Hope For Michigan

"Hope For Michigan"

Jeremiah 32:1-15
February 22, 2009

The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD in the tenth year of King Zedekiah of
Judah, which was the eighteenth year of Nebuchadrezzar. At that time the army of the
king of Babylon was besieging Jerusalem, and the prophet Jeremiah was confined in
the court of the guard that was in the palace of the king of Judah, where King Zedekiah
of Judah had confined him. Zedekiah had said, “Why do you prophesy and say: Thus
says the LORD: I am going to give this city into the hand of the king of Babylon, and he
shall take it; King Zedekiah of Judah shall not escape out of the hands of the
Chaldeans, but shall surely be given into the hands of the king of Babylon, and shall
speak with him face to face and see him eye to eye; and he shall take Zedekiah to
Babylon, and there he shall remain until I attend to him, says the LORD; though you
fight against the Chaldeans, you shall not succeed?” Jeremiah said, The word of the
LORD came to me: Hanamel son of your uncle Shallum is going to come to you and
say, “Buy my field that is at Anathoth, for the right of redemption by purchase is yours.”
Then my cousin Hanamel came to me in the court of the guard, in accordance with the
word of the LORD, and said to me, “Buy my field that is at Anathoth in the land of
Benjamin, for the right of possession and redemption is yours; buy it for yourself.” Then
I knew that this was the word of the LORD. And I bought the field at Anathoth from my
cousin Hanamel, and weighed out the money to him, seventeen shekels of silver. I
signed the deed, sealed it, got witnesses, and weighed the money on scales. Then I
took the sealed deed of purchase, containing the terms and conditions, and the open
copy; and I gave the deed of purchase to Baruch son of Neriah son of Mahseiah, in the
presence of my cousin Hanamel, in the presence of the witnesses who signed the deed
of purchase, and in the presence of all the Judeans who were sitting in the court of the
guard. In their presence I charged Baruch, saying, Thus says the LORD of hosts, the
God of Israel: Take these deeds, both this sealed deed of purchase and this open
deed, and put them in an earthenware jar, in order that they may last for a long time.
For thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel: Houses and fields and vineyards
shall again be bought in this land.

The year is 1851 and William Southard was in a small schooner on Lake Huron, making
his way to a parcel of land that he and his partner William Stafford had bought from the
government, some forty acres that had been originally designated as pensions for
veterans of the war of 1812. Right at the thumb of Michigan, this land had promise, so
Southard had heard, but he hadn’t actually seen the land yet, which is why he was on
that schooner on that fateful day. A problem had arisen during the journey: it had
became clear to the crew of the schooner that a bad storm was coming and so they
were unwilling to go much further. The solution: they simply deposited Southard on the
shore, some distance from his newly bought land, leaving him only with a small skiff, a
small boat, and they promptly left the area for safer port.

Stuck on that beach with no place to go, but his newly purchased acreage, Southard
set out on Lake Huron towards the area that he knew was his. The wind, the rain, the
swells, were treacherous but he persisted with his paddle in that one man boat, rowing
himself to a home he had never laid eyes on. The hours passed, his arms became
wearier, even as the conditions worsened, and he must have surely wondered whether
it had been a good idea to set out on a day like this—perhaps he should have just
camped out until the storm passed. However, at this moment, he was stuck with his
decision, but he was starting to get a little desperate, I suspect, so desperate that he
made a vow that if somehow, someway, he made it to shore alive, he would name that
very spot as Port Hope. Well, the good news is that there is a place called Port Hope,
and so Southard made it, and he kept his word. His business partner William Stafford
and others opened up the area to lumbering and by 1858 his company dock was
constructed and the mills were in operation—in fact, one of the chimneys from the mill
is still standing, and is the only remaining chimney still erect wfrom the lumbering era.
The painting of the lighthouse on the cover of your bulletin today is in Port Hope, a
symbol for all those other William Southards that someone is looking out for them, that
indeed, hope is nearby, hope is available even in the midst of a storm.

I think hope is exactly like Southard experienced it, something thrown out there on the
waves of life, amidst of the storms of existence, a possibility, an impossibility, hoping
against hope, so to speak. Every time I share a word about hope, and I do it often, I
wonder whether anyone actually believes me and whether or not I believe it
myself…and then there come moments when I find my own shore again, I find my own
way in the storm, and my feet finally settle on steady land after a long time, and I am
reminded that, indeed, that my words are true, that there is a reason to hope, there is a
reason to believe when belief seems like nonsense…there is always a Port Hope, right
on the horizon, a place to stand, a place to feel safe.

