Strangers in a Strange Land: Isaiah 40:1-11

The reading that we heard from Isaiah this morning is one of the most well known passages in the Hebrew Scripture.  For many of us, myself included, hearing the words of this passage conjures up memories of listening to Handel’s great oratorio— The Messiah.  “Comfort, comfort ye my people—  the famous tenor aria declares—every valley shall be exalted, every hill made low.”  “All flesh shall see it together”— the choir sings out with joy.  But before these words were ever set to such beautiful and inspiring music, they existed first and foremost, as a lament.

These words were written during a period of Jewish history called the Babylonian captivity.  At the dawning of the 6^th century BCE, Israel was at the height of its glory— coming out of the days of the great kings.  But when Babylon invaded, they destroyed much of Jerusalem, deported many of its citizens, and the Israelites saw their days of glory come crashing to an end.  For over 50 years the people of Israel lived under Babylonian rule.  “How long O Lord”— they cried, “How long?”  They were banished from their beloved city to a strange land, full of strange customs, and stripped of the institutional structures that had shaped their lives and identities.  Feeling lost, alone, and uncertain about the future, they cried out to their God— “How long O Lord, how long-- before we can come home?”  And so the words we hear today from the prophet Isaiah—“comfort, O comfort my people”-- are a response to this cry— a word of solidarity to a people in the midst of mourning and exile.

Now for many of us, this definition of what it means to be an exile may seem rather distant from our everyday life experience.  To be forced from one’s homeland because of war or political strife-- to find oneself in a foreign land— not knowing the language, unable to express oneself or one’s beliefs--  is not really a reality most of us have ever had to face.  Most of us here-- though not all of us— live in the country in which we were born, we are free to express our beliefs as we like, and we are surrounded by much that is familiar and comfortable.  We may not readily claim the label of exile.  But of course that doesn’t mean that we can’t relate to the words of this passage— that we don’t also have times when we long for God’s presence and comfort.  Because at the heart of these words— and indeed at the heart of what it means to be an exile-- is quite simply this: to be a stranger in a strange land.  To feel alone or alienated.  To feel somehow disconnected from God, from ourselves, or from the world around us.  And how many of us can’t relate to that?  How many of us, at one time or another, has not looked toward God and asked, “how long, O Lord, before we can find our way home?”

This past Thursday was World AIDS day, and as I was reflecting on this passage, I thought of all those living with disease— not just with AIDS-- but any disease.   And I thought about how people struggling with illness can so often feel like strangers in a strange land.  In a culture that so glorifies the body-- that lifts up the ideal of physical strength, outward beauty, and perfection-- how strange and lonely it must feel to be battling one’s own body.  For those living with illness or disease, sometimes even the simplest tasks that most of us take for granted can seem like mountains to climb.  “How long O Lord”, asks the person struggling with illness, “before I can live a normal life?”

I think about those who struggle not with physical disease, but with the pain of mental illness or depression.  How they must feel like strangers in a strange land in the midst of the crowds of happy people during the holiday season.  I think about how lonely it must feel-- in the midst of all the messages telling us to rejoice and be glad-- to struggle to find even one small thing to be joyful about.  “How long. O Lord”, asks the soul in depression, “before I can feel joy?”

I think about those who live amidst violence.  I think about children who live in broken homes, and those who suffer domestic abuse.  How they must feel like strangers in a strange land, as all around them, they hear people proclaim: “Peace on Earth! Goodwill towards men!”  As congregations all across the world this morning light the candle of peace, others struggle to find peace in their lives even for one moment.  “How long, O Lord”, the child asks, “before I can know peace?”

Finally, as I reflect upon what it means to be strangers in a strange land, I think of the church in our 21^st century culture.  Now I want to be clear that there is certainly NOT a one-to-one correspondence between what the Israelites experienced in captivity and what we face now as Christians living in a post-Christian world.  Nor is there any comparison between the suffering of people living with disease or violence and the uncertain times that many churches find themselves in these days.  We are not victims.  We live relatively comfortable lives-- free of political or religious oppression.  That being said, there is no doubt that many churches, and many Christians, do find themselves feeling like strangers living in a strange land.  How many of us— after all— have friends who don’t understand why it is we continue to show up in church week after week?  Gone are the days when membership at a church was about as mandatory as being a member of a political party.  Gone are the days when being American was practically synonymous with being a Christian.  We live in a much more secular and pluralistic world.  And even for those who still consider themselves Christian, the church seems to have lost the kind of power and influence it once had.  

Now to be sure, there are many church leaders out there who mourn this fate.  They ask, “how can we sing the Lord’s song in this foreign land?”  But for my part, I don’t know that it’s such a bad thing to have to let go of a little bit of that institutional power.  I don’t know that it’s such a bad thing to find ourselves as strangers in a strange land.  I think it makes it easier for us—particularly at this time of year-- to remember that God came to us not in great power or splendor— but in the most humble form possible— a weak, helpless, infant child.  Additionally, being strangers in a strange land ourselves makes it easier for us to identify with the other strangers living among us.  It makes it easier for us to understand how it feels to be disconnected, lonely, or afraid.  And to then to be able to extend the hand of genuine Christian welcome and friendship— knowing the power that such a gesture can have for the soul crying out to God in exile.

At the end of the day, there are countless examples we could name of what it means to be a stranger in a strange land.  I’m sure that amongst all of us, we could come up with a long list of what it means to be an exile in our modern world.  It’s a question that can serve as an important reminder as we continue the journey of Advent.  As all around us our culture hurdles towards Christmas, it’s a reminder to us that before Christ comes, there is work yet to be done.  There is more light yet to be shared.  

In the midst of Israel’s cries, the prophet Isaiah offered words of comfort.  But he also offered them a challenge.  In the midst of their pleas to come home, Isaiah challenged them to make a pathway in the wilderness so that God could come home to them.  The author of Isaiah is telling the Israelites that they don’t need buildings of brick or stone to worship the God they love.  That even as they live in a foreign land, they can still sing the Lord’s song.  Isaiah has a similar challenge for us this Advent season.  In a culture that may call into question our continued commitment to what some would call a fading institution, we can still prepare a way for God in our world.  We can prepare a way for God by making our churches homes for all those who find themselves exiles— who find themselves strangers in a strange land.  Because more than it is an institution, the church— in the words of Bill Coffin— is a place “where we try to think, speak, and act in God’s way, not in the way of a fear-filled world.  The church is a home for love, a home for brothers and sisters to dwell in unity, to rest and be healed, to let go their defenses and be free.”  The church is a home for God’s spirit, and it is a place for all those whose restless spirits seek to come home.

In the season of Advent, we hear the timeless words of the prophet— “Comfort, O comfort my people.  Lift up the valleys and make low the mountains.  Level the uneven ground and make the rough places plain.  Isaiah spoke these words to the exiles of Jerusalem, John the Baptist spoke them to first century Jews in Palestine, and the Holy Spirit continues to speak them to us now.  Faith communities, the Spirit says, find your voice.  Overcome your fear.  Speak to the heart of a culture that is increasingly defined by the valleys of isolation and anxiety— that is increasingly divided by the mountains of partisan politics and ideology.  Proclaim compassion and charity over the rough places of consumerism and consumption.  Speak words of comfort and assurance to all who feel separated or abandoned by God.  Sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land, because we live in a world that is hungry to hear it.

How Long, O Lord?

Not Long.

Because now is the time-- ours is the voice-- and God is our home.