Isaiah 61: =
1-4,
8-11
Loving Justice
Elizabeth Macaulay
We are the songs we sing and the stories we tell.
In
this season when we are itching to commence with singing Christmas Carols, =
the
truth that we are the songs we sing and the stories we tell is so very power
filled.
During
this season of Advent, we have heard the song of the prophet Isaiah. It is a song of challenge and comf=
ort
and proclamation. It is a son=
g sung
to we who follow Jesus as reminder:
in our faith life, in our civic life, the way of waiting for hope to=
be
born in ways touchable has been rich and challenging through the ages.
Since
the beginning of creation, our God holds out to us expectations, challenges,
and a profound longing for us to live love fully. It was so for the people of Israel=
. It is so for us now.
We
hear in this season of Advent the telling of a story: Isaiah foretold the birth of a ser=
vant
leader who would teach and preach perhaps most especially to those made sma=
ll
by their culture.
Isaiah foretold a Messiah who would preach good news to the poor, to heal the heartbroken, to announce freedom to all captives and pardon all prisoners.<= o:p>
And
so it was. The first sermon t=
hat
Jesus preaches in the gospel of Luke has him quoting these very words from =
the
prophet Isaiah. They are test=
imony
to the power of the stories told and the songs sung. Because the only way Jesus would h=
ave
known these words was because someone took the time to tell him the story of
faith sung through the prophet Isaiah.
The
other song that is so powerful in this season is the song of Mary. The Magnificat. Sung by a young gi=
rl of
thirteen on a hillside after she said “yes” to bearing the Mess=
iah.
Mary
knew this song because she had heard it sung to her. In the book of Samuel, Mary’s
foremother Hannah sang a nearly identical song when she found she was to be=
ar a
longed for son Samuel.
And
the words of the song? They t=
ell of
a God who will turn the established order of the world around through the
ministry of and on behalf of the least.&nb=
sp;
The proud will be scattered and the mighty brought down. And a young peasant girl is the on=
e to
sing of being blessed - she who was bursting with God-news and dancing with=
the
song of God.
These songs we sing so blithely are the stuff of
revolution. And they are our =
song.
So here’s the thing about the songs we dance to and the stories that knit the bones of our character. T= hey are not hidden from the world. People around us know what sort of song grounds of lives. The songs and stories we give mean= ing in our lives announce themselves through our actions and in our interactions.<= o:p>
So what is the name of your song? What is the main idea of the story=
that
guides your life?
For
the people of Israel at the time of Isaiah and for the people of Jesus, the
story had to do with lifting the poor and vulnerable so they, too, could fe=
ast
upon the abundance of God.
And
that work is not the job of the poor and vulnerable. It is the job of those who have mu=
ch and
can share much. That would be=
you
and I. The people of God.
Is
this our story? If we are a p=
eople
of the book, a people who teach the stories of faith to our children even a=
s we
remember them ourselves, we know that living justice in ways that lead to j=
oy
is very clearly a large motif in our story. It is the melody of our song.
Do
we tell it? Does the world kn=
ow it
from the ways we live? Do we =
hum
the tune in the every day places of our lives?
As
you listen later in this worship service to the gift of the Ceremony of Car=
ols,
may the song of celebration, affirmation and joy be yours.
We
celebrate the song of a baby boy, born on a freezing winter night in order =
that
we might bear in our flesh the justice and joy that is our God. Born that we might sing our song i=
n His
way.
I
end on this song drenched day with a Mary Oliver poem: Song of the Builders. She preaches this sermon much bett=
er
than do I - and shorter, too!
On
a summer morning
I
sat down
on
a hillside
to
think about God -
a
worthy pastime.
Near
me, I saw
a
single cricket;
it
was moving the grains of the hillside
this
way and that way.
How
great was its energy,
how
humble its effort.
Let
us hope
It
will always be like this,
each
of us going on
in
our inexplicable ways
building
the universe.
Amen