To Babylon and Back
Isaiah 55:1-5
Hear, everyone who thirsts;
come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without price.
Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread
and your earnings for that which does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,
and delight yourselves in rich food.
Incline your ear, and come to me;
listen, so that you may live.
I will make with you an everlasting covenant,
my steadfast, sure love for David.
See, I made him a witness to the peoples,
a leader and commander for the peoples.
Now you shall call nations that you do not know,
and nations that do not know you shall run to you,
because of the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel,
for he has glorified you.
Sermon
We are listening in on a community reckoning with rebuilding. By the time we get to this portion of Isaiah, the Hebrew people’s home had been destroyed, they had been enslaved by Babylon, were forcibly migrated to a foreign land, and now, as we hear today’s text, returning to the rubble of their homes.
They survived, but at what cost?
They have been released from captivity, but to what?
Sometimes survival doesn’t feel as joyous as we imagine it to be. Sometimes, in enduring a crucible, humans aren’t left with a rock-solid assurance of God’s character, but rather, they are stuck with uncertain questions as to who God really is. So though these Hebrews have wandered back to Jerusalem, it isn’t hard to believe that they might be carrying a weariness in their bones that has left them depleted beyond belief. They have worked so hard, for so long, and hoped against every hope for a generation. But to do so, there might not be any gas left in the tank.
To add to the trouble of this return, the Hebrew people weren’t returning from some vacation to their own beds and familiar belongings. They couldn’t kick their sandals off and rest their heads. Nope. Now the hard work of rebuilding and return begins. The hard work of recovery for their sense of home, and recovery of their souls.
“Sometimes, in enduring a crucible, humans aren’t left with a rock-solid assurance of God’s character, but rather, they are stuck with uncertain questions as to who God really is.”
It’s at this point that the text of the prophet Isaiah rings out:
“Hear, everyone who thirsts;
come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
come, buy and eat!”
This is an assurance they desperately need. These words become the very breath of life they long for, filling the lungs of a people whose weariness has overtaken the very joy that was in their midst. These are the waters of renewal and restoration that satisfy the ancestral thirst of a people — the thirst of people who seem to always be stuck wandering in desert wildernesses, and never in the company of abundance.
We are hearing God’s fevered pleading for a people to unclench their fists, to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop, and to start embracing a new, joyful way of life.
Just as these wandering migrants ask questions about God and who God is, we hear God ask them questions, too. This is what we hear in verse 2:
“Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread
and your earnings for that which does not satisfy?”
As the Hebrews leave this crucible, where their way of life seemed to splinter into pieces, God puts this question before them. And the question is one about values. What do you Hebrews truly value as you rebuild your home? Why do you live in ways that are in opposition to your deepest satisfaction?
After the world breaks, and after the door to “what was” has closed for good, will you change with it?
I wouldn’t blame the exiles returning from Babylon if they wanted to rebuild things the way they remembered them. I don’t think we’d blame them if they wanted to reconstruct their family’s homes, and start cooking the food they grew up with, and play the same music they remembered. I would want to.
But in this question, God seems to be reminding them that despite their nostalgia, despite their memory of a former world that seemed to glitter in the sunlight, it was not a utopia. All that glitters was not gold. Though it will be hard, and painful, and tiring, the calamity they have endured has given them the opportunity to reimagine a new, wonderful, albeit unfamiliar society.
God is asking the Hebrew people to reach into their deepest beliefs and values and to hold fast to them like a life preserver. We hear this in the verses following the question. God reminds them that God made an everlasting covenant to David—the Davidic covenant—and claimed them as God’s own people. God is reminding them who and whose they are: reminding them of their particular vocation to be a blessing to all people, and to live with justice in one hand and peace in the other. Come and build a society where all are fed, all are satisfied, and all live in the assurance of God’s providence.
“After the world breaks, and after the door to ‘what was’ has closed for good, will you change with it?”
Though this isn’t a text that was written for the First Presbyterian Church of Newton, New Jersey, we know that nevertheless, it is a deep well of promise for us, too.
You all called me as your pastor nineteen months ago. Not that I’m counting. And for better or for worse, I turned your lives upside down, just as you turned my life upside down. And as we all know, it’s been eventful.
Together, we chased bats out of the building. We sheetrocked a six-foot hole in the wall. We cleaned, scraped, sanded, primed, and painted the Community Room. We compiled years and years of minutes, records, and files going back to 1812, working with the Presbyterian Historical Society to archive our legacy.
But there are two groups who have been working especially hard.
In the past year and a half, we would expect a session to meet about sixteen times. Our session has met 24 times.
The session has made good decisions—that oftentimes were also hard decisions—sweeping across the entire institution and congregational system. They have made hard decisions about leadership, church facilities, finances, programming, personnel, and public witness. The session has made decisive, Spirit-led decisions to keep this congregation safe. And the session has been sober-minded during a number of emergencies and extremely grave matters of church governance.
Alongside the session, over the past year and a half, the Finance and Facilities Committee has worked itself hard. From the time I arrived, the committee has been working its butt off — managing urgent issues and old ones alike. Last year, the garage suffered about $30,000 worth of damage that left it structurally unsound. The committee has examined church investments in close detail, completed a large amount of deferred maintenance, and renegotiated leases. Right now, the committee is finalizing a proposal to the presbytery and you all to resolve structural issues in this building, a proposal that will cost over $60,000.
“God is asking the Hebrew people to reach into their deepest beliefs and values and to hold fast to them like a life preserver. ”
I mention all of this because these leaders—both those who were here when I arrived, and those who are serving now—have worked so hard, and for so long, to pilot us into safe harbor. They have addressed years of work in a very short period, not because they wanted to, but because they were placed in a position where they had to. They have stewarded your financial gifts and personal trust with every ounce of energy, intelligence, imagination, and love that they have. We know we haven’t done everything perfect, and we’re reformed and always reforming, but they have worked themselves hard.
And I think this sermon is for all of you leaders—past and present—who are here today.
Because the road from Babylon back to Jerusalem can be excruciating. It’s a hard, hard road, with lots of twists and turns, and plenty of scares along the way. And after its crucible, it doesn’t always feel tidy, or good, or joyful at first. Sometimes we see rubble, and wonder if it was worth it.
But it is worth it. There is joy in seeing the long, harrowing road behind us—seeing Babylon in the rear view mirror—and knowing that your hope has prevailed. Your love has prevailed. Your community has prevailed.
So what’s next?
There are two things next. The first is that question: ““Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your earnings for that which does not satisfy?” It’s a question of our values, and how we will grow from calamity. We will have to identify and live into the values that will glue the puzzle pieces back together. And of course, we have to glue the puzzle pieces together in a new way — not in the way of yesteryear, but in the way that God is directing us today. It’s to remember that yesterday was not a utopia; the way forward is the way to God. And the way forward might be someone else’s journey of faith. You’ve got us home; now someone else needs to pick up a hammer.
And secondly—just as importantly—it’s to come to God. To be satisfied in God’s breath of life and living water. It’s to embrace the joy of this community and congregation, to live fully in its goodness. It means sharing some laughter in book club. It means lunch with other men in the church. It means going to the Miner’s game and having so much fun and eating so many hotdogs you might hurl. And of course, it means savoring the goodness of God in prayer, in worship, in nature, in spiritual disciplines.
So “hear, everyone who thirsts.” Hear, session members, and committee members, and treasurers past and present.
“…Come to the waters.” Come to rest. Come to satisfaction. Come to a new way of life and a new way of community. Come to prayer and worship and scripture. Come to the new home that you’ve led us to, the home the God has set before us in steadfast love. Amen.
