The Second Sunday of Advent
December 7, 2014

Listen to this homily! (.mp3 file)
 

     Did you hear the glorious sounds of Handel’s Messiah in that reading from Isaiah? I did. Even though the version we heard lacked the exquisite poetry of the King James’ version, still, the voice crying in the wilderness and the prophet’s announcing of comfort for God’s people, of valleys being exalted and mountains made low -- brought Handel’s heavenly music to my ears, and maybe yours, too. And worse things could happen, I think you will agree!

     Of course, when God’s people of old heard that prophecy, it was liberation they heard – the promise of freedom from bondage.  At last, they would be returning home to Jerusalem after long and lonely years of exile in far off Babylon, far from all they held dear, cut off from their homeland by valleys and deserts, mountains and hills.  Now all that was about to change.  Their humiliation was finally coming to an end.  They were going home and God would smooth their way home, filling in the valleys, bringing low the mountains, straightening the winding paths, turning the rugged land into a plain.

     For the exiled Israelites, that had to have been deliriously good news, and the beautiful poetry of Isaiah’s prophecy gives us a taste of just how good it was (and so does Handel’s music, for that matter!).

     But, my friends, like all the prophecies of old, this one loses its punch and its power if it is read only in light of times past.  God’s word was spoken in the past but it lives in the present. And that means that it has to be heard in terms of the social and religious, moral and political landscape of our own time.  And, with this particular prophecy, that’s not at all difficult because there are countless people today who, like the Israelites of old, experience exile – exile in a foreign land or sometimes exile in their own land. So many people in our world are exiles in one way or another.

     Think, for instance, of the millions of political and economic refugees who have fled for their lives and are crowded into barely human conditions in places like Turkey, Lebanon, Jordan, and Pakistan. Exiles they are, each one.

     Think of the persecuted Christians in places like Iraq, Syria, and Egypt who can no longer practice their faith – or who practice it at great personal risk -- in homelands that were once-Christian.  Exiles they are, too.

     And think of the Palestinians who are trapped behind a hated wall and who cannot go to work or return to their homes without the humiliation and aggravation of undergoing searches at border stations and checkpoints.  Exiles they surely are.

     Think, too, of African Americans and other racial minorities right here in our own cities who are subject to racial profiling because of a racism that, even if not always conscious or intentional, is nonetheless deeply ingrained and institutionalized in our society. They, too, are exiles.

     And so are the children from Central America who, after fleeing dire poverty, violence, death threats, and abuse in their home countries are turned back at our borders.

     All those and so many others are today’s exiles. Held captive they surely are, and the obstacles they face are more daunting by far than Isaiah’s deserts, mountains, or valleys.  And as long as they are held captive, the prophetic word needs to be spoken to them and for them -– no longer by Isaiah, of course, but by us. Because, my friends, we are now the prophets.  We are!  We became so at our baptism when Christ the prophet claimed us for his own, came to live within us, and put his own words into our mouths.

     And I know that can sound scary – that God would depend on us to speak the prophetic word. And I know, too, that we don’t have under our control all the levers of power to bring about great change, but we do have our consciences, and we do have a sense of moral outrage, and we do have our democratic processes, and we do have God’s Word that lives in us and should be burning within us.

     Now I know these are heavy thoughts for Advent when our thoughts more naturally turn to happier things – to hope and light, warmth and wonder, family and friends, and the coming joy of Christmas.  But take heart!  There is plenty of room for joy.  Happily, Isaiah’s message is as comforting as it is disturbing. “Comfort, give comfort to my people,” the prophet says, “speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her that her service is at an end, her guilt is expiated.”

     Those are among the most comforting words in all the scriptures, words to be shouted from the mountain tops, as are the ones that follow, “Like a shepherd he feeds his flock; in his arms he gathers the lambs, carrying them in his bosom.”

     My friends, God used Isaiah of old to disturb but also to comfort, and God uses us today to do the same. We are to be prophets of justice, yes, and messengers of mercy. 

     The coming great feast of Christmas makes all this very, very real, for, as you know, Christ’s coming among us was not only at Bethlehem: Christ comes in our time, too -- in our flesh and our blood. With our voices he speaks up and speaks out, with our hands he reaches out and lifts up, with our arms he embraces and offers comfort. And if this isn’t good news, I don’t know what is! So, my friends “Go up onto a high mountain and announce the glad tidings. Cry out at the top of your voice that here comes with power the Lord God!”  He comes in Word, he comes in sacrament, and, my friends, he comes in us!

Father Michael G. Ryan