It has been my privilege to know a few people who served during World War II and a few of those who waited years at home for them to return.  I knew a man who had enlisted in the army during peacetime, but just before his enlistment was up, World War II started and he was in for the duration.  He was part of amphibious assaults on at least 3 islands in the Pacific.  In each of those he lost half to three-quarters of the young men under his command.  He was 24 or 25 years old then. I knew him when he was in his 80’s, and he told me about that that time in a routine conversation one day.  I can’t imagine the horror of one of those assaults, let alone three, but war was such a formative part of his young adulthood.  I’ve also heard stories from women whose husbands went off to war:  about the strain of worry, about wondering if the next telegram was coming to you, about children, who were born after their father left, and who were afraid of this stranger when he did finally return. 

 

I think about those kinds of stories in light of our text from Isaiah.  This text comes from the end of the war between Babylon and Israel. For forty years, Israelites have been living in exile, as prisoners of war in Babylon.  And now, God says that they will be delivered, they will be free to go home.  This should be good news, but if we were to read to the end of the book of Isaiah, all 26 chapters, we would see that it is difficult for the people to accept and act on.  Just like WWII had a lasting impact on the lives of those who survived, this war shaped a generation and its effects were not easily overcome. 

 

Most scholars believe that this section of Isaiah, chapters 40-55, was addressed to the exiles in Babylon.  I tend to agree with that, but it is interesting to think of these verses as also being addressed to those left behind in Jerusalem.  Babylon had systematically deported the cream of the crop of Jerusalem -- the educated folks, the scholars and politicians, the musicians and artisans and skilled craftspeople – an entire generation of leaders were absent.  And so the people in Jerusalem must have longed for their return.  “O comfort, comfort my people,” says God. “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and tell her that her warfare is over.” 

 

I used to have a poster from the Baptist Peace Fellowship.  It said, “Peace, like war, must be waged.”  God seems to be asking those in exile to do this – to return to their homeland, to bring their knowledge and gifts and strength back to comfort those left destitute there.  You see, the people who went to Babylon have mostly died.  It is their children who now live there, children who were born in Babylon.  This is their home now.  They are comfortable, settled and well-fed.  They live in a rich, safe country, the super power of its time.  Isaiah has his work cut out for him, convincing them to return, to rebuild their land, to wage peace.

 

I know a family who left their home in Africa to study in the United States.  The man was a doctor.  He came here to do a residency.  While they were here, the woman studied and became a pharmacist.  When their studies were done, they found that their home government had shifted and they could not return because of serious threats to their lives.  They lived here for many years and had children during that time.  But when the political situation was resolved, they returned to their homeland.  Along with another doctor who has a similar life story, they established a medical clinic and hospital in a place with limited health care.  They live there now, doing without the conveniences and ease of the life they knew in America.  But their children are U.S. citizens.  They were born and raised here.  This is home to them. They live here.  They can rarely afford the trip to Africa to see their parents.  Part of the sacrifice this husband and wife make to serve the poor, to wage peace among their people, is the sacrifice of a long-distance relationship with their own adult children.  It strikes me as fitting that this woman’s first name is Comfort.  

 

Not many people would make that kind of sacrifice.  And so the prophet Isaiah has to use all his creative powers to persuade this group of people to return to the devastated ruin which once was the glorious city of Jerusalem.   Travel was not easy in those days.  That might have been the first objection voiced by those in Babylon – “you can’t get to Jerusalem from here.”  Then there is the great image of a royal highway.  In ancient Babylon, the roads were often cleared for when kings travelled or when they wanted to make a dramatic entrance into a city.  So there is a highway for God – a straight and level path for God to travel to the people in exile and return with them to Israel.  Rev. Bruce Epperly suggests, “God is making a new pathway – one that involves a transformation of values and, dare we say, social location and status.  The ‘1%’ will be called to sacrifice, so that the ‘99%’ will be elevated.  This is not optional or a matter of individual generosity, but a divine command to be executed through the structures of economic and political power . . .”[1]  Those who were captive, but relatively well off in Babylon, those with leadership and skills and gifts are being called on to wage peace on behalf of others.  

