Faith, Memory, And Waiting

"Faith, Memory & Waiting"

Isaiah 40:21-31
February 4, 2009

Have you not known? Have you not heard?
Has it not been told you from the beginning?
Have you not understood from the foundations of the earth?
It is he who sits above the circle of the earth,
and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers;
who stretches out the heavens like a curtain,
and spreads them like a tent to live in;
who brings princes to naught,
and makes the rulers of the earth as nothing.

Scarcely are they planted, scarcely sown,
scarcely has their stem taken root in the earth,
when he blows upon them, and they wither,
and the tempest carries them off like stubble.

To whom then will you compare me,
or who is my equal? says the Holy One.
Lift up your eyes on high and see:
Who created these?
He who brings out their host and numbers them,
calling them all by name;
because he is great in strength,
mighty in power,
not one is missing.

Why do you say, O Jacob,
and speak, O Israel,
‘My way is hidden from the LORD,
and my right is disregarded by my God’?
Have you not known? Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary;
his understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the faint,
and strengthens the powerless.
Even youths will faint and be weary,
and the young will fall exhausted;
but those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength,
they shall mount up with wings like eagles,
they shall run and not be weary,
they shall walk and not faint.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have a terrible, terrible memory, so much so that
people are often offended by the fact that I can’t remember names all that well,
especially if I’ve only had simple interactions with a person. If I have a conversation
with them in depth, or there is some signifying event that I associate with them, I can
usually remember their names—associating something in particular with them helps me
to remember them, which is an old memory trick. But it doesn’t always work—a month
or so ago, I was having a great conversation with fellow clergyperson over lunch, and
then days later, I couldn’t remember his name if you had paid me a million dollars—it
was just so frustrating! Maybe you’ve experienced that with me already—if so, I am so
sorry, but my memory fails me more often than not, and probably the worst
“disagreement,” shall we say, that Douglas and I have ever been was over something I
couldn’t remember doing or saying—and he was sure that I had to have remembered
it…and I honestly did not. Nowadays, he cuts me a little bit more slack, but you get the
general drift. The problem with having such a poor memory—and, no, I don’t know why
that its always been the case—is that it can get you into a lot trouble, because people
assume you’re either lying, uncaring, or maybe even worst, a little dumb.

Now, I don’t think I’m a liar, or uncaring, though I may be a little dumb, but my memory
issues are nothing compared to the collective amnesia that communities and nations
can sometime experience. For example, in the midst of this chatter about our country
seemingly having gotten over the issue of race, because we as a country have elected
the first African-American President, we might be tempted to forget that this coming
Thursday will be the 100th Anniversary of the National Association for the
Advancement of Colored People. We might be tempted to forget that the organization
was born in a time when widespread discrimination was still a reality for most black
people, in the North and South, and that a hundred years before its birth, in 1809,
African Americans were slaves in this country, counting only as 3/5 of a human being
as defined by our treasured Constitution. There is no doubt that we have come a long
way, thank God, but we can’t be tempted to forget where we’ve been and how important
it is to remember that past as we go forward into our future as a country, hopefully
erasing the vestiges that still remain of racism, both in our hearts, and in our country. If
we forget, if we forget the past, and only focus on how much better the present is, we
are in danger of doing exactly what the prophet Isaiah fears that the people of Israel will
do when the hard times comes, when the difficult moments overwhelm them—if we can’t
remember, if we forget the past, both the bad and the good past, we may not be able to
get through the present painful moment—and if we can’t get through this difficult time,
there is no chance for a future, a better future.

Maybe it’s a human thing, or maybe its just a part of our modern culture, but some have
argued that in our modern era we have a bad case of amnesia—we can’t remember, or
we don’t want to remember, or we don’t value memory—whatever the reason, a lot of
people think we’ve got a problem when it comes to remembering who we were, and
where we’ve been. However, I think they’re wrong about it being a “recent” problem—I
think the problem of not remembering, of having no memory, of having amnesia, is a
human problem and a spiritual problem that has been going on for a long time—
certainly for the people of Israel being spoken to in our texts today, it’s a major
problem. The words we just heard are from what scholars call Second Isaiah, that is, a
section of Isaiah believed to have been written after the disaster of the Babylon
invasion of Jerusalem in 589 (BCE), and the eventual carting off of the best and
brightest to the city of Babylon itself. The first part of Isaiah warns them about the
invasion, the second part of Isaiah was written to console, to give them comfort during
that time of collective captivity in Babylon, and third part of Isaiah is written after they
return from the Babylonian exile in 539. Most scholars think that three different writers
took on the name of Isaiah, in order to speak to the people during three distinct times
of their experience of trouble. What we have before us in this text is reflective of a time
when Israel has lost hope, when they are still in captivity in Babylon, yearning to come
back home again, and this writer wants to remind them of who their God is, and what
this God has done for them in the past, and Isaiah does this, he does this so
beautifully, by asking them to remember, to dig deep within their collective memory and
remember how God has always been faithful to them.

First, the writer says to them—do you not remember the creator, the one who has
created all of these things, the heavens that have been stretched out, the rulers of this
world that have been scattered by the hand of God? They come and go, these rulers,
and God simply blows them away like grass in the palm of his hands. Isaiah says that
this is a God who is both near and far, both other and beautifully intimate, so much so
that God calls us—each of us, and all of creation—by name. God does so much better
than me, right? God remembers our names, that is how intimate God is with us, even
as Isaiah says that this God is one who sits above it all, and sees the inhabitants of this
world as grasshoppers—both far and near, is Israel’s God. Have you not known this,
Isaiah asks, have you not heard, and always known, that God is here and that God
remains present in this world? This is a God who is with Israel in their times of deep
trouble, deep despair, as they were in Babylon, and this is the same God who is with
us, when all seems lost, and there is no way out, no hope left, and no point to going
on.

