No Room

‘There was no room for them at the inn’

(Luke 2: 7)

Up and down the country, in schools and churches and halls, children have been or will be participating in Nativity Plays. There will be Mary and Joseph, angels and shepherds, Wise Men and the Innkeeper, sheep and donkeys all gathered around the manger in the stable. It is a familiar picture.

Except, that is not actually how the story is told in the Gospels!

As most of us are aware, the Wise Men did not turn up until sometime after the birth, and certainly not with the Shepherds. But so fixed in our imaginations is the familiar and traditional picture that it comes as a surprise to many to discover that there is also no mention at all of a donkey, of an innkeeper, of a stable, and – probably – not even of an inn! In spite of the quote (above) from Luke chapter 2, it seems almost certain that the word translated ‘inn’ would have been better translated ‘guest room’.

So, if we want to imagine the picture, it seems more likely that Joseph and Mary were headed to one of Joseph’s relatives’ homes for the census but when they arrive they discover (possibly because of the rest of the family also stopping by for the census) that the guest room is in use. There is no room. So when Jesus is born he is laid in a feeding trough (manger) almost certainly made of stone and not wood, and probably not situated in a stable as we would know it, but in the large downstairs room in the house which was usually occupied by the animals rather than the humans.

All very interesting... but as to whether it really makes any significant difference to the meaning of the account is less certain.

However, what stands out for me (and I am relating this to my current experience) is that as the story tells it, poor Mary and Joseph travel all that way to Bethlehem with Mary heavily pregnant and no doubt thinking that this is a dreadful trek and looking forward to being welcomed by Joseph’s family, when they arrive only to discover there is no room for them.

I can imagine them travelling and trekking with that mixture of despair and hope and then finding that even the little hope they had had been snuffed out.

‘No room’.

If you have been following my posts on my Advent blog you will be aware that I/we have been on a journey of despair these last months... but that this despair has been shot through with hope, for which we have been deeply grateful!

Yesterday, suddenly and sadly, this all went into reverse. Hope seemed to have been snuffed out.

‘No room’.

And yet, after 24 hours in which the (seemingly) growing light has suddenly been engulfed once more with deep darkness, a little, tiny, fragile pinprick of hope has appeared.

We hope and pray, but remain unsure.

‘No room’.

Prepare the Way of the Lord

‘The voice of one crying out in the wilderness “Prepare the way of the Lord”’

(Luke 3: 4 – quoting the prophet Isaiah)

I read this morning that the Cabinet is to discuss again – but with more detail – how to prepare for a ‘no deal Brexit’. I am not going to enter into a debate here with regards Brexit, so don’t panic! What interested me about this news – and puzzled me a bit – was just how you prepare for something when many of the implications and consequences are so unknown. Our politicians may say they know what is going to happen (just as apparently they – and they alone - can accurately discern the motivation of those who voted to leave!). But it seems to me that no-one really knows what happens next. So how do we prepare for it?

(If you have the time it is well worth a long read of the former UK representative to the EU, Sir Ivan Roger’s recent speech. Informative and informed... and somewhat alarming. https://news.liverpool.ac.uk/2018/12/13/full-speech-sir-ivan-rogers-on-brexit/?fbclid=IwAR0yWeCPKqJ7-zDBUoB9uhUZGoHWQB3bD-3ft3g8f8dUGhjt8N3zhtAaVZ4 )

I remember way back in late 1999 when everyone was panicking because of the looming dawn of the year 2000 and the fear that our computer systems would all go haywire and society as we know it would shut down. Scottish Government Ministers sacrificed their normal Hogmanay celebrations to stay up and... well...  and what? Watch and wait, I suppose. Of course, in the end nothing went awry and we all continued as before. But as it was evident in advance that no-one really knew if anything would happen and – if it did – what that might be, how could we prepare? Can you prepare for the unknown? Can you prepare when you are not quite sure what you are expecting to happen? For what are we preparing?

For much of 2018 we have lived with uncertainty and confusion (as previously described!). As I look back on it all now, it does feel to me that some of the agitation was to do with feeling that we ought to be preparing for the future, but being entirely in the dark as to what the future held, or – at least – what the journey towards it might be like. How could we prepare for the unknown?

