Feb. 9, 2020 – Season of Epiphany – Isaiah 54:1-3
I plan to write some thoughts regarding what the season of Epiphany seems to point to. Because this season points to the birthing and baptism of Jesus, that seems a good place to explore. But there is an older story. Some time ago I was in one of those meetings about the future of the church. We were to read Walter Brueggemann’s book, Hope Within History, especially the last chapter.
Author John Westerhoff asks, “Will our children have faith?” He meant, “Will we be able to transmit our faith to the next generation?” Brueggemann responded by asking,
“Are we open enough, risking enough, vulnerable enough, that God may give us a future that we did not plan or contrive? Or will our faith have children?”
He means to ask, “Are we open enough to receive from God a future that will surprise us?” Our parents in the faith were much occupied with the question “Will the faith have children?” There is the fear of our generation being the last one. But this is also the setting in which we find the exiled people in Is. 54 -- with no hope, enslaved in Babylon, old folk getting older -- and we find the Abraham and Sarah story.
The barren one, Sarah, will have a child. We know the story, Sarah and Abraham are the most unlikely to be parents. But at the appointed time, the aged Sarah digs out the walker and heads for the birthing stool. Israel, the barren, enslaved, will have a child. She will not be alone, just first: Sarah, Genesis 11:30; and also Rebekah, Genesis 25:21; Rachel, Genesis 29:30; Hannah, 1 Samuel1:2. Ours was a community of barren women and unproductive men, Hebrews 11:12, with no possibility of creating a community of their own, but it happens!
In Isaiah 54, the metaphor is played out in playful ways. Stronger tent pegs are needed because the place is crawling with children—looks like the nursery at our church.
Mother Sarah stands as metaphor for the possibilities given to us that lie beyond our contriving and conjuring (a new name for “conferencing”). There is no bickering over what color, sex, male or female - just the rejoicing that God always finds a way.
Will our faith have children? Brueggemann says yes – it has always had them and lost them. Right this minute, we have learned and not-so-learned folks fighting over what kind of children. In the name of God, will we ever learn?
For me, it is enough to simply look at my grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Each one is an epiphany, a sign that we are not in charge of what happens – but we can stand with whatever child is born. Meanwhile, old and determined me wonders and ponders what these children shall become. And dear God, could it be that you will do some marvelous and new thing through their being here? Or at least give them the faith of Sarah and Abraham?
And tired old me simply would like for those wonderful parents to show up one day to have the pastor drop water on the head, bless the child of promise, and know that a sign of new life is ours.
Dear God, as we receive the gift of life, we do not understand the miracle. Time and again, you show us that you are the God of the living. We doubt, we despair, you keep on keeping on, allowing one breath at a time until you have made life and not death. Lord have mercy — Christ have mercy – Thank you.
Together with friends and colleagues, the Rev. Bill Cotton of Des Moines, a retired clergy member of the Iowa Annual Conference, produces "MEMO for Those Who Preach."