Margin and exile

A sermon preached at Hilton Church, Inverness on 13th October 2013

Lectionary readings: Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7; Luke 17:11-19

A bit of history to start with. We’ll be familiar with the background to the reading from Jeremiah after Jonathan Fraser’s sermon last week. The Jewish people had come under the rule of the Chaldean Empire, led by King Nebuchadnezzar, but they resisted. Many of the Jews were sent into exile in the Chaldean capital Babylon in 597BC, and more followed them into exile 10 years later after Jerusalem was destroyed by the Chaldeans.

The passage Jonathan spoke from last Sunday was addressed to the Jews remaining in their desolate city – you remember Jonathan spoke powerfully and movingly about the challenge to find hope, to be hope, to be a flourishing among the ashes.

Today’s passage is aimed at those Jews who had been sent miles from home – to Babylon.  What message from God can Jeremiah give to help them in their anguish?

Well, it wasn’t the message they wanted – other, less discerning prophets were telling the Jews that it would all be over soon. You’ll soon be home in Jerusalem. It will be as it was. The war will be over by Christmas.

But Jeremiah had a clear sense from God that the Jews would remain in Babylon for several decades, and he had the courage and strength to articulate this, and to guide the people in the way they should live in the light of this. It wasn’t until the Chaldeans were defeated by Cyrus the Persian in 539BC that the exiles were liberated.

An important point to make is that in these verses Jeremiah is addressing the nation, the people as a group, and so the direct lessons we can learn from the passage apply to us as a Christian church. But I think we can also read these verses as an encouragement to us as individual Christians.

Then the New Testament reading is a familiar one – about Jesus, on the border between Galilee and Samaria being met by ten men with leprosy who responded in faith, and were healed.

What’s the lesson from these passages for us today? I believe they speak to us as individuals and as a group if we sense that we are in some way in exile, as was the experience of the ancient Jews, or feel that we are marginalised, on the edge as was the experience of those people with leprosy.

In exile

In what ways can we sense ourselves to be ‘in exile’?

The first thing to say is that the message of the Bible is that our fundamental state as human beings is one of exile – symbolised by Adam and Eve who were exiled from the garden, exiled from intimacy with God because of the choice they made. As humans we are all in some way exiled from God. We are out of the element we were created to thrive in, the element of God. And so, on our clearer seeing days, when we are being completely honest, we may feel that we are not in the country we were made for.

But then some of us today may feel literally in exile. 

• Perhaps home is somewhere else, and we don’t really feel we belong in Inverness
• Perhaps home was a relationship with someone who has passed away, and we feel desolate, in a strange country
• Perhaps home was some golden time in the past as we remember it which we have never been able to recover
• Perhaps home is some goal which we have set ourselves but which we have never reached
• Perhaps home is the person I was before some major life event

And perhaps some of us feel in exile in a spiritual sense

• Perhaps the beliefs which once comforted us, no longer have the same effect
• Perhaps the God we once experienced close to us seems distant, and the things which have happened have led us to question his goodness.

This must have been the experience of the Jewish people. Jeremiah in the verses we read addressed ‘the captives he [that’s God] had sent into exile.’ They had been warned that God’s judgement would come on their nation, and yet the reality and the pain and the intensity of it devastated them. The spiritual exile was perhaps a greater burden than the physical and material dislocation.

We too know the anguish when bad things happen, when we have been seeking God and seeking to love God and yet some tragedy strikes. Why? Where are you God? Was my trust in you a delusion?

And we too know the times when we’ve messed up real bad, and we feel that nothing can undo what we have done, and we call out to God, but our hearts are leaden, and the door of heaven closed.

Last Saturday, my wife and daughter and I, plus Mollie the dog, went for a walk along Rosemarkie beach. And we saw an interesting thing there. A short flight of concrete steps, leading nowhere. At one point, the steps had taken you to a higher level of the beach, but the sea had eroded this low dune, and the steps were left, a relic of the past, stopping in mid-air.

I wonder if that is a symbol for some of us, of ideas and beliefs – whether Christian or otherwise – which once worked for us, but which no longer seem to lead us to higher ground, and we feel exiled, we feel that a door has closed.

On the margin

We all know something of the experience of exile, but many of us also know what it is to be marginalised, on the edge.