As now we approach Christmas, we will be breaking with tradition and having a very different kind of family Christmas. This will be a slimmed down, cut back, simplified Christmas. There is an extent to which  after all that has happened in this year that is sensible and welcome and the preparations are not quite so onerous. But because it is so different, the preparations are taking on a rather different feel... as if we are planning in the dark, not quite sure for what we are preparing or what it will be like. It is a rather odd feeling.

It is usual to read the gospel accounts of the ministry of John the Baptist during this season of Advent. He was the forerunner, the herald, the one who was to prepare the way for the Lord. But I doubt he really knew just for what he was preparing or asking his hearers to prepare. And yet, whether he or they really knew what to expect, the message was clear enough. It was a hard message too. The people were to radically change their way of living and turn again to God.

It seems to me that even if we have no idea how the road unfolds in coming days, even if we do not know how the future will look, even if we cannot see how we move beyond the place we are in at the moment, we are still called to be faithful, to continually realign our lives to the values of God’s Kingdom and to watch and wait expectantly.

And perhaps that is the only preparation that is really required of us... or is possible.

Confusion or Control?

‘Confusion will be my epitaph,

as I crawl a cracked and broken path,

if we make it we can all sit back and laugh,

but I fear tomorrow I’ll be crying’

(King Crimson, ‘Epitaph’)

A few weeks ago I was chatting with a friend, and as we shared something of the recent difficulties to which I have already referred, he reminded me that – many years ago – we had both been part of a discussion group where we were each asked to write what we imagined our own epitaph might be. He remembered that mine had been ‘Lost without his lists’!

It remains true to this day. I am a compulsive list maker. I have 'to do' lists for everything and anything, and without these lists something approaching chaos results... or, at least, that is my fear. I certainly get very flustered and confused (‘Confusion will be my epitaph’?).

I am sufficiently self-aware to know that my list making is in part an attempt to remain in control. I have an unhealthy tendency towards control-freakery. This may be (in part at least) why I have found these last months so extremely stressful; I have been anything but ‘in control’. This has been an utterly terrifying place for me to be... but perhaps not a wholly bad place. I know that I need to be challenged to let go, to die to the illusion that I can control much (if anything).

As the crisis that befell us was beginning to unfold, I said to someone that I did not know and could not imagine how it would all resolve and that the not knowing made me very anxious (another symptom of control-freakery, I reckon).

She suggested to me that I might want to choose to abandon myself to not-knowing.

Abandon myself to not knowing...

What a difficult thing for me to do! And yet, I have had no choice. I did not know; I could not maintain control; there were no lists to be made.

Frequently that old saying came back to mind; ‘Let go and let God’.

As sayings go, it is a tad too trite and simplistic for my liking, and – as I have said in previous posts – for a long time it seemed and felt like God was doing nothing at all. So letting go felt like only chaos and confusion. But then it occurred to me that it may be to these very experiences – apparent chaos and confusion, along with not knowing – that I needed to abandon myself.

And here I am now able to discern something of God’s action in it all and able to glimpse something of his presence. So perhaps I was not abandoning myself to chaos and confusion alone. I was also abandoning myself to God.

For me, as things begin to resolve themselves and the path ahead looks clearer and the journey beyond this dark time seems to open up before us, the challenge will be not to revert to vain attempts at re-taking control, but to abandon myself to not knowing and to God.

Perhaps fewer lists would be a start...

Gaudete: rejoicing as defiance

‘Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice’

(Philippians 4: 4)

Today is the third Sunday of Advent; the Sunday traditionally known as Gaudete Sunday, taking its name from the Latin word for ‘Rejoice’, which is the first word of the introit of the traditional liturgy for this day. The opening words of that introit are from Paul’s letter to the Philippians ‘Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice.’

In the midst of the rather sombre themes that are explored in this season of Advent, this is the Sunday when we turn to joyous anticipation of the Lord's coming.

We are called to rejoice in the Lord, to rejoice always.

If only it was that easy!

