Rev. George Miller
Dec 17, 2023
Ezra 3:10-13
A few weeks ago at Bible Study we were reflecting upon family,
Thanksgiving, traditions, days in the past and moments in the now.
Lisa was sharing what it’s been like this year with decorations
and classic shows. At one moment she said, “I remember what that felt like.”
She said it with enthusiasm, a memory to summon hope for
the world, summarizing what the time between November 23 and January 6 is
supposed to be.
“I remember what that felt like.”
The warmth of an oven filled with a turkey. The fantasia of colors and flickering lights.
Anticipation of coming to church on
Christmas Eve to sing “Silent Night” in a darkened sanctuary.
“I remember what that felt like.” The joy, the love…yet there is also the pain,
the loss.
Today’s reading captures all of this so well.
We come to a complicated time in Jerusalem’s
history. About 50 years ago they were
viciously attacked. The Temple was burned
to the ground.
A group of people are taken away to Babylon, as is all of
the Temple’s cups, plates, silver, gold.
For fifty years, their house of worship lays desolate, it’s
altar, chairs, steps no more, forcing the people to find a way to worship God,
to maintain their spiritual identity,
to remember what it felt like when things were the way
they were.
Fifty years have passed, and their enemy has been
defeated and the people get to go back home, and are encouraged to rebuild-
to rebuild their homes, rebuild their fields, rebuild
their Temple.
The first thing they do is set up the altar- the place
where they offered gifts to God, the place where they showed thanks, repentance,
community.
It is a day to remember- a big day in which they give
offerings from sunup to sundown.
Next comes the plans to lay the foundation; folk give generously
for the masons and carpenters.
In the 2nd year of return the foundation is
done and all of Jerusalem attends from priests in bright robes to musicians
with cymbals.
The people shout with gladness for once more they will
have a Temple…but then we are told of the elders who weep loudly as they remember
the first Temple.
There are family heads, religious leaders, who cry and
sob while the crowd shouts and celebrates.
The author tells us that at this vital moment, you could
not distinguish the tears from the laughter, the sobs from the singing…
… this is perhaps one of the most “accurate” stories in
scripture, regardless if it really happened this way or not.
This moment of a community coming together and having two
different responses couldn’t be any more true than if we were watching it
unfold in real time.
How many of us here today can relate to those who are
crying out? How close to home does this
hit in a post-COVID world?
How close to home is this for Emmanuel after a summer of
having to worship in the Fellowship Hall not because we wanted to but because we
had to?
How many people here today are finding that this is not
really “tis the season”?
How do we shout for joy when Maureen has died without any
of us having the chance to say goodbye, and Miss Roxie has moved to South
Carolina?
Scholars ask why the people cry, but the real question is
“How can they not?”
There are those crying for what has been lost, crying for
folk who are no longer there.
There are those who are having the reality of their trauma
set in.
Then there is another element- “Just how long is this going
to take?”
Sure, they put up the altar and yes they laid the foundation,
but now they got to put up the walls, put in hallways, install the seats.
Who’s going to go to Marshalls and TJMAX and Sams Club to
get the pottery and artwork and tchotchkes and bulletin boards?
How many committees and subcommittees is this going to
take? What’s the budget; what’s the timeline?
As with any project there are probably those who are excited
about all the moving parts…
and then there are those who may be thinking-
Big deal- we put in the foundation, but it is a long time
to go before this is completed.
Will any of it matter; will I be around to see it?
Some see all the steps this endeavor will take, and they
are excited; others see all the steps that are left to take and probably feel overwhelmed,
defeated.
And the truth is, this project is going to take a good 23
years to be completed, so many of those alive to shout and sob today will not
be there tomorrow.
But here is one thing to consider- this is not just a
story about rebuilding the Temple…this is a story about the rebuilding of the
community.
The community that was bonded by what the Temple meant,
were wounded when the Temple was gone, and is coming back together with each
altar, each foundation, each wall that is built.
This is a story about community, a community being
restored, a community feeling a multitude of feelings all at once- joy and sadness, loss and hopefulness, grief,
and gladness.
Because that’s what it means to be part of a
community. What it means to be united
around a common theme.
What does it mean when a community allows space for
people to feel different ways and to show their emotions?
Notice how the author does not try to dismiss the weeping
or hide their presence; instead the author creates space for all the people,
feeling all the emotions.
Which is what Jesus does.
As we wait for the birth of Jesus, who becomes the living
Balm of Gilead, as we prepare to once more sing “Silent Night”, we are mindful
of who Jesus is and why we follow him.
That Jesus created a compassionate community in which
there was space for sorrow at night and joy in the morning,
In which you can mourn and be blessed; in which friends
do die, and as Jesus demonstrated himself, it is ok to weep for them.
“I remember what that felt like,” Lisa said a few weeks
ago; today we are reminded that we also remember.
In those memories, there is joy and there is pain, there
is gladness and there is sorrow, there is hope and there is melancholy.
And with all those shared emotions comes another
opportunity for compassion.
Another reason why we follow Christ, another reason why
we as Emmanuel shine a light.
And that is OK because that is what it means to be human,
and that is what it means to be part of the family, the community of God.
That even in our sorrow there is a Balm of Gilead. And because Jesus is that Balm, we are able
to laugh and we are able to weep, we are able to extend compassion and we are
worthy of being comforted.
For that, let us say “Amen.”
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