I did my seminary work in
Southern California (Los Angeles county) which is a desert climate.
The choice to be far away in a different subculture of the USA was
intentional, as I figured I could use some perspective on the
Northeast.  The desert climate part wasn’t intentional.  I just liked
the school, so I decided to go there, and it happened to be in the
desert.  I had no expectation, whatsoever, that this would be
relevant.

So, clearly, it was.  The first
piece of learning came from the campus itself, which was planted with
biblical plants so we as the students could have a better sense of
what the Bible was talking about.  Because I’d grown up in the water
abundant Northeast, I hadn’t really considered the ways that my
visioning of the Bible was insufficiently desert like.  

Then came the fact that I don’t
LIKE the desert.  I hated that the sides of the road were filled with
pebbles with nothing growing in them, because without watering,
things just didn’t grow.  I hated being dehydrated, and the amount of
water I had to drink to be hydrated.  I didn’t like the heat.  I came
to resent Palm Trees for being there when trees I knew and loved
couldn’t be.  (Can you tell LA wasn’t a natural fit for me?)  

Somewhere along the line as we
learned about Christian history it became clear how much of early
Christianity was formed by the words and actions of solitary desert
thinkers, and later monastic desert communities.  The so-called
“Desert Fathers” were new to me, but heavens they were important.
My classmates who were native to the area waxed poetically about the
beauty of the desert, and its starkness, and the rich spiritual
depths of being alone in such a stark environment that was so
unfriendly to life.  I understood part of what they meant, I love the
great outdoors, and I have felt closest to God in nature.  Except, I
don’t actually LIKE stark and dangerous landscapes.  They are
DEFINITELY beautiful.  For me they are startling in good ways too,
but not really in God-connection ways.  My soul isn’t a desert soul,
although I recognize that desert is as good of a climate as any
other.  (This is all about my preferences, not about what is good.)

But then, in the winter of my
second year, a friend read that the recent rains we’d had were
sufficient to make the desert bloom.  The desert blooms erratically,
it isn’t an every year sort of thing.  More than that, this was the
100- year bloom, and plants believed to be extinct were in full bloom
under the unusual conditions.  We drove out to Joshua Tree National
Park to see it, and it was breathtaking.  From afar, the landscape
actually still seemed stark – it wasn’t as if the plants were more
abundant than they’d been before.  But as you looked, flowers were
EVERYWHERE.  The flowers were more diverse and more delicate than I’d
ever seen before.  We saw a burning bush in bloom – you can
definitely tell why it is called that.  Out of what seemed to be bare
rock came tiny flowers.  Rock faces exploded with color.  

There was nothing in my life
that had prepared me for the desert bloom.  Even now, it stuns me,
the transformation of it all.  That hidden in the starkness was
beauty beyond my imagination.  The flowers were bright, and
different, but sooooo fragile.  It was often hard to believe they
existed.  It blew my mind to see yards of dusty pebbles in every
direction, the floor the desert, and then to notice a tiny little
flower breaking through all on its own.  

To say it directly, I have seen
nothing that proclaims resurrection more than the desert in bloom,
and I think it is radically unfair that this desert hating
North-easterner got to to savor the 100-year desert bloom, and see
life emerge from what looked like lifelessness.  But I’m thankful
anyway.  

Isaiah starts this profound
passage with imagery of the desert in bloom.  I shared all that,
because I don’t think that we who know spring flowers, and summer
flowers, and even fall flowers can hear how BIG the vision of the
desert in bloom is for desert people, nor how much of a miracle it
is.  The clear joy of this passage fits incredibly well with the
desert in bloom.  It is abundant, it is colorful, it is unexpected,
it is hope-filled, it is transformative.

Isaiah is talking about the joy
of homecoming in this passage.  The assumption is that the people
will be taken into exile (true, they will) but that someday God will
act and let them come home (also true).  This vision of homecoming is
bursting with joy.  The act of coming home after the exile is called
“restoration” or “the return” and this restoration passage
bubbles with joy in God.

It starts with the imagery of
the desert in bloom, and then it EXPANDS into human healing.
Physical limitations are lifted, healing occurs, strength is given
where there has been weakness.  Then it takes the desert metaphor
even further.  Streams of water will flow, pools of water will
emerge, springs will break out.  I think my favorite line is the one
that says, “the haunts of jackals will become swamps.”  Now THAT
is a transformation.  

In the midst of this beautiful,
blooming, and now lush landscape, with healing for all in need of it,
there will emerge…. a way home.  And the way will be safe from all
attackers, and easy to follow – impossible to get lost on.  On that
path, the people will travel home, and life will be restored to what
it shall be.