I have not often felt much like rejoicing these last few months. In the midst of a series of bereavements (most of which were unexpected and untimely), a major family crisis and health issues, rejoicing was not the first thing on my mind.

Is this idea of ‘rejoicing always’ simply a call to jaunty optimism; a Monty Python approach to difficulties, ‘Always look on the bright side of life’?

If it is, then count me out. I can’t do it. In fact, I won’t do it!

But I really do not think this is what it is all about!

I think that it is more about having the faith to rejoice even when we may not feel too much joy.

‘Rejoice in the Lord always’ is not an encouragement to ignore the realities of our situations or a glib call to superficial happiness... a pretending that everything is fine when it manifestly is far from fine. It is a call to a radical trust in the purposes and promises of God in spite of what we may face or feel; in spite of what we may experience or endure.

The call to ‘rejoice in the Lord always’ is not an encouragement to deny the difficulties, darknesses, discouragements, doubts that we may face. I do not think that we are being encouraged to deny the pain and the problems.

And, no, even with that understanding it is not easy. I have not found it at all straightforward this last while. How can we rejoice when we face whatever may afflict our lives?

If there is an answer to that question then it seems to me that it is because rejoicing is something very different from simply feeling happy or smiling or singing or dancing. Can we rejoice even when smiling is not possible? I think so. Not that it is easy, but it is possible.

Rejoicing can be an act of faith, an act of hope and an act of defiance. That is how I see it anyway; rejoicing as defiance. Now, that I think I can do.

In the face of whatever life may throw at us, if we choose to rejoice then we are defiantly declaring that not all that happens and has happened is God’s will... or God’s last word!

We are defiantly affirming our hope that the Kingdom will yet come.

Our rejoicing is offered not as a shallow and superficial optimism that pretends that everything is just fine, but instead is offered in determined and defiant hope.

A Word from the Lord

‘The Word of the Lord was rare in those days...’

(1Samuel 3: 1)

When I was licensed to preach in 1980 and then ordained to the Ministry of Word and Sacrament a year later (and subsequently whenever I have been inducted to a charge or introduced to post, I – in common with all Church of Scotland Ministers - have answered this question (amongst others)

‘Do you believe the Word of God,

which is contained in the Scriptures

of the Old and New Testaments,

to be the supreme rule of faith and life?’

On every occasion I have confidently and without hesitation answered ‘I do’.

Why? Because... well... I do!

But that tells you little about my understanding of the ‘Word of God’, my theology of inspiration or my interpretation of the Bible. It irritates me greatly when churches self-describe as ‘Bible believing’, thus implying that the rest of them/us are not! But enough of that... this is not meant to be a diatribe!

But just before I leave my ranting, let me mention that I came across a new word yesterday. I read it in a book which addresses the very real phenomenon of those who either leave the church because they can no longer believe everything that everyone else does (or that they imagine everyone else does) or else who feel less at home than they once did with the particular understanding of the Christian faith that had initially nurtured them, and they do not know where to turn or what to do. So often – as the book recounts and as I know from talking to very many (as well as from my own experience) – people are scared to admit to questions, concerns or doubts because of the reaction (real or feared) of their fellow Christians. The book suggests that they are often scared that they ‘may be judged, scripturized, or ostracised’.

And there’s the word: ‘Scripturized’. I think it means that either folks try to use bible verses as ‘ammunition’ in arguments or as ‘proof texts’ to convince the questioner that they are wrong or even as words with quasi-magical powers to change the ‘rebellious’ attitudes of the unsure and uncertain.

Yikes!

Whatever our understanding of God’s word in Scripture or our doctrine of inspiration or our theological views, I am quite sure that this is not how the Bible is meant to be used!

However, I do have a very high view of the Bible. I love Scripture and God speaks to me through it.

Hear the Word of God!

So, that brings me back to the circumstances which we have been facing and the experience I have already outlined (minus specifics or details) in our family over these recent months.

In the face of all that – in the midst of it – has there been a Word from the Lord? Has Scripture spoken to us? And the answer is Yes!

Not often... not a lot... not always very clearly; but nonetheless God has spoken. His word has come to us and done so through Scripture.

