. And so the message is simple – make the best of their situation. It won’t be perfect. It won’t be exactly what they want. They still have plenty of reason to grieve and to mourn and to hurt and to feel anger. But there’s also time and space for them to love, to build, to grow, and to nurture each other.
And why is that the message instead of one of rebellion? Which is certainly what some exiles must have been yearning for… In the deep dark of the exile, we can imagine some people thinking, “This isn’t right – this isn’t just – we should be working to destroy our enemies, to tear down Babylon – not to build it up!” For many of us, that’s a perfectly reasonable, natural line of thinking.
Which brings us to the second part of Jeremiah’s letter.
That we serve a God of hope. A God of love. A God who looks out for his people, to turn us away from our destructive tendencies and towards our better angels. Because God can see the road ahead of us in ways that we simply cannot.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.”
Many of us have heard these words before. They are a testament to God’s faithfulness to us. They are a promise of God’s goodness to his people. They are words of love from a loving God to his own creation.
We cannot always see the road ahead of us. Whether we’re looking at the big picture stuff of everything that’s going on in the world around us, so many things going sideways in so many ways, and we just want to stop the world from spinning to just take a moment and catch our breath and re-orient to see what’s going on… Or whether we’re looking at something at a slightly smaller scale… like when to re-open a church building… the road ahead of us isn’t always clear. Because in so many things there are no right answers that we can be absolutely certain of.
Yet we trust in God’s plans for us. That things that seem out of our control and beyond our understanding are still part of God’s plan. We won’t always get everything right. We’ll make mistakes. There will be setbacks and hiccups and things we’ll have to learn as we go. But over the long run – the great arc of God’s will for us – is to lead us always to peace and to prosper. And not to harm us.
This was true in Jeremiah’s time. This was certainly true in Jesus’ time. And it still holds true today. That’s God’s plans for his people are righteous. That his will for us is good. And that his every motivation and purpose with his people is love.
It’s ok for us to be nervous for today. To be joyous for today. To be mournful for today. To look around and celebrate what is; and lament what isn’t. We cannot see the details of God’s plans for us. Except to know that it is good.
To God be all glory, praise, and honor. Amen.
Let us pray.
Gracious God, in the renewal of your church and the regathering of your people, we praise and bless you. For the spirits of those unable to join with us, we pray in solidarity. For the bread we cannot break, for the joyful noises we cannot sing, for the embraces we cannot share, we lament. But for your wonderful purpose, and your plan for our lives and for our church, we offer nothing but humblest and deepest praise and thanksgiving. In gratitude we pray to you through the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
I think I speak for more than just myself today when I say that we come into our worship this morning… our first face-to-face worship in months… with a mix of emotions. I know this morning that I am feeling joy. Just to stand in this pulpit, to worship with real, live people, to preach to actual humans and not to a computer screen. I feel joy to be here in this sanctuary, in the presence of God’s people.
I feel trepidation. Uncertainty. Anxiety. I worry. This first Sunday back has been on my mind for many weeks – even before we set this date. When we first heard that singing in the company of other people – as in a church congregation – might not be such a good idea… I worried. What would our service be like if we could not sing? How do we make a joyful noise unto God if we cannot sing our praises? How would we have to adapt our worship with seating, with the offering, with the passing of the peace, with communion, with bulletins? So I am experiencing anxiety… to see just how many hiccups we have this morning as we move through an unfamiliar worship pattern.
I feel sorrow. Sorrow because the whole church cannot be gathered together all at once. Because the nature of this pandemic means that some people will choose to stay home, should stay home… and so I am mindful that though we rejoice in our reunion this morning, it is not a complete reunion. We are but a fragment of a whole.
All together, I feel love and joy to be here, I feel anxiety for the unfamiliar, I feel longing for the faces and voices we all wish were here with us.
And I feel hope. I feel hope because, though this is not the day we imagined, with hugs and singing and breaking bread together, it is a first step. One step of many out of a time like none other I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. One step out of seclusion and isolation and back towards some semblance of togetherness again. Certainly we all know that today is not the end of the road, but the first step in a greater journey.
We read this morning from the prophet Jeremiah, his letter to the exiled people of Israel, taking their first steps in an uncertain future. A great swath of the Jewish people have been gathered and taken from their homes and brought east, along the Taurus Mountains of southern Turkey and down the Euphrates Valley, into Babylon. And in this letter he has a message for the people – and it is a message of hope.
God’s call to the people through Jeremiah is that the exiled people should seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which they have been brought. That they should settle down. Plant gardens. Build houses. Marry, and have sons and daughters. That even living under the dark shadow of captivity, that God still desires his people to prosper.
It’s not an ideal circumstance that the people are in. They are far from home, living in the lands of their enemies. They might be forgiven if seeking the peace and prosperity of the Babylonians who have captured them and dragged them across the desert is not their first impulse. But God’s message is plain. The plain and simple truth of their condition – their location and the captivity – that’s not changing. And so the message is simple – make the best of their situation. It won’t be perfect. It won’t be exactly what they want. They still have plenty of reason to grieve and to mourn and to hurt and to feel anger. But there’s also time and space for them to love, to build, to grow, and to nurture each other.
And why is that the message instead of one of rebellion? Which is certainly what some exiles must have been yearning for… In the deep dark of the exile, we can imagine some people thinking, “This isn’t right – this isn’t just – we should be working to destroy our enemies, to tear down Babylon – not to build it up!” For many of us, that’s a perfectly reasonable, natural line of thinking.
Which brings us to the second part of Jeremiah’s letter.
That we serve a God of hope. A God of love. A God who looks out for his people, to turn us away from our destructive tendencies and towards our better angels. Because God can see the road ahead of us in ways that we simply cannot.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.”
Many of us have heard these words before. They are a testament to God’s faithfulness to us. They are a promise of God’s goodness to his people. They are words of love from a loving God to his own creation.
We cannot always see the road ahead of us. Whether we’re looking at the big picture stuff of everything that’s going on in the world around us, so many things going sideways in so many ways, and we just want to stop the world from spinning to just take a moment and catch our breath and re-orient to see what’s going on… Or whether we’re looking at something at a slightly smaller scale… like when to re-open a church building… the road ahead of us isn’t always clear. Because in so many things there are no right answers that we can be absolutely certain of.
Yet we trust in God’s plans for us. That things that seem out of our control and beyond our understanding are still part of God’s plan. We won’t always get everything right. We’ll make mistakes. There will be setbacks and hiccups and things we’ll have to learn as we go. But over the long run – the great arc of God’s will for us – is to lead us always to peace and to prosper. And not to harm us.
This was true in Jeremiah’s time. This was certainly true in Jesus’ time. And it still holds true today. That’s God’s plans for his people are righteous. That his will for us is good. And that his every motivation and purpose with his people is love.
It’s ok for us to be nervous for today. To be joyous for today. To be mournful for today. To look around and celebrate what is; and lament what isn’t. We cannot see the details of God’s plans for us. Except to know that it is good.
To God be all glory, praise, and honor. Amen.
Let us pray.
Gracious God, in the renewal of your church and the regathering of your people, we praise and bless you. For the spirits of those unable to join with us, we pray in solidarity. For the bread we cannot break, for the joyful noises we cannot sing, for the embraces we cannot share, we lament. But for your wonderful purpose, and your plan for our lives and for our church, we offer nothing but humblest and deepest praise and thanksgiving. In gratitude we pray to you through the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.