A Prelude to Hope--December 21, 2017
"The word of the LORD came to me: Mortal, prophesy against the shepherds of Israel: prophesy, and say to them--to the shepherds: Thus says the Lord GOD: Ah, you shepherds of Israel who have been feeding yourselves! Should not shepherds feed the sheep? You eat the fat, you clothe yourselves with the wool, you slaughter the fatlings; but you do not feed the sheep. You have not strengthened the weak, you have not healed the sick, you have not bound up the injured, you have not brought back the strayed, you have not sought the lost, but with force and harshness you have ruled them. So they were scattered, because there was no shepherd; and scattered, they became food for all the wild animals.... For thus says the Lord GOD: I myself will search for my sheep, and will seek them out. As shepherds seek out their flocks when they are among their scattered sheep, so I will seek out my sheep." [Ezekiel 34:1-5, 11-12]
Christmas brings out the cynic in me.
No offense intended to you, if that comment feels too grinchy, but I will just own it. Christmas--as a season, as a marketing-gimmick, as a genre of music and movies, and as a decorating style--just brings out my inner cynic. And I have come to the point where I am glad, oddly enough, that it does, because that cynicism clears the horizon of anything that lacks... substance. It silences the empty chatter and noise to create the necessary quiet that is the prelude to genuine hope.
At one level, it is just the fakeness that sweeps over storefronts for at least a month and a half each year--the overly saccharin sweetness of the music, the TV movies, and the candy, the relentless refrain on the radio insisting that this is "the most wonderful time of the year." The Elves-upon-Shelves, the lackluster mall Santas, and the fussing over whether we have bought enough presents for the people in our lives to prove to them we love them... it all just strikes my ear as so much... well, noise.
And I get it--that sounds rather cynical. But I'm okay with that.
I say that because it is that cynicism that force me to cut through all the stuff that is just window dressing and to keep getting back to the heart of what the Story really is about... and why it matters.
And that is what I need. But it should also warn you--cynicism over the spectacle of the Christmas "industry" pushes even deeper for me. Because the thing is, it's not like we get lost in shallow sentimentalism and marketing ploys just for this one time a year. At Christmas, the shallowness and fakeness might be more obvious, but the dirty little secret is that all year long, we give our hopes and put our confidences in voices who promise much but all let us down. And for me at least, the seasonal reminders of how much shallowness we are accustomed to force me to be honest about all the rest of the empty promises and flashy packaging we have just come to accept as "normal" all around us. And I think I need a certain stripping-away of the wrappings and trappings to remind me what I held onto as real... and to help me test whether it still is solid or not. It is a necessary cynicism--one that reminds me not to give my heart or my soul away to institutions that are not worthy of that trust.
So, for example, I'll just be honest here: I don't trust elected leaders to have my interests at heart. Not my elected leaders, not someone else's elected leaders. Not just one party or another. I just simply don't expect anything of them anymore. I seriously don't think they care. I am learning not to put my trust in anybody's party, anybody's agenda, and anybody's platform of solutions. They may all say--as indeed they all do, on both sides of the aisle--that THEIR plan, as opposed to their opponents, is really about helping me and my needs, but I simply don't believe them anymore.
For that matter, again just in the name of honesty, I don't expect there to be any kind of social safety net or insurance or Medicare or Social Security around when I am in my sixties or seventies. Whether that's fair or not, right or not, it's just not something I count on being there. And at least on that point, I don't think I am alone--I think in large part I am part of a generation that just assumes there will not be Social Security or any of those programs by the time I would get to that part of my life. I don't anticipate getting to retire, for that matter--that's not how my brain is wired. For that matter, I don't really know that I expect the church structures of denominations and synods and such to last forever, either--the big ol' hippopotamus called "Church" has to deal with its own lumbering institutional life-expectancy, too. But at any rate, while I have no particular guesses about how or when any of those programs will fizzle or fail, I have just grown up through enough of disillusionment with the way we collective ignore problems that I have learned the lesson, "Don't expect those things to be there for you. Don't put your trust in them." Now, to be clear, I happily and gladly pay into those systems for the sake of others, and I would not have it otherwise--I just don't need the illusion that I am "paying in" money for my future self to use. I fully understand--and am OK with--the reality that part of my pay goes to fund other people's retirements or healthcare, and that I will not have the same done for me when it would be my turn. I just don't expect that anymore from the society in which I live and its leadership.