Early on in the dark journey we have been on, a friend asked whether there was any Bible story, incident or passage that spoke to us. Almost immediately I said ‘yes’.

I responded that the words of Joseph to his brothers who had sold him into slavery, pretended to his father that he had been killed, and now stood in his presence following their arrival in Egypt and the death of their father, were words which gave me hope ‘Do not be afraid... even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good’ (Genesis 50: 19-20). In these words I found the hope that no matter what bad things may be occurring, God can yet bring it to good.[1]

And then, when Jane and I were attending worship one morning (in a church we had not worshipped in before – and that is an experience Sunday by Sunday that been an interesting aspect of this time when we ourselves have not been ministering!) Jane took comfort from a verse in the Old Testament reading ‘surely the Lord was in this place – and I did not know it’ (Genesis 28: 16).

And there have been another couple of times and verses. Not many... but perhaps enough.

I have no doubt at all that God speaks through the Scriptures. This may be, for me anyway, one of these seasons when the word of the Lord is rare... but I have found that if I listen, I do on occasion hear him.

---

[1] This, of course, finds its echo in Romans 8: 28 ‘we know that all things work together for good for those who love God...’

Absence makes the heart grow fonder?

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
   Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?

(Psalm 22)

A few days ago I posted about the experience of God’s absence.

When I have spoken about this before – whether in conversation or in preaching – I have been struck by how many people have indicated the extent to which it resonates with their experience. It was no different when I posted the other day. In various ways folks responded – sometime very movingly – and indicated that what I said was connecting with them. Which makes me wonder why we do not speak about, write about or preach about these things more often.

As I mentioned the other day, it is not as if there is a lack of material in the Gospel narratives that deal with the absence of Jesus! And the experience of the absence of God is evident throughout scripture (just ask Job!) and not least in the Psalms.

So why do we seem to avoid discussing it?

Of course, as you may expect, I also get criticised by some for posting or preaching in this way! Some suggest that it is way too honest while others are quick to affirm that while we might feel that God is absent he is in fact present. Well yes, fine. But feelings are real too! And the psalmists did not shirk away from the honest, raw expression of how they felt, and neither did Job, nor Elijah when he tried to flee God and so on and on.

I am increasingly convinced that there is a need for more – not less – honesty and authenticity in our preaching, writing and discussions within the church. And I am sure that we need to talk about the doubts and darkness and so forth without always feeling that there are slick or simple answers or solutions.

Yesterday I was pondering once again the experience of the absence of God, and that commonly used phrase ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’.

‘Does it?’ I asked myself.

I am not convinced, at least not when it comes to the experience of God’s absence. And – truth be told – there is not much evidence of ‘fondness’ in the experiences of Job or the Psalmists, is there?

Yet, I still believe. I still believe that God is there, that God still cares, that I am not ultimately abandoned.

Faith and hope persist.

And I continue to praise God, not because I have been full of fond feelings these last few months, but partly as an affirmation of faith and hope, partly out of determined discipline, and partly as an act of defiance.

The darkness will not prevail!

The absence will not be permanent!

The suffering will not be forever!

These too will pass...

(I will return to praise and defiance and hope in a day or two).

So, if not fondness, what positive effect does the experience of God’s absence have?

I may not be – as yet – able to answer that fully. But I have become aware that those spiritual wells I have been able to dig and the cisterns that have been filled in the good times, can in fact sustain me in the not so good times. And I have learned to find the ‘absent’ God in the love and care of others. And I have become better at discerning his sometimes faint or fleeting presence in unexpected places or unexpected moments.

Early this morning I stepped outside our back door. This was not the act of prayerful contemplation, but an act of practical necessity: the dogs were in need of relief! It was – of course – still very dark, and the sky was clear. I looked up into the darkness and spent a moment marvelling at the thousands of stars I could see.

Absence may not make the heart grow fonder, but darkness allows these wee pinpricks of light to shine more brightly.

Chaos

‘In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind form God swept over the face of the waters. The God said “Let there be light”, and there was light’

Genesis1: 1-3

‘a formless void’... ‘darkness’....  chaos.