• We may feel that in our society the Church, or the Christian community is marginalised, and not recognised as a key force for good in Scotland
• Or perhaps we feel personally marginalised, not accepted, not one of the group. It could be because of some physical or mental health issue, like depression or schizophrenia. It could be because of a disability, or because of our sexuality. It could be that in some way I am just ‘different’ and made to feel (or think I’m made to feel) that I don’t belong.  It could be that I feel forever on the edge in church because I don’t experience God in the same way as others seem to.

So, many of us in exile or on the margin. And our passages today give us enormous encouragement. The key thing is simply this

God is with us in exile, on the margins.

You remember the Psalm Jonathan quoted last week?

Beside the rivers of Babylon, we sat and wept

as we thought of Jerusalem. ….

How can we sing the songs of the Lord

while in a pagan land. (Psalm 137:1, 4)

We’re used to the idea of the ubiquity of God. But I think the Middle East community at that time was used to the concept of each nation having its own gods. The Jews may have known in theory that YHWH was the one great God, but nevertheless they knew that the special place for meeting and worshipping YHWH was in Jerusalem, and now (after 587BC) the Temple was destroyed. Was their greatest exile from a God left behind in Jerusalem?

But they discovered that God was with them in exile. God had sent them into exile. God was accessible to them in exile. God would sustain them through exile. God would bring them out of exile

It’s the same with those folk with leprosy. On the edge, driven to the margins because of fear of the infectiousness of their disease. But God is there. They meet Jesus. He is not afraid to spend time with them. He heals them.

And this is the key message for all of us today, if we are feeling marginalised, or in exile for any of the reasons we have thought about – God is with us. God joins us on the margins, God joins us in exile – that’s the whole wonder of incarnation.

And if we realise that our sense of exile arises from the fact that we have never encountered God, then God calls us home today. We do not minimise the holiness of God when we describe him as a yearning Father, watching for those who have exiled themselves from the Father’s House to come home. God speaks to us in our exile, calling us home.

But perhaps our sense of exile and marginalisation arise, not from the fact that we don’t love God, but despite the fact that we love God and long for God. God is with us in our exile, in our marginalisation.

Jesus sent the people with leprosy to the priests – I think the idea is that the priests would examine you, see that the signs of leprosy had gone, and welcome you back into the community. By heading off for the local synagogue the ten were exercising faith, showing that they trusted that Jesus would heal them, even although he had only spoken.

Come to the foot of those concrete steps, the ones you think don’t led anywhere. Walk up them, one at a time, and as you go they may lead you into a new dimension, a new way of seeing.

Sometimes the journey we are called to go on is a long one, sometimes the steps go on and on. I remember sitting in a doctor’s surgery perhaps 30 years ago, a believer, but burdened with anxiety and depression, without a sense of my true identity. And Dr Duthie said ‘Often people in your situation when they get older find a real peace and equilibrium.’ Or words to that effect.  He was a kind man. But I sat and thought ‘Yeah, right.’  and the future seemed forever. But now I have reached a place where I know who I am, blessed and loved by God, still struggling with emotions at times, but so very happy to be me, and with a realisation that through the very fact of journeying I have been set free.

No quick fixes

The Jews in Jeremiah’s time were looking for a quick fix. But Judaism, and Christianity are not about quick fixes. They are rather about trusting God, trusting the divine timing, and living for God.

And so Jeremiah gives the Jews guidance for living in exile, guidance which challenges us as we face our individual experiences of exile, and challenges us in our experience as a Christian Church – in exile in a fallen world from the perfected dimension which we will eventually inhabit.

1.Be realistic, but don’t despair

Don’t despair. Don’t sink into depression and inactivity. The fact that God has sent you into exile reminds you that God is active, that God will bring you out of exile. Don’t be focussed on a quick fix so that you give up on life, perpetually disappointed.

2.Love life

‘Build homes, and plan to stay. Plant gardens, and eat the fruit they produce. Marry and have children. Then find spouses for them so that you may have many grandchildren. Multiply! Do not dwindle away!’ (Jeremiah 29:5-6)

Some Christians shake their heads glumly over the condition of the world, and focus on rescue at the end of time. But Jeremiah urges us to love life, to love what’s beautiful and good and true, to be creative, to seek joy even among the sorrow.

Some of your experiences of exile and marginalisation may be so profound, that you find it hard even to begin to love life. And yet I believe that, in even the deepest pain, we hear whispers of grace urging us in our sorrow, in our marginalisation, to choose life.  God says ‘I know your pain. I am with you in your pain. Choose life, choose joy in this ever so small way. Choose life at this instant in time. Leave the next instant, the next hour, the next day, to me.’

