Judgement and Tears: 13/04/08 St. Mary’s Evensong: Susannah Underwood
Ezra 3:1-13 and Luke 19:37-48

Su Blanch and I have just returned from Spring Harvest, a rather large and fabulous evangelical conference/ holiday in Skegness.  Butlins to be precise.   Dead glam! We’ve been many times before, but I think I sense that it makes Alan slightly nervous when we return. Possibly he worries that in our enthusiasm we might burst into a spontaneous round of "Shine Jesus Shine" at any moment. Or he may worry that during a 9.30 Eucharist he will look up to see that we’ve kicked off our shoes and are leaping down the aisle in his direction, waving liturgical flags – there are rather a collection of shoeless, flag-waving women at Spring Harvest. Or his fear might purely come from a concern for health and safety. Especially this year as we noted that the common praise position which used to be …. Or ….., has now evolved to a newer stance of …., which is all rather beautiful, but a little risky for those in the seat next to you. We truly saw some near misses. Anyway, we found out this week what to buy him as a present next year. Liturgical puppets – they have such a lot. ……he surely would not be ungrateful for such a present?.

I’m being rather naughty, because actually Spring Harvest (and Alan) are both rather wonderful, for all kinds of reasons. One thing in particular at Spring Harvest is the chance to hear all kinds of different speakers explore the same theme.  I want now to mention a very moving scene that happened during part of the evening worship celebrations. One of the speakers was Rudo Kwaramba. She is the National Director of World Vision in Uganda, but comes from Zimbabwe, where her husband and children are still living. She is a small woman, but stands very tall. Her speech is highly eloquent, and her voice is so beautiful. Melodic. She has an authority born from experience and speaks with great confidence. She was not due to speak that evening, but as it was the night before the Zimbabwean elections, she was invited to come and lead prayer for Zimbabwe. She started by explaining what we should pray for; courage for the people to leave their homes and vote, freedom, safety, for God’s vision for Zimbabwe to be fulfilled. She then started to pray, in her own language. And as she prayed, so did we. Lifting up her words, in our hearts to God. I did not understand what she was saying, but as her words turned to tears, we all understood far more than any human word could express. She kept praying and crying. And all the time I read or watch the news on Zimbabwe, now, it is Rudo’s tears that inform me of how God looks upon the situation. In the small figure of an African woman, I saw God, weeping. God weeping (and I am sure you can cope with a female metaphor for God), weeping for her land, weeping for her people, weeping for her children. Weeping that some who had been entrusted with its care, had failed to work for God’s vision. For there have been some priests and bishops, who a while ago chose to side to with Mugabe. God judges them and Zimbabwe with her tears.

The two readings we have heard this evening both involve tears. In the Old Testament reading, we heard the story of the rebuilding of the temple. Solomon’s temple, described in detail in the Old Testament, a temple of great richness, physically, and symbolically, was destroyed when the Israelites were taken into exile. Taken away from their homeland, the people were allowed to return 60 years later. The story we’ve just heard from Ezra, describes the temple being rebuilt. The exiles have returned. God has kept his promise, has been faithful and redeemed his people and brought them home. The homecomers consisted of those who had known the land and the original temple from the days of their youth, and those who had been born in exile, who had only heard of it through stories. The people are generous with their offerings and the temple is begun to be rebuilt. But although there is much celebration, the passage ends with a observation, I thought rather curious, that during the celebrations, those who had known the old temple, wept with a loud voice so that, it says, ‘the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people’s weeping’. The passage gives no explanation of why some were wailing, it just leaves it there. Later writings comment on how the new temple, was never believed to be as good as the first. Is this why they were crying? Had the older generation engrained in the back of their eyes the vision of the original temple, which the younger ones had never seen? One of the key things that was missing in this new temple was the ark of the covenant. The gilded box, which kept safe the promises and law of God, given to Moses, had gone missing at the same time as the first temple was destroyed. It is possible that the older generation wept, I think, because they had seen what the others had not seen. They had seen the temple, in its days of glory complete, they had seen God’s original vision, and this was not quite it. Something was missing. Of course Israel knew that God could not be contained in a box, but the ark still represented his presence. Somehow, with the ark missing, the temple always had a space waiting for completion, waiting for the promises of God to return.

And our second reading shows just that. God’s promise, returning to Jerusalem, on a donkey. Jesus, the fulfilment of God’s promise, entering the place where the exiles had returned with joy and tears so many years earlier. God, like an exile perhaps, coming home at last.

It is in this reading where we truly see the tears of God. As Jesus sees the city, he weeps. He weeps for he knows the vision God has for his people, and he knows that they fail to see it. “You did not recognise the time of your visitation from God” he says, “if only you had recognised the things which make for peace”. He weeps because he comes to bring peace, but he knows they will fail to recognise it. He weeps because he is God walking among them and so many fail to notice. He calls judgement on Jerusalem, but it is judgement born of tears.

The amazing thing is through Christ, each one of us here has been brought into these stories. We share with the exiles, the promise of redemption, the hope of things to come, the chance to be brought finally home. Through Christ we see that God’s judgement on each of us, is made with compassion and tears. But the hope of an exiled people, the Israelites learned, was a balance of looking to the future and experiencing it in the present. The hope of Zimbabwe, is still to come, but is also present, is now, in the tears of the people who have already glimpsed the vision and will not rest until it is fulfilled.

So what does this all mean for us? Being a Christian means learning to live with that strange tension of looking to the future with a hope that all will be redeemed, made well, yet also knowing that that God is at work, with the vision, judgement, tears and peace of the kingdom, in our lives now. Today. Tonight. Tomorrow.

Like the exiled people we may need to ask, do we notice when God is missing? Are there parts of our lives where we fail to invite him in? Or like the Jerusalem Jesus wept over, do we fail to see God when he is there? In our broken dreams and disappointments, it can be hard to believe, to see him when he enters in. But God has promised ‘I am with you always’, and God fulfils his promises, although at first we may not notice him coming.

Our task is perhaps this week to ask ourselves from time to time ‘where is he?’ ‘where is Christ in this’ ‘where is the bringer of peace’. I am reminded of those ‘Where’s Wally’ books where I scour the page for ages to find the little man in the red striped hat amidst a large crowd, children always seem to be able to do it so much quicker – maybe that’s why Jesus tells us to be like them – less things to cloud our vision perhaps, but the image I think may help remind us. And if we train our eyes to look for Christ, I expect that from time to time we will be surprised where we find him. The religious leaders in Jerusalem didn’t recognise God on a donkey. I didn’t expect to find God encased in the tears of an African woman. I wonder where you’ll see him this week? In a neighbour, in a stranger, in someone you find really difficult perhaps? It is not always obvious, but we must keep looking, because the bringer of peace is among us. Always. Amen.