Sermon March 3, 2013
Gracious Lord, bless the hearing and bless the speaking, that your Word may take root in our hearts and bear fruit in our lives, for the healing of the world you so loved, and to the glory of your holy name. Amen.
I’m sure most of you know that old gospel tune, Shall we gather at the river. Shall we gather at the river, that flows from the throne of God. The verses ask this question, shall we gather at the river, and the chorus answers, Yes, we’ll we gather at the river, that flows from the throne of God. The inspiration for this song comes from the final chapters of Revelation, but the river of God is a theme that winds throughout all of scripture, and is highly symbolic. The Jordan river that the Israelites crossed into the promised land was a symbol of salvation and freedom. For the prophets like Amos, the river was a symbol of God’s justice: “let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” Ezekiel’s river symbolized life: he saw an ever-deepening current that gave life to everything it touched. Rivers were a reminder, too, of the places where we are nourished and restored, like the familiar words of Psalm 23, “the Lord leads me beside still waters and restores my soul.” Jesus describes himself as a wellspring of living water gushing up in the heart of those who put their trust in him. So the river in Revelation that flows from the throne of God brings together all of these scriptural references to God’s rivers of mercy, and shows us a vision of clear, clean water, bright as crystal. This river provides cool drink and a tree with healing fruit, given as a gift, to all who are thirsty and weary. It is a river of healing, of God’s grace, of new life, and of rest.
In today’s Old Testament lesson, we have another stop along that river, and here, we don’t just have words about it, but Isaiah provides us with God’s gracious invitation to its banks. And you know, God is not fooling around with a patient request for our attendance, sent by snail mail with an RSVP card. Instead, this chapter starts off with, in Hebrew, literally the word “ho!” which is like saying, “heyyyyyyyy!! you! hey, come here!!!!” God then runs off a string of commands: “Come, buy without money, eat, drink, delight! Satisfy your thirst! Live! Hey, everyone who is thirsty, come here!” Isaiah invites, calls, all who hear this Word to a holy rest stop in the crazy pace of life, to be fed, to drink deeply, to savor, and ultimately to receive God’s abundant life.
As much as this passage is about our need for spiritual rest stops, it is also about our physical hunger and thirst. We are reminded of this in our Psalm today, Psalm 63, which is beautiful Hebrew poetry about thirsting for God’s presence. Hebrew is an ancient and very embodied language. It lacks the philosophical eloquence of Greek, which the New Testament was written in, but makes up for it in its strong imagery and honest depiction of real life on earth. Here, when we read, “my soul thirsts for God,” we are not talking about soul in some metaphysical way, because the Hebrew word soul really means person, or living being; everything about a person physically, spiritually, and emotionally. In fact, this word for soul, nephesh, literally means throat, the part of me that literally does thirst, that does get dry and longs to be coated with cool water. It is the part of our bodies, too, that sings joyfully, as well as the part that expresses our deepest emotions- I know that when I am about to cry, I first feel it coming when it wells up deep in my throat. The Hebrew language reminds us that our thirst and hunger are both physical and spiritual; we thirst in our emotional and spiritual lives for love, for answer to prayer, for healing, and for understanding, and we thirst also with our nephesh, our throat, and our entire being. In fact, when David writes, “My soul thirsts, my flesh faints for God, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water” he does so from the wilderness of Judah, and any of us who saw Heidi’s presentation on her trip to Jordan know what this looks like: vast desert, hot, dry, and dusty. Here in the winter of the Pacific Northwest it is hard to imagine a lack of water, but maybe some of you who have made trips to Arizona or southern California lately can relate. It was in the context of this desert lifestyle that God’s river of life was paradise and relief and so deeply satisfying.
When I was in college, I traveled to another very dry part of the globe, to the southern African kingdom of Lesotho. Lesotho is much like, say, northern Arizona in its geography: high elevation, mountainous, and arid. The country’s motto includes the word rain because rain is so rare, precious, and eagerly anticipated, and for the same reason, the color blue has a strong presence in its flag. Rain is literally the gift of life. There, many women still go to the rivers and creeks to wash their clothes, and the shepherds bring their cattle to these streams to drink. Unlike in our country, where water comes from a faucet in the house, the Basotho rely on the rain, on streams and rivers to sustain their lives.