None of that may sound very chipper or cheery, and it's not. But it's necessary. It's necessary especially to make sense of what Christmas is really all about. It is necessary to let cynicism bulldoze away all the decrepit and crumbling empty and fake hopes that were not sound to live in, so that we can see what is left standing. It is necessary to clear away the rubble to see where any solid ground might remain on which to build something that could last.
And this is why my heart keeps pulling me back to words like Ezekiel's here. Ezekiel first brought a word from God that was very much a voice of cynicism--but a holy cynicism. It was God just unloading on the supposed leaders of the people, the "shepherds" of Israel. They were supposed to have the interests of the people at heart--their well-being, their livelihoods, and their communities--but instead got caught up in using their power and position to make things better for themselves. Ezekiel says that they were supposed to be like shepherds who take care of their flocks, but instead they just prey on the people entrusted into their care. And Ezekiel calls them all what they are: false shepherds, poor stewards, and bad caretakers. Ezekiel effectively says to the people of Israel, "Your leaders have been salivating over you, looking for ways to line their own pockets while they don't give a care about you." And in particular, Ezekiel notes that the supposed leaders of Israel were supposed to feed the hungry, heal the sick, mend the injured, strengthen the weak, bring back the lost, and tend to the people gently... and instead, they have just taken care of themselves and their own wish-lists. So Ezekiel just says, "God is giving up on expecting good from such shepherds anymore. God will take sides against such pretenders."
Now, that by itself just sounds like an unflinchingly cynical report. It sounds like God is giving up on the whole of Israel's society, and that there's no hope for the scattered sheep of God's flock. But in truth, God has simply let the harsh (and cynical) word of the prophet silence all the shallow background noise, so that what is left will be the true tune of hope. And that hope is not grounded in bringing in a different political party, or passing a new bill, or electing a different human leader, or making an alliance with a new neighboring country, or ending old alliances, either. The hope comes in a decisive change God promises to make: God says, "I myself will be the shepherd."
At last--something solid. At long last, music without distortion. And this is the difference: God is the One who guarantees a different way, a different future. God is smarter than just saying, the solution to the human condition is lower taxes, or higher taxes... or the real problem is that you humans have too many rules, or not enough rules. The deeper problem is our perennial bent towards ourselves, so that when any of us get into positions of authority or power, we slide, just like the would-be "shepherds" of Israel did in Ezekiel's day, into complacency about taking care of the hungry, the sick, the injured, the weak, and the lost in the flock. But the living God loves fully... and selflessly... and offers us another way. The answer Ezekiel dares to hope for is a future in which none other than the living God shepherds and saves the people, not some bigwig king or blowhard emperor or self-centered leaders. The only way things could be different in human history would be for God to enter into human history to be the shepherd.
And that, boys and girls, is precisely what Christmas is. The story of the birth of Jesus, Christians have insisted for two thousand years now, is the story of God coming among us down to our utter humanity, and bringing a different way of being the shepherd. Jesus doesn't toot his own horn, prey on the weak and call it a windfall for them, insist on pomp and ceremony for his public appearances, or even engrave his name in big gold letters on any buildings. Jesus isn't like the selfish leaders Ezekiel knew about. His way of exercising his authority and power is in suffering love--in a cross. And his way of being King--of being the servant-leader that Israel's shepherds were always meant to be--was in laying down his life. Jesus is what it looks like when God doubles down on the promise to BE our shepherd.
But unless we allow Ezekiel's harsh and cynical assessment to be heard first, we won't understand why it really is good news that God has come among us in Jesus. Unless we can bear to have all the false hopes knocked down will we see that it is good news to find the manger-born God as our solid and dependable ground. Unless we can bear to have the prophet show us that all the other human leaders we fawn and fuss over have missed God's truest priorities, we will never understand why it is good news that God has not given up on lifting up the lowly, the weak, the hurt, and those lost on the margins. Unless we face the rather cynical truth that our would-be shepherds do not really have our interests at heart, we will always be a little afraid of asking whether God is any different than the rest. We need to have the ground cleared so we can see that a manger still remains. We need to have the bluster of the selfish would-be shepherds stilled so that in that silence there can be a prelude to hope.
And maybe that's what this Advent has been all along--not hope itself, but the prelude to hope... the tearing down of things to prepare the way for what is good, the clearing away and leveling of mountains and valleys to help us see the One who is the Good Shepherd. If we have to roll our eyes at a couple more bad TV holiday movies or unnecessary cover recordings of second-tier Christmas songs in order to remind us of the value of that bulldozing, so be it. It helps me to remember that if we dare clear away the junk, we will find what has been solid--or rather, Who has been solid--all along.