Any of these descriptions would apply not only to the Creation narrative in Genesis, but to how I have felt life to be in these last months.

When I described something of our experience over this past year to someone, they used the word ‘chaos’ to describe it, and suddenly that made a lot of sense. It has indeed felt utterly chaotic, out of control, confusing and dark.

Now, for a control freak like me, chaos is not a good state in which to find myself!

But, more recently, as something that looks a little like ‘order’ seems to have been slowly emerging out of the chaos, I have felt myself a little challenged.

Is my control-freakery not somewhat in conflict with my profession of faith and trust in God?

Why do I feel the need to control, order and arrange everything?

I am not sure that I can – as yet – fully answer these questions, but I think that I am glad to be at least asking them.

If God brought Creation out of a formless void and order out of the primeval chaos, can I not trust him to bring some order to my chaos?

If God spoke and there was light in place of darkness, can I not trust him to shine into the darkness surrounding me?

If God has come among us in Jesus, can I not trust him to come alongside me?

Now I do of course know what the answer to all of these questions ought to be! But, if I am being totally honest, I am not quite there yet. But the journey continues, and hope remains.

As the Psalmist said

‘Why have you forgotten me?... my adversaries taunt me, while they say to me continually “Where is your God?”Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him; my help and my God.’ (Psalm 42: 9-11)

The Music of Heaven

‘Day and night without ceasing they sing “Holy, holy, holy, the Lord God the Almighty,

who was and is and is to come”...

Revelation 4: 8

Over these coming weeks, as Christmas approaches, there will be a great deal of music in my life. Not only the incessant Christmas muzak in shops or the carols sung by groups on our streets or played by brass bands, nor even the many carol services in which Ministers tend to get involved at this time. In addition to all of that, I choose to listen to (and sometimes participate in) a good deal more music and singing during this season.

It somehow seems appropriate and fitting, after all, are the Biblical accounts we read in this season not full of song? From the canticles of Mary and Zechariah and Simeon to the choirs of angels greeting Christ’s birth, there seems to be a lot of singing! (although closer reading of the passages will reveal that they do not actually mention any singing as such!)

Then again, perhaps it is simply that for me music is so very important. Music speaks to me. Music expresses my feelings. Music is woven through my life. Perhaps I might even suggest (and I certainly feel) that for me music is like an echo of heaven, and I do not necessarily mean simply ‘sacred’ music.

As you may have already noted in some of these Advent posts, I have referenced music in some of my posts. I appreciate all kinds of music; rock, jazz, classical, musicals, folk and so on (although I have to admit I am not generally too fond of Country and Western!).

I was brought up surrounded by music. Church music, classical music, stage musicals, Frank Sinatra and opera were all a big part of my parents’ life and I absorbed much of that. Discovering the Beatles as a child and rock music as a teenager opened the door onto an entirely new appreciation of music and – from there – to jazz, folk and back to classical music.

One of the things that interests me is the extent to which music ‘speaks’ to me. Words and lyrics may be significant, but when set to music they come alive. Music without words can ‘speak’ even more to me, and move me very deeply.

I have so very often been moved to tears by music; Tchaikovsky’s ‘Pathetique’, Bach’s ‘St Matthew Passion’, the Beatles’ ‘In my Life’, Bernstein’s ‘West Side Story’, Yes’ ‘Awaken’, Paul Simon’s ‘Sound of Silence’ and on and on and on.

But music has also been a powerful means of expression for people facing difficult situations or struggling for justice or seeking to affirm hope. My friend Ian Gilmour is currently blogging on the theme of music and his blog (which I recommend) can be found here: https://counter-point.blog/?fbclid=IwAR1WX0MKMXK051TpXPDIa90fzQwzLdwThfv2iF68pQk5-G5muodMuzIVs1w

Ian’s particular interest is in the spirituals which emerged in the context of slavery. In that music, there was not only an expression of faith (although there was that) but also of the hope of freedom, and the struggle for justice.

In so many ways, music expresses our deepest longings, our hopes, our faith, our love, our desire for liberation or justice.... and in so many ways, music touches us, speaks to us, connects with us.

And in all of this, I so often sense a touch of heaven that comforts and challenges and speaks of God.