And yet, even as I say that I am cringing internally—I don’t like it when people offer me
cheap hope, hope that isn’t realistic, hope that isn’t grounded in the real world, hope,
out there, somewhere in the clouds. The hope I am speaking of is a hope grounded in
the real world, not one that’s not been tested by real life, not a hope that confuses the
past with the future. Real hope doesn’t dream about the past, doesn’t demand the past
be the future, but instead, believes in the future, a different future; hope believes in the
possibility that something else is coming right around the bend, and what’s comin’ isn’t
bad news, but good news. That grounded hope, that hope forged in the real world,
was spoken to a few of us that went to the Michigan Conference last year in
Kalamazoo, and it came out of the mouth of a friend of mine, who had been invited to
preach the worship services. Don Morgan is a UCC minister who worked for Back Bay
Mission, and his job was to manage the many groups that had come to Biloxi, MS to
help repair the homes of the poorest of the poor in the area. When Hurricane Katrina
came through, it devastated Biloxi, as many of you know, especially those of you who
went on the mission trip last year, and Don was hit badly as well, his apartment ruined,
most of his belongings gone, his life in shambles, in many ways. Still, he was out there
directing and supervising groups from all across the country who came in to help, and
are still coming in to help. And, yet, there is some irony here, isn’t there—who did God
send to Michigan to offer us some hope, some solace, some possibility, but the guy
who had just a few years earlier almost lost it all? Obviously, God saw that things were
really rough for us up here in the Wolverine State, and God sent the best, someone
who could speak out of a hope he had lived, a hope that was grounded in the real
world, messy and unexpected, and imperfect, but hope, nonetheless.

I can still see him preaching in my mind’s eye at the Conference, using the very text we
have before us today, but before he got going in that wonderful African-American
cadence that came out of his Christian church tradition, one of the four strands of
traditions that make up the United Church of Christ, before he got there, he started
slowly and he told us that he did some research on the internet about economic
situation in Michigan, which, he rightfully noted, was bad—and think about this—he said
that to us in July of last year, before things go really bad, before people all over the
country started to experience what we’ve been experiencing for quite awhile up here.
The high unemployment, the budget deficits, the malaise all around us—it really did
surprise him, because I don’t think he knew how tough it really was for us up here. But
after the litany of bad news came the text we have before us, the good news amidst all
the bad news.

What we had before us that night and what we have before us this morning is a
moment in ancient Israel when all hope had been lost, and the prophet Jeremiah offers
them something more than words, something more than what I am offering to you in this
moment—he offers them a gesture, an act, that is meant to show them that all is not
lost, that there is a future, a future that includes them. You see, when Jeremiah buys
this piece of property, he is not only sitting in a prison on some trumped charges
brought him against for treason, but he is about to buy a piece of property in a land
that he believes will soon be destroyed by the Babylonians. Yet, he is one who has
been prophesying this reality to the people, he knows what is about to happen, and yet
he buys property in a land that is about to become worthless, a land where property
deeds will not likely be respected by the Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar, the soon to
be ruler of the land of Israel. The people have disobeyed God for too long, and God is
going to allow the Babylonians to run over Israel like water runs over a waterfall. Jewish
law said that Jeremiah had first dibs on buying this piece of property, in order to keep it
in the family.   But why would someone buy stock in a failing company, so to speak? It’s
like buying stock in Merrill Lynch a few days before it goes under—and you’re the Chief
Financial Officer—you know things are falling apart and fast.   And yet, Jeremiah is told
by God to buy that land from his relative, to keep it in the family, even when he knows
what’s about to happen to Israel.

And, just to put a fine point on it, this was no private, back-room sale—Jeremiah signs
the deed in front of everyone, everyone in the court of the guard, the county
courthouse, so to speak—it is no secret that the prophet of doom is buying preperty in
the very land that he has doomed in God’s name. But, of course, that was the point—
to make it a public event, to make it an obvious sale, to put the notice in the paper that
won’t be publishing a few days from now, so to speak—to say it loud and proud, that
even though the Babylonians will sweep through this land, though they will carry off our
best and brightest to the city of Babylon, this land, these people, they have a future.
The bringer of bad news is also the bringer of good news—Jeremiah points to his own
Port Hope, even before reaching land, even before reaching the safety of the shore.

