Richard Maxwell

Advent 3 A
12 December 2010
Grace Episcopal Church

In the Name of God:  Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Where is home?  Where's your home?

And don't start singing that old song, "Any place I hang my hat is home."  That's not what I'm talking about.  I don't mean to ask this question in the sense of, "Where do you live? What's your street address?" or even "Where were you born?" "Where do you come from?"  I mean rather to ask something more like, "Where are you at rest, at peace?  Where do you find a sense of completion, of wholeness?  Where do you find meaning?  Where do you know you are who you are?"  Where is home?

I began asking this question when I read the passage from the prophet Isaiah appointed for today.  It's a very beautiful passage, isn't it?  "The desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing."  Waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert . . . and a highway shall be there.  It will be called the Holy Way and shall be for God's people.  No one, not even fools, will go astray on it.  Weak hands shall be strengthened and feeble knees made firm . . . the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped . . . the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless shall sing with joy.  No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on this glorious highway, but the ransomed shall walk there.  The ransomed people of the Lord shall walk on this glorious highway, through the singing desert, and they shall return to Zion.  They shall come singing, and everlasting joy shall be upon their heads.  For they will be going home.

You see, here Isaiah is writing for the exiled Israelites, captive in Babylon.  The kingdoms of Israel and Judah have been defeated, the city of Jerusalem conquered.  The leaders of the nation have been taken captive and led off into exile.  There they sit by the waters of Babylon and weep.  They have hung up their harps and no longer sing the songs of Zion . . . they are in mourning for their home, for Jerusalem.  And there, in the midst of their sorrow, Isaiah prophesies their return . . . he tells them that the land itself shall rejoice, the mountains and hills will burst into song, and the trees shall clap their hands.  A holy way shall appear, a glorious highway for the ransomed exiles of Israel, and they will sing and dance their way back to Jerusalem . . . home.  They shall return home.

How beautiful.  How potent.

Of course, elsewhere in the Bible we read that some of the exiles, eventually, do return to Jerusalem.  The books of Ezra and Nehemiah tell this story and, as the more practical-minded and less poetic of us might predict, the return was not as glorious as Isaiah prophesied.  There were challenges and troubles for the returning Israelites, as there always are in our human endeavors.  But this history does not alter, to my mind, the deeper truth of Isaiah's words.

You see, Isaiah was not writing simply about the literal return of the exiled Israelites to their homeland.  Isaiah was also writing about the restoration of his people's identity.  In the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple, the Jews lost much more than their capitol and their place of worship:  It appeared that they had also lost their identity as God's chosen people.  After all, how could God's beloved ones be defeated in battle . . . unless God had abandoned them?  How could their city - how could the very dwelling place of God - be destroyed . . .  unless God was absent?  Isaiah was facing a much greater challenge than convincing the exiled Israelites that one day they would return to Jerusalem . . . Isaiah was attempting to restore the exiled Israelites to themselves.  He wrote to restore their identity to them . . . their identity as God's beloved, God's chosen people.  Isaiah was bringing the Israelites home . . . home to themselves.

Where's home?  Where's YOUR home?

I fear sometimes that we've forgotten where our home is.

And, you know, it seems to me that John the Baptist has lost his bearings - has lost his own sense of where home is - in today's reading.  Remember that in his mother's womb John leapt for joy at the appearance of Mary who was pregnant with the baby Jesus.  Even before his birth, John recognized the arrival of the Messiah, the Savior, Jesus.  And John's understanding, his insight into the truth of Jesus' identity, did not leave him in adulthood.  Remember again the stories of John's ministry, preaching a baptism of repentance.  When the Pharisees and Sadducees come to him, John - speaking of Jesus - says, "I baptize you with water, for repentance; but the one who comes after me is mightier than I am, whose sandals I am not worthy to remove.  He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire."  And when Jesus himself comes to John to be baptized, John tries to dissuade Jesus, saying, "Do you come to me?  It is I who need to be baptized by you."  John knows exactly who Jesus is.

And yet, in today's Gospel story we hear that John in prison loses his certainty.  He tells his followers to ask Jesus, "Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?"  Perhaps Jesus is turning out to be not quite the Messiah that John hopes for.  Perhaps, like so many others before and since, John misunderstands what the Kingdom of God will be like . . . the kingdom whose arrival he announces so clearly.  OR . . . there might be another possibility . . . perhaps John's own life is something of a mystery to him.  Perhaps, while he sees the Messiah and the coming of the Kingdom so clearly, on the other hand, the unfolding of his own life is a continual surprise.  This is, of course, complete speculation, but if it were the case, John would not be so very different from the rest of us.

Our lives are full of surprises, aren't they?  Oh yes, we can go along for a while - perhaps even years - with our lives following predictable paths and seemingly controllable courses.  But eventually, each and every one of us will encounter an unexpected bend in the road . . . a surprise . . . sometimes a very big, very unpleasant surprise . . . that may leave us feeling completely lost, no matter how strong our faith.  Perhaps his arrest and time in prison were like this for John.  Perhaps this turn of events was completely unexpected by him . . . and therefore unnerving and frightening.  Perhaps then, John spent the time in his prison cell doubting all of his assumptions, questioning all of his convictions.  If his life were turning out so badly, how could he be certain of anything?  In this, he would be rather like the ancient Israelites exiled in Babylon . . . rather like many of us.  And, if this were the case, it might not be surprising that he could come to doubt even the most fundamental certainty of his life . . . the identity of Jesus, the Messiah John first greeted while still in his mother's womb.

Jesus answers John's question, "Are you the one who is to come?", by echoing the passage of Isaiah we heard this morning:  "Go tell John what you hear and see:  the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them."  We aren't told whether or not John's followers go and tell him how Jesus answered John's question . . . but I expect they did.  And I expect that this answer reminded John of what he already knew, and brought him back to himself.  The Kingdom of God is not a physical place on this earth, nor is the Messiah an earthly king.  And our home, the place we yearn for like the ancient Israelites exiled in Babylon, our home, where we know most truly and fully who are, is not a physical entity.  Our home is Jesus Christ.

It is not unusual, when our lives seem to be going wrong, to question God.  The world around us seems, at least to some of us, to be spiraling out of control, and no one - not our politicians, not our corporate leaders, not even the leaders of our church - seems to know how to make things right.  It is a time when we may feel, individually and collectively, abandoned and alone . . . like the exiled Israelites weeping by the waters of Babylon, like John the Baptist stunned and frightened to find himself in a prison cell.  But this Sunday, THIS Sunday, we are called - in the midst of all our care and worries, all of our fears and doubts - to remember who and WHOSE we are . . . and in this remembrance find comfort and release.

For it is in Christ that we find rest and peace.  It is in Christ that we find completion and wholeness.  It is Christ that we find meaning and our true identity.  For Christ is our home.  When we are most frightened, when we are feeling the most desolate . . . remember:  "  Waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert . . . and a highway shall be there.  It will be called the Holy Way and shall be for God's people.  No one, not even fools, will go astray on it.  Weak hands shall be strengthened and feeble knees made firm . . . the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped . . . the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless shall sing with joy.  The ransomed people of the Lord shall walk on this glorious highway, through the singing desert, and they shall return home.  They shall come singing, and everlasting joy shall be upon their heads.  For they will be going home . . . home to Christ.

Rejoice, my friends, for we know where our home is.  The Holy Highway is already paved in our hearts.  And on it we may sing and dance our way home . . . to Christ . . . who is coming out to meet us.

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