Lord God, we admit it--we let far too much garbage clutter up the horizon to be able to see you sometimes. Clear it away, and give us the courage to see where we have put our trust in things and people who will let us down... so that we can instead pin our hope on you and your unexpected priorities.
Christmas brings out the cynic in me.
No offense intended to you, if that comment feels too grinchy, but I will just own it. Christmas--as a season, as a marketing-gimmick, as a genre of music and movies, and as a decorating style--just brings out my inner cynic. And I have come to the point where I am glad, oddly enough, that it does, because that cynicism clears the horizon of anything that lacks... substance. It silences the empty chatter and noise to create the necessary quiet that is the prelude to genuine hope.
At one level, it is just the fakeness that sweeps over storefronts for at least a month and a half each year--the overly saccharin sweetness of the music, the TV movies, and the candy, the relentless refrain on the radio insisting that this is "the most wonderful time of the year." The Elves-upon-Shelves, the lackluster mall Santas, and the fussing over whether we have bought enough presents for the people in our lives to prove to them we love them... it all just strikes my ear as so much... well, noise.
And I get it--that sounds rather cynical. But I'm okay with that.
I say that because it is that cynicism that force me to cut through all the stuff that is just window dressing and to keep getting back to the heart of what the Story really is about... and why it matters.
And that is what I need. But it should also warn you--cynicism over the spectacle of the Christmas "industry" pushes even deeper for me. Because the thing is, it's not like we get lost in shallow sentimentalism and marketing ploys just for this one time a year. At Christmas, the shallowness and fakeness might be more obvious, but the dirty little secret is that all year long, we give our hopes and put our confidences in voices who promise much but all let us down. And for me at least, the seasonal reminders of how much shallowness we are accustomed to force me to be honest about all the rest of the empty promises and flashy packaging we have just come to accept as "normal" all around us. And I think I need a certain stripping-away of the wrappings and trappings to remind me what I held onto as real... and to help me test whether it still is solid or not. It is a necessary cynicism--one that reminds me not to give my heart or my soul away to institutions that are not worthy of that trust.
So, for example, I'll just be honest here: I don't trust elected leaders to have my interests at heart. Not my elected leaders, not someone else's elected leaders. Not just one party or another. I just simply don't expect anything of them anymore. I seriously don't think they care. I am learning not to put my trust in anybody's party, anybody's agenda, and anybody's platform of solutions. They may all say--as indeed they all do, on both sides of the aisle--that THEIR plan, as opposed to their opponents, is really about helping me and my needs, but I simply don't believe them anymore.
For that matter, again just in the name of honesty, I don't expect there to be any kind of social safety net or insurance or Medicare or Social Security around when I am in my sixties or seventies. Whether that's fair or not, right or not, it's just not something I count on being there. And at least on that point, I don't think I am alone--I think in large part I am part of a generation that just assumes there will not be Social Security or any of those programs by the time I would get to that part of my life. I don't anticipate getting to retire, for that matter--that's not how my brain is wired. For that matter, I don't really know that I expect the church structures of denominations and synods and such to last forever, either--the big ol' hippopotamus called "Church" has to deal with its own lumbering institutional life-expectancy, too. But at any rate, while I have no particular guesses about how or when any of those programs will fizzle or fail, I have just grown up through enough of disillusionment with the way we collective ignore problems that I have learned the lesson, "Don't expect those things to be there for you. Don't put your trust in them." Now, to be clear, I happily and gladly pay into those systems for the sake of others, and I would not have it otherwise--I just don't need the illusion that I am "paying in" money for my future self to use. I fully understand--and am OK with--the reality that part of my pay goes to fund other people's retirements or healthcare, and that I will not have the same done for me when it would be my turn. I just don't expect that anymore from the society in which I live and its leadership.
None of that may sound very chipper or cheery, and it's not. But it's necessary. It's necessary especially to make sense of what Christmas is really all about. It is necessary to let cynicism bulldoze away all the decrepit and crumbling empty and fake hopes that were not sound to live in, so that we can see what is left standing. It is necessary to clear away the rubble to see where any solid ground might remain on which to build something that could last.