While our group of college students was there for one month, we passed by a large textile factory several times, and on one trip, our tour guide stopped the bus and asked us to look out the window. “Do you see that steam coming out from that pipe there, and the stream of water beneath? That is where the water from washing the clothing comes out of the factory. It goes directly into the creek.” We were on a bridge, and could see the blue-gray water and soap-bubble foam torrent down into the creek below. Literally, the clothes were dyed and washed with detergent, and the water was then poured straight back out into the creek. There was no filter or purification process; just dumping. We couldn’t believe it. Later, we got a tour of the facility, and found out that this was a factory for jeans, and because of some special treaty, they were all headed for the shelves of our very own USA. The textile company’s hold on the political process was so strong, that the government in Lesotho was powerless to enforce regulations for their water usage. Needless to say, this provoked many discussions amongst us college students about the injustice of the situation, but also about our own role in the pollution. We saw with our own eyes in Lesotho how political and economic powers beyond us, yet which entangled us if we wanted to buy jeans at a low price, were shaping the lives of people we had never met. The women could not bathe their children in toxic water, nor could the shepherds allow their cattle to drink downstream from this factory. In a country where clean drinking water was scarce, this factory harmed the ability of the poor to sustain their lives.
On that trip, we saw a great culmination of powers-at-be spoil God’s gift of life-giving water for the people of Lesotho. So when I hear God’s word through Isaiah, “those of you who are thirsty, come to the water,” I know that the people of Lesotho are invited, too, not just to find refreshment in a spiritual sense, but to bring their families and livestock to drink clean, unpolluted water. And when God says, “come and buy food without money and price,” this is not just about nourishment in a spiritual sense, but an invitation for the poor to eat what they cannot afford. The rich and poor, the American tourist and the Masotho shepherd, are invited together to God’s river of mercy, because we all are thirsty for clean water, for love, and for wholeness. When we have communion, we are invited, too, by this radical economy of God, where literally all are welcome. We come without money and price, because the bread and wine are God’s free gifts. Whether we have never worried about getting enough water from the tap or we don’t have access to clean drinking water, we are beckoned to God’s river of mercy.
Though we often think of Lent happening in the desert, maybe Lent is really an invitation to the bounty of God’s waters of healing. If we could translate the waters’ gurgling invitation into English, I think it would sound something like this: “Let the broken ones be healed, let the lost be found and fed, let the grace of God roll on, let the river rise and spread. Step into the stream with me, let God’s gracious purpose be.” God created a world that is ripe with opportunities to celebrate the goodness of creation, with enough food and drink for all- but in very real and threatening ways, human beings have skewed God’s abundant gifts. I think Lent is not simply about our own shame or guilt, but about fasting from injustice and the ways that human beings have tampered with God’s gracious purpose. On the first Sunday of Lent, we heard these words from Isaiah: “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? 7 Is it not the fast I choose to share your bread with the hungry, and when you see the naked, to cover them?”
Lent is an invitation to join God’s ever-flowing stream of mercy and justice. The river that flows through scripture gushes out from this place, where we hear the Word of God and feast on God’s own gracious gifts at the table, it flows by the Baptismal font that reminds us of who we are, and out the door, onto the streets, down Greenwood Ave and 132nd, and that river beckons the world to come to the healing water of life, to receive what is good, to turn away from things that distort God’s precious gifts, and to become people who share God’s gift of love. This river then sings its song of invitation in us: “Let the broken ones be healed, let the lost be found and fed, let the grace of God roll on, let the river rise and spread. Step into the stream with me, let God’s gracious purpose be.” May that stream flow on until its work is done, on that day when we’ve gathered with all the saints at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful river that flows from the throne of God. Amen.
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