Sermon - The Rev. Elise A. Feyerherm - August 21st, 2022

Our reading from Isaiah this morning speaks to a people in transition. It is part of what we sometimes call “Third Isaiah,” chapters 56-66, written after the people return but before the rebuilding of Jerusalem and the temple. The people of Israel have been allowed by Cyrus, king of Persia, to return from exile in Babylon to the land that is so sacred to them. They have been gone for half a century, and for a hundred years after their return, Jerusalem is still very much a pile of rubble. This is a time for rebuilding and restoring, for learning from the sins of the past and pledging anew to faithfulness to God.

Will the people bind themselves anew to God’s purposes for them, to justice and care and holiness? Will they break free from the prison of greed and self-interest and abuse of power? Or will they accept once again those shackles that led them into exile in the first place?

Unfortunately, things have not been going so well. The prophet can see that the people are slipping back into their old bad habits – accusing each other, letting the poor go hungry, spending the holy Sabbath in transactions that advance their own interests. Once again, they have drifted far from God and from each other, at a time when it matters the most.

Into this time, the prophet brings, as scholar Brannon Breed writes, “an alternative vision of the beloved community.” He reminds them of what it means to be a people of God, and what it will take to rebuild this beloved community. The task they face is daunting, and even seems impossible. They have to rebuild their community not only physically but spiritually, from scratch. What Third Isaiah offers is, in a way, a set of touchstones that will point the way. And I see in these touchstones guidance not only for ancient Israel, but for any community in transition. I see that they have something to offer us in our time of transition and exploration.

We are not rebuilding from scratch by any means; in fact, our life is continuing with great vigor and faithfulness. But we are in a time of reevaluating, of scrutinizing ourselves to see where we are on track and where we need a nudge. And in a way, the work of rebuilding and the work of sustaining are not all that different. Each kind of work requires that we journey, one day at a time, focusing on what is most needful, most sustaining – namely, we give our hearts to God, we care for each other, and we take responsibility for our own part in the work ahead.

Whether we are rebuilding from rubble or moving forward on a strong foundation, the tools and the qualities we need are much the same. I see in this part of Isaiah the things most needful for us at this time. First, the prophet speaks of “removing the yoke… the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil.” I think part of the meaning of this is that a necessary part of living well together is refraining from blaming the other. Finger-pointing – “this is your fault” – creates an atmosphere of bitterness and shame. It is, in a way, the real original sin; back in the Garden of Eden, it was not so much disobedience, but Adam’s claim, “She gave it to me, and I ate” that created fatal fissures in the web of relationships, not only between humans themselves, but between humans and God.

The antidote to the pointing of the finger is to ask not “Whose fault is it?” but “How can we make it better?” “What part have I played in this, perhaps unknowingly?” “How can I respond in a way that moves us forward?” “Where is God in all of this?” “What are we learning about ourselves and our community?”

Refusing to play the blame game is a spiritual practice; it is about staying connected with our imperfections and our tendency to miss the log in our own eye. Refusing to point the finger is about viewing the world through the compassion and forgiveness of God. And we have to practice, practice, practice. It will not come all at once. This may not be a problem here at St. Paul’s – I actually think we’re pretty good at focusing on solutions rather than finding fault. But we stay good at it by paying attention to ourselves and resisting the temptation to lay blame.

Next, the prophet speaks of offering food to the hungry, satisfying the needs of the afflicted. No community can survive and thrive if it does not focus first on the most vulnerable in its midst. Israel had forgotten this – no doubt because life was so hard that everyone was scrambling to survive. When everything is in flux, it is tempting to stake out one’s territory and defend it, without thought for those who are struggling even more.

But the truth of the matter is that it is not a zero-sum game. We rise and fall together, as the Body of Christ in this place. We are none of us free, as Emma Lazarus wrote and MLK echoed, until we all are free. So the poor, the sick, the bent over, the despised – they come first.

And then, the prophet calls the people to a deeper observance of the Sabbath, which may seem like an odd thing, given that he is so focused on ethical and just behavior. What does Sabbath observance have to do with that? As it turns out, everything. At the root of Sabbath rest – the whole purpose of worship, prayer, abstaining from ordinary business on the Sabbath, is creating beloved community.

At the heart of Sabbath is justice and abundance. Torah reminds us that Sabbath is by its very nature about justice; Deuteronomy 5 states that rest is given not only to owners of households, but to children, servants, resident aliens, and animals. No one’s rest should be on the backs of others who have no rest.

And the rabbis of Jesus’ era and later made it clear that doing good – healing, helping, releasing – was permitted, even demanded, on the Sabbath. In the story of Jesus and the woman who was bent over it is the leader of synagogue who is out of line – not only in his theology, but in his disregard for Isaiah’s instruction about removing the pointing of the finger. In scolding the woman who was unbound, he disobeyed each of the principles we heard from Isaiah by blaming, ignoring the needs of the afflicted, and focusing on his own interests on the Sabbath. No wonder the entire crowd – made up of faithful Jews – was rejoicing at all the wonderful things Jesus was doing. They understood the book of Isaiah much better than the leader did.

At the heart of the prophet’s call, however, is something much deeper. For Jews and Christians alike, being faithful is not ultimately about “following the rules.” We don’t save ourselves or our communities, any more than the woman who was bent over straightened up by herself. In the Greek, it actually says that when Jesus laid his hands on her, she was straightened up, in the passive voice.

The story is not only about a dispute about Sabbath practice; it demonstrates the power that Jesus has over the forces of evil and destruction. It is a window into the emergence of the reign of God in and through Jesus the Christ.

Our day by day journey – not playing the blame game, caring for the least among us, gathering faithfully for worship and prayer – this is only possible through the love and power of God, through Jesus, in the Holy Spirit. Our God, as the prophet knew, is not only a source of instruction – our God is, as Hebrews tells us, a consuming fire. The one who frees us from bondage, feeds us with God’s own body and blood, redeems our life from the grave, and makes it possible for us to delight in the holy work to which we have been called.

There is much to do in the coming days and months; perhaps the most vital thing of all is that we join with that crowd so long ago in Galilee, rejoicing in all the wonderful things our God is doing.