May we be a people who choose life, whatever that means for us as individuals.

3 Engage with the community

‘And work for the peace and prosperity of the city where I sent you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, for its welfare will determine your welfare’ (Jeremiah 29:7)

Here the challenge is to make a difference to society. We can apply it to the city of Inverness, to any community where we live, to Scotland, to the United Kingdom. We are called, as God’s exiled community, to weep over tragedy as Jesus wept over Jerusalem, to pray for our communities, to get alongside people in our daily work, in the Light House, in Street Pastors, in Highland Foodbank, in collaboration with other Christians, in engaging in clubs and societies and politics to make a difference in the name of the God who calls exiles home.

The Bible makes clear that this is our role as Christians. Jeremiah reminds us that it is also in our own interests, because our welfare is tied up in the welfare of our society. Some Christians think nothing about advocating the rape of the world’s resources because the end is nigh so what does it matter.

We may be in exile here, but for now this beautiful, fragile planet is our home, our lives are lived in fragile communities and nations where light and darkness jostle together and we are called to be people of the light. We will be thrice blessed in doing this: blessed in the sheer joy of doing it; blessed by the Father for having done it; blessed as the results of our work improve the quality of civic life.

What does that mean for my future, for my daily living? And again, what of those who are experiencing some deep, painful exile? What can I do to engage? There may be a neighbour I can help, there may someone in the same hospital ward as me whom I can encourage by a word. Exile and marginalisation takes us to places where, on a given day, we are the only voice God has. It doesn’t matter if we are only able to engage in a small way. What matters is that we do engage.

4 Gratitude

So, the ten folk with leprosy were healed. They would all be ecstatic, as a new future opened in front of them at the head of the steps of faith, a future in which marginalisation would be history. But just one came back to say thank you – and he was the outsider, the man from Samaria.

What have we thought about today? The God who is with us in exile. The God who in Jesus entered into exile with us. The God who sustains us, gives us vision and hope.

We don’t always feel like thanking God, but we learn that sincere gratitude to God even in deep darkness brings a whisper of healing.

5. Hope

It’s outside today’s passage, but it’s relevant. A verse which reminds us that our futures are in God’s hands. A verse which today we can apply to the Church in exile as it anticipates a welcome to the Jerusalem of God:

‘”For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”’  (Jeremiah 29:11)

Since God is with us, there is always hope.

Conclusion

Thinking about this, I wondered about those of us who this morning don’t feel marginalised, or in exile, but who are quite happy.  Great! And great to remember that God is with us too.

But I think there’s a sense in which when life is going well, we are in danger of losing sight of the reality of God. We can marginalise God. We can exile the reality of God from our everyday life, though we may still acknowledge God’s name.

Can I read you a passage from a novel which really struck me. Speaking, or rather writing in a letter is a woman called Molly who is struggling with faith issues:

I have always had many more questions than answers. My life began to change when my first child was born. I saw it as ineffable, full of mystery and wonder. It had more to do with meaning and purpose, less so with biology or theology. All the ‘God talk’ just seemed so cheap after my living, breathing daughter was placed in my arms.

I wonder if in our daily lives, undisturbed by exile or marginalisation, the God talk can become cheap, and superficial? But God is with us, not just as a spiritual presence, but God in God’s world, God crying out to us through the beauty of creation, God giving us each new-born baby, a ubiquitous God. God is much bigger than our God-talk.

And I remembered Francis Thompson’s lovely poem The Kingdom of God about the presence of God in the world, a presence which we so often miss because of our routine busyness. Until, that is, the time of crisis, the time of exile and marginalisation. Says Thompson:

But (when so sad thou canst not sadder)

Cry; - and upon thy so sore loss

Shall shine the traffic of Jacob’s ladder

Pitched betwixt Heaven and Charing Cross

Yea, in the night, my Soul, my daughter,

Cry, - clinging Heaven by the hems;

And lo, Christ walking on the water

Not of Gennesareth, but Thames.

Can we, in our pain, in the tough reality of our lives with all our questioning, see Jacob’s ladder as it were pitched between heaven and the Hilton Community Centre, or Falcon Square, or in the Light House. And in the Christ who walked on the waters of the Sea of Galilee as real in our community as if his feet touched the rivers of the Ness, or the Moray Firth? God is with us.

To use Thompson’s poetic language, perhaps as, whatever our experience this morning, we walk up those steps of faith we will see them extending upwards, and heaven coming down to meet us.