When Don pointed this out months ago, I was spellbound, because I do think there is
something here for us, those of us that feel as if Babylon is about come through the
gates, or, actually, has already come through our gates, and is now going through the
rest of the country.   If Jeremiah, who knows the future, the bleak future ahead, can still
have hope, can buy a piece of land, put his money where his mouth isn’t, at least not
where his mouth is at the moment, then maybe there is hope—hope for us, for our
community, for our state, for our country. God wanted to make sure that even in the
midst of the difficult times ahead that these people would not lose hope, would not be
hopeless, and who better to be a reminder of that hope than the one who had brought
the bad news that indeed, the Babylonians would destroy Israel…yes, they would
destroy Israel, but that destruction would not be forever.

So, it is with us, I think, we Michiganders, and the people you adopt, people like me, we
are a people that feel as if we are going fall off the cliff because of how tough these
times really are—but this will not be forever, this too will pass. For Israel, the Assyrians
would liberate the best and brightest of Israel and allow them to come back home from
Babylon in 539 BCE. If Jeremiah had had a chance to pull out his property deed, it
would have been a sweet and satisfying moment, but he likely did not have that
opportunity. What he did do was to remind them there is hope, even here, even in the
midst of a disaster, and that we are to be people who live in hope—Cornel West, the
scholar, once said, “As a Christian, I am a prisoner of hope.” A prisoner, held captive
by that thing I sometime want to be freed from, freed from the chains of hope, because
it seems easier to be cynical about the future than to be hopeful, but to follow after the
way of Jesus is to be bound by hope, held by hope, shackled by hope, because of the
One whom we follow. Jim Wallis, the activist, has said that “Hope is believing in spite of
the evidence and watching the evidence change.” And that is exactly what happened
at the cross—the worse thing imaginable, for Jesus, for his friends, has happened, and
yet, the way we saw the evidence in that terrible moment changed, and we saw that
God could do something, we saw that God could do a thing, as a preacher friend of
mine used to say, the way we saw the facts changed, and what was only horrible, only
devastating, became something else, something that gave rise to resurrection, to hope,
a shore on which to stand.

I know that many of you are used to the ups and downs of Michigan’s economic
landscape, but it’s new to me, and its challenged me, in ways that I hadn’t expected. I
sometimes sense a hopelessness, as we see our young people go elsewhere to find
work, or, if they stay, they have a hard time finding a job you can feed a family on. I
remember tough times in Dallas, when the communications industry fell apart, which
was a large part of the Dallas economy, and I remember we as a church set up an
email network of job postings…and yet, that was industry specific, and so the rest of
the economy was really not doing all that badly. Here in Michigan. it sometimes feels
very different—it does sometimes feel as if there is nothing but bad news, all around
us, and the bad news has been coming for years and years.

And yet, I remain hopeful, because if Jeremiah can be hopeful and he can buy a piece
a land in a country that is about to overrun, then certainly I can certainly be hopeful
and we can do that, together. And there is something else, another reason to be
hopeful: “A story is told of a rabbi in a European village, who one day summoned the
townspeople to the village square. He said he had an important announcement. The
people gathered, but not without much grumbling at the inconvenience. The merchant
resented having to leave his business. The wife complained because she had so many
errands to run. But, out of respect, they went unwillingly to the town square. When all
were present, the rabbi said, "I wish to announce there is a God in the world." That was
all he said. But the people understood. They knew they had been acting as if God did
not exist.” Sometimes we act as if there isn’t a God in this world, and people who act as
if there is no God in this world often act as if there is no hope in this world. My
experience, and I think most of our experience in this place, is that there is, indeed, a
God in this world, and if there is a God, there is hope, and hope, hope can be what is
lived on while the evidence for life seems awfully bleak. In an especially touching
moment in his writings, Henri Nouwen wrote these words, words I want to conclude with
today, but also words to live by: “Hope means to keep living amid desperation and to
keep humming in the darkness. Hoping is knowing that there is love; it is trust in
tomorrow; it is falling asleep and waking again when the sun rises. In the midst of a
gale at sea, it is to discover land [in places like Port Hope, maybe]. In the eyes of
another, it is to see that he understands you. As long as there is still hope, there will
also be prayer. And God will be holding you in his hands.” --Henri Nouwen, With Open
Hand, 85.