To
exiles, comfort is spoken, comfort is tenderly spoken. The Israelites heard this comfort after living
for well over a generation in Babylon, after the Babylonians had razed
Jerusalem and brought them captive to Babylon.
So many had grown up with talk of their Land, their own king, their own
Temple being foreign to them, being something almost unimaginable, something
they had never known, something that they know engenders a sparkle in the
grandparents’ eyes, but not something they had ever touched or seen for
themselves. They were Israelites who had
not known Israel, but only Babylonian captivity. They had only known lush gardens they were
shut out of. They had only known
themselves as foreign, as alien, as unwanted except as cheap labor. They tried to sing their people’s songs in a
strange land, but the melodies had never been wrapped around their tongues in
their homeland.
To
exiles, comfort is spoken, comfort is tenderly spoken. And the comfort is not just a warm feeling,
it’s political news. The exiles hear
that Cyrus the Persian is raising a vast army, that he’s conquering Babylonian
territory and will soon strike at its heartland. They hear that he plans to let the Israelites
return home, and even to help them rebuild.
Cyrus, their savior, anointed by the Lord to make them exiles no
longer. God’s hand is active in this
Persian (a pretty daring assertion!), and the prophet dares to dream of
returning not via the circuitous but well-watered route that the original
captives had been taken on by their Babylonian captors, but straight through
the desert. The prophet dreams of God acting
so decisively to bring them home, that a great highway would be constructed in
the desert, valleys filled in and mountains made low: creation yielding to
bring God’s people home.
He
pictures God as mighty as a warrior and as tender as a shepherd, ruling with
strong arm and carrying us in his bosom.
Our God conquers and nurtures with one will, with one aim: to bring us home,
back to him, to comfort us, to tell us that our exile is over. Us, because we’re exiles too. Not in the bodily way the Israelites were twenty
five hundred years ago, not in the bodily way over 65 million refugees, asylum
seekers and internally displaced people are today, but in a true, real and
spiritual way. As the Hail, Holy Queen prayer puts it, we are
“poor banished children of Eve,” living where we don’t belong, strangers in a
world plagued by sin and death. My old parish back in South Bend helped
resettle some Iraqi refugees, and I can never forget the felt absence of the
family matriarch who was the only one who wasn’t permitted to come to the US.
Their pain at her absence helps me understand what it means to say that we are
exiles, we’re a long way off Eden, we are not at home, we are splintered as a
family.
John the
Baptist realized this, that Exile was not a one-time event for his people they
could consign to the history books. Sin
makes us all exiles. From one another, from God. And just as God did something about his
people’s plight in Babylon, God does something about sin. “One mightier than I is coming after
me.” In Mark’s gospel, right after John
makes that speech, Jesus appears. God
made a road to bring his people back from Babylon. Well, now he comes to us. He comes to conquer sin and death and help us
rebuild. And John invites us to say yes
to that, that we want sin conquered, and we want to start with our sin. That’s what repentance is. It’s desire for God to act. It’s recognizing that valleys and mountains
don’t keep us apart, but sin does. To
repent is to let our sin be lowered somewhat, and so prepare the Way of the
Lord… His Way to claim, embrace and sanctify us. He made his way to us by Jordan river and makes
his way to us again here, in this Eucharist.
I’d like to close with four short prayers to the Eucharistic Heart of
Jesus, from our Holy Cross directory, that pray for that Way to be made all the
way to our hearts.
Eucharistic
Heart of Jesus, fill my heart with that same love that burned in your
heart. May I become love and mercy to
those who live in pain and suffering.
May I become the living Gospel of your compassionate love.
Eucharistic
Heart of Jesus, fill me with faith, hope, and love. When I find myself lacking in charity, help
me to see your presence in those around me.
Increase my faith when I find it hard to understand. Give me hope when life around me seems empty
and forsaken. May your presence in the
Blessed Sacrament of the altar be my courage and strength.
Eucharistic
Heart of Jesus, your gift of the Holy Eucharist strengthens me on the journey
of life. Transform me into your disciple
and send me to those who are in need of your love. May I be your hands to those who are
helpless. May I be your heart to those
who are unloved. Summon me with your
light and allow me to be an instrument of your peace and joy.
Eucharistic
Heart of Jesus, many times I find life to be difficult and filled with anxiety. Help me in times of uncertainty to come into
your Eucharistic presence. Be my
strength, my rock, my fortress, and my refuge.
Help me, by the power of your Holy Spirit, to feel the light of your
resurrection, surrounding me and protecting me from all danger. In you I hope, Lord; may I never be
disappointed.
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