Angels

‘The angel said... “do not be afraid”’

(Luke 1:13; Luke 1: 36; Matthew 1: 20; Luke 2: 10)

Angels play a big part in the Nativity narratives in the Gospels and so it is no surprise that they also appear frequently in Christmas hymns, on Christmas cards and in Christmas Nativity plays! But in spite of the usual depiction of angels in Nativity plays there is no mention in the Gospels of haloes or wings. But what is striking is the repeated message of the angels. To Zechariah when told of the future birth of John the Baptist, to Mary at the Annunciation, to Joseph when he discovers that Mary is pregnant, and to the shepherds on the Bethlehem hillside the word is the same; ‘Do not be afraid’.

In some ways I feel that my family and I have encountered some angels through our difficult few months; messengers who have brought a word of comfort and assurance to us.

I am not meaning literal ‘angels’ (although, who knows!) but the few people who have known the details for what we have faced (and some who have not known all that much) who have brought peace and comfort and often so much more to us.

These are the angels who have offered us a place to stay, a chance to get away from everything, practical guidance, a listening ear, wise counsel. And even although only a few have been in a position to offer these specific things, there have been others who have provided friendly support, a word of hope or comfort and the promise of prayer.

All of them have been like angels to us; divine messengers who have (wittingly or unwittingly) reflected something of God’s care and concern into our anxiety and uncertainly, and who have brought comfort and hope.

‘Do not be afraid’.

I am grateful for each and every ‘angel’ we have encountered over these months.

‘Do not be afraid’.

A Scarcity of Miracles

‘Night falls
As darkness reappears
The madness and the fears close behind now
Faith calls me to question who I am
With neither myth nor man stand beside them....

...the scarcity of miracles we'd found’

                                From ‘A Scarcity of Miracles’ by Jackszyk, Fripp and Collins (a ‘King Crimson Projekct’)

 A true miracle is – by definition – an action or intervention of God which cannot be explained by the normally observed laws of nature. I am not going to attempt to get into a discussion on whether or not miracles do or ever have occurred beyond noting that I am a believer in both the possibility and the occurrence of such events. That said, I think that there are many far from reliable – even extremely dubious – claims of ‘miracles’ and I think that true miracles are much rarer occurrences than some suppose or claim.

But, as a Christian it seems to me that one cannot affirm (as I do) that God has taken on human flesh in Jesus, who rose again from the dead and so forth, without affirming the possibility of the miraculous. I could go on....

However, it is not my intention to begin a discussion on the nature or possibility of miraculous occurrences.

But nor am I simply thinking about ‘miracles’ in terms of the common colloquial usage when the word is often used to describe a beneficial event that is statistically unlikely but not actually contrary to the laws of nature, such as surviving a natural disaster, or a welcome coincidence or simply a ‘wonderful’ occurrence, regardless of likelihood, such as a birth etc.

I am (knowingly and intentionally) using the term ‘miracle’ loosely but not unthinkingly, and in that ‘loose’ use of the term I am about to contradict something I said in one of my posts a few days ago. Reflecting upon the difficult times we have faced in recent months I wrote ‘I have longed for miracles, but experienced none’.

I suppose what I meant was that there had been precious little sign of God at work in a way that would actually change or relieve our situation. It was not a complaint that there had been no divine intervention contravening the laws of nature, but rather that there had been no clear indication of an answer to prayer or a ‘coincidence’ of events that might indicate a divine response.

A ‘Scarcity of Miracles’, in other words.

But I was not being quite accurate.

While I cannot go into detail, there has been an astounding (almost unbelievable... perhaps – yes – ‘miraculous’) coincidence of circumstances that has given us incredible hope and has provided for us a way out of the worst of our situation. While I can’t tell the full story, it has shone such light into our darkness that it has had an utterly transformative effect. And it all came about due to an almost impossible ‘coincidence’ of events.

Now, as I have already said, strictly speaking a coincidence does not a miracle make! But in our context and given our prayers and taking into account the utterly incredible nature of the ‘coincidence’, its complete transformation of our circumstances and its dramatic effect upon us, I will settle for thanking God for this ‘miracle’.

