Zephaniah 3:14-20; Luke 15:11-17
Every year I look forward to the Batavia Daily's publication of area children's letters to Santa. Today I'm going to have Connor and Michaela read some very different letters to Santa from 4th graders at Rochester's Dag Hammarskjold Elementary School #6. They come from this book Write from their Heart: Poems and Letters, published as a project of Third Pres. in Rochester.
Dear Santa,
What's up? I wanted to see how you and the reindeer are doing. Tell Rudolph his song “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” is the best song in Christmas history.
I know I want stuff for myself but this Christmas it is going to be different. I want to make my neighborhood safer. These are the four reasons why I chose this for our community. One reason I want this for our community is so that kids can go outside and play. Another reason I wanted something for the community is so people can not worry about going out at night to the store. The third reason is so people can be safe again. The final reason is that I am tired of my neighborhood being on T.V.
Well, that's all I want. Thanks for listening.
Sincerely, Brooklyn
Here's another:
Dear Santa,
What's up?
I want you to stop the shooting because I don't like to see blood on the street. I don't like shooting because I don't like when people die. I don't like shooting because my house got hit by a bullet. I don't like shooting because it is too scary to see people get shot.
I hope Rudolph lights the way on Christmas Eve. Have a great trip!
Sincerely, TJ
--
This book is full of these letters and of poems of children repeatedly worrying, “Will I live to grow up?” We read these letters, written by those who haven't even lived 10 years of life yet, and we know just how far our society is from reflecting God's vision of a world without violence, injustice, and oppression. I get a sense not only of these children being homeless—without a safe place to go, without a shelter to protect them—but of our whole society being driftless, unable, or unwilling, to turn to God and God's ways. I think of the words to the hymn we hear so often this time of year:
O Come, O Come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel.
That mourns in lonely exile here, Until the Son of God appears.
These words refer to the Babylonian captivity. A time in the Bible when God's people were homeless. When our ancestors in the faith had their homes and places of worship and schools and shops invaded. When Israelites were marched hundreds of miles through the desert to a land where the culture, the food, the worship, the customs were different than back in their homeland. They were strangers in a strange land, and they didn't know how to sing their song.
The 4th graders at School #6 understand exile—they are waiting for a safe home to live.
What are the ways you understand exile? What are the ways you feel like aliens in your own land? What makes you long for home?
This time of year, we hear many songs about home--“I'll be home for Christmas”, “Home for the Holidays.” What does it mean for you to be really “at home”? What are the smells of home? What are the tastes of home? What are the feelings you get when you feel truly at home?
By the time the prodigal son found himself jealous of the pigs he was feeding, (because at least they had something to eat!), he must have been really imagining home and all he'd left behind. The line that haunts me is “no one gave him anything.” He was living in a land of no compassion, no generosity, where everyone was out for his or her own good.
Out of his hunger, he remembered how generously his father treated his workers, and thought that he might be able to at least return to his father and live as a hired hand.
He didn't return because he amended his ways.
He didn't return full of remorse.
He returned . . . because he was hungry.
And before he could even reach his home, his father was running out ahead with that robe and that ring and those sandals, and ordered the fatted calf killed for a celebration, for his son was dead, but he had come back to life.
That's also the message of Zephaniah. Zephaniah was speaking words of promise to people who had not followed God's ways. The most startling thing about this passage in Zephaniah is the change in his tone between the first two chapters and the last chapter. Most of the book of Zephaniah is fire and brimstone, Brood-of-vipers, John the Baptist repent, for the day of the Lord is coming! Zephaniah really knew how to let people have it. He even told the people that God has no option but to destroy all creation!
But then, all of a sudden, his language changes. He begins talking about a remnant of people that God will gather. A people humble and lowly, who will find pasture and lie down, and no one shall make them afraid. Scholars explain the change by saying that this section of Zephaniah was probably written later than the first part, actually during the exile. The change in tone has to do with a change in audience—the first two chapters spoke to those in power. To the corrupt government that continued to make the wrong choices and assume that their choices had no consequences. Chapter 1, verse 12 captures a popular sentiment of the day, as well as our own: “The Lord will not do good, nor will he do harm”. (Sound familiar? We sure can hear that refrain in our day.)
But then comes the third chapter, addressed to those in exile. Zephaniah knows that when you're defeated, you don't need more bludgeoning. When you're hungry, you're ready to be filled. His words are a ray of sunlight, piercing into a deep and imponderable cloud! A carol of hope punctuating a funeral dirge! Irredeemable judgement has turned to transcendent gladness.
Like the father coming out and greeting the prodigal, God cries out, “Don't be afraid. You've carried your burdens long enough. Your God is present among you, happy to have you back. God will calm you with love and delight you with song.”
It was like that beautiful mezzo-soprano part of the Messiah, when she cries out, “Rejoice, Rejoice, Rejoi-hoi-ho-hoice o Zion!”
It was like Paul's refrain of joy throughout Philippians, a letter he wrote from prison, while he awaited the possibility of a death sentence--“Rejoice in the Lord always, again, I say rejoice!”
And the most amazing thing of all: Zechariah says that God will delight . . . over us! God will sing carols over us, lavishing us with loud songs that we're used to singing to God!
We don't rejoice because we've done everything to ready our homes and make them welcoming to holiday visitors. We don't rejoice because every present is wrapped and delicious smells are coming from the kitchen, and soft carols are playing in the background. We rejoice that in the mess of life God rejoices over us, and sends God's only son to redeem us. Home is not having everything together. Home is a reliance on the God who comes to us in our distress and darkness, runs out and meets us in our shame, and changes our shame into praise.
Reinhold Niebuhr said, “The human spirit is incapable of ridding itself of an abiding sense of homelessness.” It is as if we keep seeking that perfect home, that perfect life, one that finally feels like, “whew, we're home.” So we overwork this time of year—plowing through traffic and lines and airports--to create that “homey feeling” for Christmas celebrations. Often our efforts seem to backfire. In any case, we never really “get there”, do we? There's always something missing in our efforts
Maybe you, like me, can relate to a preacher I admire—Joanna Adams—in the story she tells about a member of the congregation she serves saying, "I am sorry you have not seen me in church for a while, but I have gotten to where I just cannot come any more."
"Why?" she asks.