And, of course, there will be
joy and singing, and so much of it that sorrow itself will fall away.

What.  A.  Vision.  

It seems hard to believe Isaiah
could start with the desert in bloom and then grow imagery from
there, but he does it.  Exile and return/restoration is one of the
big themes of the Bible, likely because while the story happens once
to the Israelite people, it happens time and time again to us in our
lives.  

When I was 13 I broke my femur
and was put in a straight leg cast.  For months I was unable to
navigate stairs on my feet (well, my foot) at all, I had to sit on
the steps and move up or down them one at a time.  During that time I
restlessly dreamed of the day when I would be restored to walking up
and down stairs on my feet again.  And then, of course, once I was,
it mostly lost its luster.  For better or worse I’ve had plenty of
injuries in my life though, and my capacity to do stairs has
dissipated and then returned rather a lot.  Perhaps because of the
depth of the yearning in my younger years, sometimes while I’m on a
set of stairs, I remember to be grateful for the capacity to use
them.  

I think exile and restoration
have a lot of emotional resonance too, because in large part they are
about “home.”  And home is a big huge deal to humans.  What does
home feel like?  What does it mean to leave home?  How does it feel
to be between homes?  Or homeless?  Or someone with a foot in more
than one home but no one place to call home exclusively?  When we are
sick, or injured, we yearn for home.  When we think of displaced
people in the world, we recognize the pain of being far from home and
without a new place to try to make home.  And, as North Americans, we
come from people who have left homes.  Those whose ancestors came
from Europe or Asia often left home voluntarily.  Those who ancestors
came from Africa were enslaved and torn from their homes.  Those who
ancestors were native to the Americas were displaced by the Europeans
who came here.  I sometimes wonder if some of the displacement in our
society comes from our shared histories of being displaced in the
world.  In any case, “home” is something that matters to humans,
and exile and restoration are all about home.

Now, the imagery of Isaiah is
assumed when we come to Luke.  Isaiah’s vision of restoration and
return home are premised on God’s actions, and so are Luke’s.  John
the Baptist is going to be seen as the forerunner of Jesus, the one
who starts the path in the desert so Jesus can complete it – and we
walk it.  The language of Zechariah’s song is that of redemption,
salvation, mercy, and rescue.  ALL of those emerge out of the desire
for restoration and return.  They are the yearning not just for home,
but for a safe home, and Zechariah names that “fearlessness” is
an impact of God’s work in those days.  As John, whose name means
“God is Gracious” will prepare the way, and Jesus will walk it,
the result will be peace, fearlessness, and light.  Redemption,
salvation, rescue all resonate with people being safely HOME.

It is the tradition of
Christianity to follow Christ, since Christians means “little
Christs.”  I’m all for this, but sometimes I think it is worth
considering when we are being asked to be “little John the
Baptists.”  Often, I think our work is the prepare the way, and to
be prophets of what is possible with God.  Perhaps this is just the
longview of building the kindom, acknowledging that some work gets to
make the BIG changes, but before that happens, there have been years
or decades or centuries of preparing the way for that to happen.

In our Advent Study on John
Shelby Spong’s “Unbelievable” last week we discussed his idea
that morality is always contextual, and thus always in flux.  So, we
talked about how public morality has changed in our lifetimes, and
you know what?  It has been GREAT!!!  Space has been made for people
to be who they are and to be accepted and loved as they are in ways
that once seemed impossible.  LGBTQIA+ rights have expanded, and
rights and opportunists for people with disabilities have been
normalized, people who are divorced as no longer stigmatized, nor are
those who have sex outside of marriage.  Women’s work opportunities
have exploded.  All of us in the room had grown in our awareness of
racism and privilege, and had hope for the country to change its
practices.  The changes were truly inspiring.  Also, work on all of
that inclusion and all of those rights was being done well before any
of us were born.  Many, many people have prepared the way and we are
able to see their work with gratitude.

The work we do to prepare the
way is the work that we may never see the impact of.  But, we trust
that God will make sure the next steps happen, and God’s people will
follow through, and the preparation will not be in vein.

So, dear ones, prepare the way.
Work on building that safe and beautiful highway home for ALL of
God’s people. Because, someday, it will be complete and the people
who walk it will be singing songs of joy and gratitude for what God
has made possible.  And that which God makes possible, God lets us
work on!!  Thanks be to God for that, and for beautiful homecomings
of many varieties.  Amen

–

Rev. Sara E. Baron

First United Methodist Church of Schenectady

603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305

Pronouns: she/her/hers

http://fumcschenectady.org/


https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

December 15, 2019