"He Will Not Grow Faint"

Isaiah 42:1-9 Many years ago I went to a minister’s retreat on the shores of Cazenovia Lake near Syracuse. The retreat center was set on a small hill above the lake. We were up high enough that we could see almost the entire lake from there. It was early spring, and the lake was still covered with winter ice. But the sun had come out and it was warm enough to sit at the picnic tables outside. At one point we noticed something remarkable. The ice was melting, and it was melting as if someone was waving a magic wand over the ice. It was melting that fast. In less than a minute the sudden rise in temperature caused the ice to melt as fast as I am moving my arm from one end of the ice to the other. I’ve never seen anything like this before or since. Our opening Call to Worship comes from Psalm 147, and as I typed it into the bulletin I was instantly reminded of that day overlooking the melting of the frozen lake. Listen to how Isaiah describes the powers of God: He sends out his command to the earth; his word runs swiftly. He gives snow like wool; he scatters frost like ashes. He hurls down hail like crumbs -- who can stand before his cold? He sends out his word, and melts them; he makes his wind blow, and the waters flow. The ice that represents cold hearts and frozen attitudes melts in the presence of God, and then the living waters that had been locked into the ice begin to flow. Our friend Marie, in telling me of her desire to be baptized, described how in her life she began by contending with God, arguing with god, and doubting God, but over time that old attitude of doubt and mistrust has melted, and today the water is flowing in her life, in baptism and in many other ways. Marie is just the latest, for in different ways we have all experienced the power of God in this way, melting what seemed hopelessly frozen. As we lifted up the waters in baptism I was reminded of that frozen lake and how it melted almost magically. See what the Spirit of God can do! In Marie’s life, in my life, and in your life. The season of Epiphany which begins with a celebration of the star over Bethlehem is a season of light, the light that chases away the darkness in the coming of Jesus Christ. But the light also brings heat, enough to melt the most frozen things, enough to melt the most frozen people. I once served a Presbyterian Church in Rochester that had a strong Italian heritage. How in the world Italian Presbyterians come from a predominantly Roman Catholic country? I did a fair amount of research on that question and found that the very first Protestants, who emerged three hundred years before Martin Luther and John Calvin in the time of the Protestant Reformation, were centered in Italy. They were called Waldensians, and to this day they exist in Italy, widely known for promoting ministries of health, education and justice far-outweighing their still modest numbers. The reason I mention the Italian Protestants is that they had a beautiful phrase which always comes to my mind during the season of Epiphany: “It’s better to light a candle than to curse the darkness”. They knew all about the darkness, because the established church of the day didn’t just argue with them, they tried to exterminate them. They only survived by hiding in high Alpine valleys in the north of Italy. It was a dark time, but with the light of faith they persisted, and the power of God has melted what seemed permanently frozen. When we light that lone candle, and lean into the darkness with more courage than we ever thought we’d have, we’re in good company. Isaiah, in his prophecy, tells of an archetypal figure, called the “Servant”, one chosen by God to bring justice to the whole world. Christians, early on, quickly associated these readings of the Servant with what they came to know about Jesus, and consider Isaiah’s writings to be prophecies about Jesus. “He will faithfully bring forth justice; he will not grow faint or be crushed until he has established justice in the earth.” There is a lot of darkness to curse in our time: hunger, sickness, violence, injustice and war. But ours is not a ministry that hides away from these things. We like to light our candles and move forward, chasing the darkness and shadows away. Each can of food we present on Sunday morning, each backpack we fill, each goat or chicken we send to a distant village, and each smile or hug we share, does its part to chase the shadows and melt the ice. So, Marie, and everyone else who has joined in the spiritual adventure of the Byron Presbyterian Church, welcome to a life of shadow-chasing!