And this is why my heart keeps pulling me back to words like Ezekiel's here. Ezekiel first brought a word from God that was very much a voice of cynicism--but a holy cynicism. It was God just unloading on the supposed leaders of the people, the "shepherds" of Israel. They were supposed to have the interests of the people at heart--their well-being, their livelihoods, and their communities--but instead got caught up in using their power and position to make things better for themselves. Ezekiel says that they were supposed to be like shepherds who take care of their flocks, but instead they just prey on the people entrusted into their care. And Ezekiel calls them all what they are: false shepherds, poor stewards, and bad caretakers. Ezekiel effectively says to the people of Israel, "Your leaders have been salivating over you, looking for ways to line their own pockets while they don't give a care about you." And in particular, Ezekiel notes that the supposed leaders of Israel were supposed to feed the hungry, heal the sick, mend the injured, strengthen the weak, bring back the lost, and tend to the people gently... and instead, they have just taken care of themselves and their own wish-lists. So Ezekiel just says, "God is giving up on expecting good from such shepherds anymore. God will take sides against such pretenders."
Now, that by itself just sounds like an unflinchingly cynical report. It sounds like God is giving up on the whole of Israel's society, and that there's no hope for the scattered sheep of God's flock. But in truth, God has simply let the harsh (and cynical) word of the prophet silence all the shallow background noise, so that what is left will be the true tune of hope. And that hope is not grounded in bringing in a different political party, or passing a new bill, or electing a different human leader, or making an alliance with a new neighboring country, or ending old alliances, either. The hope comes in a decisive change God promises to make: God says, "I myself will be the shepherd."
At last--something solid. At long last, music without distortion. And this is the difference: God is the One who guarantees a different way, a different future. God is smarter than just saying, the solution to the human condition is lower taxes, or higher taxes... or the real problem is that you humans have too many rules, or not enough rules. The deeper problem is our perennial bent towards ourselves, so that when any of us get into positions of authority or power, we slide, just like the would-be "shepherds" of Israel did in Ezekiel's day, into complacency about taking care of the hungry, the sick, the injured, the weak, and the lost in the flock. But the living God loves fully... and selflessly... and offers us another way. The answer Ezekiel dares to hope for is a future in which none other than the living God shepherds and saves the people, not some bigwig king or blowhard emperor or self-centered leaders. The only way things could be different in human history would be for God to enter into human history to be the shepherd.
And that, boys and girls, is precisely what Christmas is. The story of the birth of Jesus, Christians have insisted for two thousand years now, is the story of God coming among us down to our utter humanity, and bringing a different way of being the shepherd. Jesus doesn't toot his own horn, prey on the weak and call it a windfall for them, insist on pomp and ceremony for his public appearances, or even engrave his name in big gold letters on any buildings. Jesus isn't like the selfish leaders Ezekiel knew about. His way of exercising his authority and power is in suffering love--in a cross. And his way of being King--of being the servant-leader that Israel's shepherds were always meant to be--was in laying down his life. Jesus is what it looks like when God doubles down on the promise to BE our shepherd.
But unless we allow Ezekiel's harsh and cynical assessment to be heard first, we won't understand why it really is good news that God has come among us in Jesus. Unless we can bear to have all the false hopes knocked down will we see that it is good news to find the manger-born God as our solid and dependable ground. Unless we can bear to have the prophet show us that all the other human leaders we fawn and fuss over have missed God's truest priorities, we will never understand why it is good news that God has not given up on lifting up the lowly, the weak, the hurt, and those lost on the margins. Unless we face the rather cynical truth that our would-be shepherds do not really have our interests at heart, we will always be a little afraid of asking whether God is any different than the rest. We need to have the ground cleared so we can see that a manger still remains. We need to have the bluster of the selfish would-be shepherds stilled so that in that silence there can be a prelude to hope.
And maybe that's what this Advent has been all along--not hope itself, but the prelude to hope... the tearing down of things to prepare the way for what is good, the clearing away and leveling of mountains and valleys to help us see the One who is the Good Shepherd. If we have to roll our eyes at a couple more bad TV holiday movies or unnecessary cover recordings of second-tier Christmas songs in order to remind us of the value of that bulldozing, so be it. It helps me to remember that if we dare clear away the junk, we will find what has been solid--or rather, Who has been solid--all along.
Lord God, we admit it--we let far too much garbage clutter up the horizon to be able to see you sometimes. Clear it away, and give us the courage to see where we have put our trust in things and people who will let us down... so that we can instead pin our hope on you and your unexpected priorities.
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