Archbishop William Temple[1] once replied to his critics who regarded answered prayer as no more than coincidence, ‘When I pray, coincidences happen; when I don’t, they don’t.’

Quite.

---

[1] This quote has also been attributed to others. But the point is not who said it (or even who first said it)!

Exile

‘Now, in this faraway land
Strange, that the palms of my hands
Should be damp with expectancy’

                                                                                From ‘Exiles’ by King Crimson[1]

The theme of Exile casts a long shadow over the biblical text.

The history of Israel revolves around the twin focus of Exodus and Exile. At the Exodus, Israel began the process toward becoming a nation. The Exile, however, signalled the loss of Israel's status as an independent nation, and even after the return of the people to the land of Israel, they remained merely a political backwater in a Persian province

The importance of the theme of Exile for the Hebrew Bible has been long recognised. In particular, the Babylonian Exile of Judah in 586 BC, involved many factors including the destruction of Jerusalem, the cessation of the sacrifices, the end of the monarchy, and so on. The entire national and religious structure of the kingdom, which was thought to be ordained by God himself, came crashing down. This was their ‘Day of the Lord’, and it left them absolutely devastated.

Now, you would expect all of this to be a bleak period in the life of God's people: Jerusalem destroyed, the temple burned, the end of David’s dynasty, and the fruit and flower of the population deported. And it was. If you want to have a sense of what it felt like, read the book of Lamentations, or (more briefly) Psalm 137.

However, this was also an amazingly productive period of Israel's history; in effect it fostered the birth of Judaism. The people came to recognise that although their nation had been defeated, God had not been defeated. Indeed, God could be worshipped apart from native land, temple, priest, or monarch. This was a crucial insight. Without a king, Israel remembered that the Lord had always been their true king. A burned temple hundreds of miles away meant there were no sacrifices, but the Sabbath could become a time to worship and contemplate God's word in the synagogue. They realised that they had identity as a people which was not simply defined by occupation of a land or national boundaries.

The experience of the Exile began to cause a transformation of the Jewish religion within which the various forms of Judaism, and – indeed – early Christianity, developed. The theme of Exile remains important to the development of Judaism and Christianity even to the present day.

O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel

Jesus entered into this context and saw himself fulfilling a larger story-line that was told in His Bible, which we know as the Old Testament.

However, Exile is not simply a matter of history. It is a recurring theme for people of faith. In our present day, many Christians in the Western world have returned to the Exile narratives of the Old Testament as a way of interpreting and understanding the decline and marginalisation of the church in our day. In another place I have written about some of my reservations regarding this identification of church decline with Exile. Nonetheless, there are still some important things to ponder. Just as Exile provided a context for the people of Judah and Israel to reflect upon the nature of their faith, reshape it and reform it, so perhaps we can see in the current situation facing the church a similar (God-given?) opportunity.

However, Exile can also be seen as a more individual experience. The words of the late Eugene Peterson connect with my own experience – and that of my family – over this last wee while;

‘The essential meaning of exile is that we are where we don’t want to be’

‘Repeatedly we find ourselves in circumstances where we are not at home’

                                                                                                                                                Eugene Peterson

Exile is not just geographical, but may be physical, emotional, spiritual.

But even when we feel in ‘Exile’, even when we are in that place we would rather not be (as a church or as individuals), even when everything that we have known, believed and taken for granted seems to be stripped away (as for those in Babylonian Exile) still it seems that there is genuine hope and expectation of a new thing emerging.

‘Now, in this faraway land
Strange, that the palms of my hands
Should be damp with expectancy’

                                                King Crimson

I have found in these last few months that even in my own wee ‘Exile’ – my time of being where I do not want to be, of finding myself in circumstances where I am not at home – I have nonetheless felt a strange, unspecific yet persistent sense of expectancy and anticipation.

Perhaps that is what hope is.

O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel

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[1] For those of you who may be unaware, King Crimson are far and away my favourite rock band. Their first album was released in 1969 which is when this 13 year old first heard them. Almost 50 years on they are still touring and I last saw them just a few weeks ago.