What those kidnapped Israelis forgot and we seem to so often forget is that faith comes
with memory, with remembering those moments in our lives when have seen and
experienced God’s faithfulness, God’s movements in our lives. We so often forget our
own stories, our memories of those times when God arrived “right on time,” as some of
the old African-American preachers used to preach, and we forget those ways that God
spoke to us through family and friends, strangers, and sometimes, sometimes even
through enemies of ours. I know that when I get scared, when I get fearful about the
future, about my personal future, or the future of something or someone I care about,
like this church, like my mother, or my sister, I know that I am experiencing fear because
I’ve forgotten to remember the ways that God has always taken care of me, has always
taken care of this church, has always taken care of the people I love, and even the
people I struggle to love. I forget about those moments when I thought there was no
way out, no hope, no nothing for the future, and yet, here came the future, and it was
often more than I could have ever wished for. God arrived “right on time.”

Why do we forget about the past when we are in the midst of our present despair?
Why did the people of Israel forget about God’s eternal faithfulness to them, as they
were languishing in Babylon? Was it because they chose not to remember or they
simply forgot to remember the God of whom this text speaks, the one who reminds them
of who this Divine One is, the one who stretches out the heavens above them, and yet
who knows them—and us—each by name? Maybe it’s because we get so wrapped up
in the moment, the present, that we forget that the present moment has not been the
ONLY moment in our lives—we forget that we have a history, a memory of the ways
God has loved us and held us, and done great and wonderful things in our lives. The
reason why some people just fall apart every time a crisis hits their lives is that they
forget, they forget about who God is and who they themselves are, and they fail to trust
in their own stories of God’s faithfulness. We become so stressed out about the
future—our financial futures, the future of our marriages and our relationships, the
future of our children, the future of this country—we are so stressed about the future
because we have forgotten to remember, to remember our stories of the past, and it is
causes us so much pain, so much useless worry. And I, I am not just speaking of you—
me, the preacher, the professional God guy, I forget too…so, do not think I am talking
down to you—I told you that I have an awful memory, and it’s not just an issue about
remembering names. It’s also about not remembering how God has always been there,
at every moment of my life, in way or another.

So, what are we to do in the midst of our own times in our own Babylons, those difficult
moments in our lives when we get so caught up in the crisis before us? Well, of course,
we are asked to do what Isaiah says, which is to remember, to call upon our memory,
and if our memory fails us, as if it does often for me, then we are to rely on the
memories of our friends and family and even Scripture. If you think about, scripture is
given to us to help us with our failing memories, to help us remember our own stories
as we read the stories of other people’s memories of God’s presence and God’s power
in their lives.

But there is something else to do in the midst of difficult times, something Isaiah points
us to in the last part of this passage today—it reads:

but those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength,
they shall mount up with wings like eagles,
they shall run and not be weary,
they shall walk and not faint.

Now, whenever I’ve heard this text before, I must admit that I had a visceral reaction,
because I know how impatient I am—I don’t like to wait for anything—I am certainly a
child of my generation. Waiting is for the birds—and sitting around being patient as our
lives fall apart is not something most folks are interested in doing in this life, and I don’t
blame them. But, you know, my past reading of this word, “wait” has been pretty
shallow, I think, especially as I’ve come to study the word a little bit more. I really think
that what Isaiah is asking us to do is more like what I did in my first job in college—I was
a waiter at a Shoney’s restaurant in the summer between my freshman and sophomore
years, and though the money wasn’t all that good, it did keep me afloat during the
summer. Out of that experience, I’ve become a very generous tipper, because I know
how much work it really is to wait on someone, to get everything ready for the main
event, so to speak, which is the meal itself. My job was to wait on the guests, to
prepare the guests for the reason they came into Shoneys, which was the meal—
certainly they didn’t come there to experience the wait staff, or for the beautiful
ambience. When Isaiah says that we are to wait upon the Lord, he’s not saying that we
ought to sit back, kick up our heels, and relax—no, what’s he asking to do, in that time
of crisis, is to prepare ourselves, and the world, to prepare all of creation for that
moment when God will arrive more fully back into our lives.

If we’re angry because there is no justice in this world, and no justice in our lives, then
let’s prepare our tables, our own corners of this world for the divine feast that is surely
going to come out of the kitchen at some point—prepare for justice at your table, in
your own corner of the restaurant, prepare your table the right way, and wait on God to
take care of the rest of the tables. If we’re waiting for God to get us a job, then let’s
prepare ourselves with training, with an open mind, with education—pull out the linens,
set the table, clean the palate and get ourselves ready for the feast. If we’re looking for
love, for better relationships with family, or for the healing of a loved one, let’s do our
waiting for God to answer those prayers by cleaning up our own emotional lives, by
figuring out what our personal boundaries are, and by being part of the healing of that
one we love, whether it be spiritually, emotionally, or physically.    The point is that
waiting doesn’t mean doing nothing—waiting on the Lord means preparing our hearts
for that moment when another memory of God’s powerful presence will be added to our
storehouse of moments of those times when God seemed to arrive back into our lives,
right on time. Faith is about remembering God’s past faithfulness to us, and waiting on
the Lord is about preparing ourselves, in a million different ways, for a new moment of
God’s faithfulness that will become a memory, a memory of how God was there, making
things right, making the world right, beside us, holding us close, powerful and strong,
tender and gentle. Amen.