 

Sometimes we think of ourselves as the 99%, in Occupy Movement terms, or just in general terms.  We don’t think of ourselves as anything special.  We’re not millionaires.  We’re not the cream of the crop.  We’re just like everybody else, the 99%.  But if we step back and look at the big picture, we might see something else. If we look at the world’s economy, the have’s and the have-nots, we might see that simply by being citizens of this country, you and I are the 1%.  I say that because we represent 5% of the world’s population but we consume nearly 1/3 of the world’s natural resources.

 

Sometime I get to talk with my friends from other places, especially my pastor friends.  They ask about Emmanuel and I tell them all the good stuff, all true.  On very rare occasions around here, I hear some words of discouragement, some ideas that we are like those in exile, that there are more people in need than we can care for, that our building is in danger of falling down and we need the strength and gifts of others to help us rebuild.  But I only hear that on rare occasions.  Mostly I hear what I tell to my friends, that Emmanuel is a congregation full of gifted, compassionate people, that we are resilient and healthy and creative.  Again, in some important ways, we are the 1%.  Not in every way, to be sure, but in many important ways.

 

The text says, “You who bring good tidings to Zion, go up on a high mountain.”  It was the job of the tidings-bearer to announce the results of battle, to warn of any approaching enemy, but instead this special emissary gets up on a high mountain in order to see where God is at work, to see God’s approach on the horizon.[2]

 

I suggest that we, who are blessed in so many ways, are like those in Babylon.  We are called to build the highway in the wilderness, to make the rough places plain, to speak tender words of comfort, to proclaim that God is at work, to see for ourselves the advent of God on the horizon, and to do the hard work of waging peace. 

 

With our troops coming home from Iraq now, I wonder how their lives have been shaped by that war.  It isn’t like the end of WWII, when every family had someone involved, when the entire country rejoiced and welcomed them home.  Only 1% of American families are currently involved in the military, which means that many of us may not personally know a solider.  Or we might know them from our work at the food pantry or the breakfast program because veterans are at increased risk for unemployment and homelessness. They are coming home to families who have borne the hardships of deployment.  They are coming home with physical injuries and psychological wounds. I am concerned for these young men and women whose experiences and needs may not be known or understood by the rest of us.  Peace must be waged for them.

 

In the last decade, billions of dollars have been shifted away from programs for education, colleges, housing and health care and other provisions for the poor.  This has happened in a time of financial crisis, when the economy has taken a down turn.  There is insecurity and anxiety; peace must be waged.

 

This week, I learned of a young woman who took her own life over the Thanksgiving holiday.  She was sadly, not the first person I know who has done so on that holiday.  We live in a chaotic world where those who live with psychic pain, those caught in the cycle of addiction or violence, those who cannot find internal peace, sometimes choose to opt out. And we all know of people who are in mourning because their loss is recent, or because the holidays trigger old memories. 

 

God says “Comfort, comfort my people. Speak tenderly to them.  Their time of hard service is over.”

 

This God is the Sovereign Lord, the Powerful and Mighty One who will deliver them from the mighty Babylon.  God is the warrior who won the war on their behalf.  It is the tradition of war that the victor comes home with the spoils of war, the treasures and herds plundered from the enemy.   “But here the [prize] is of a different order . . .  Driven like a flock before a careful shepherd, even carried on the arm of battle, are the spoils of war, God’s own children, returned to Mother Zion.”[3]  The great glorious God comes like gentle shepherd, feeding the flock, gathering lambs in God’s arms, carrying them close to God’s own heart. 

 

You and I, we are the tidings-bearers, the levelers of rough places, the procaine’s of hope and peace.  Go then, to the high places of power and the street corners and coffee shops and college campuses and hospital rooms and proclaim the good news:  Comfort! . . . Mercy!  . . . Pardon! . . . With power and strength for deliverance, God is coming.

 

Tidings-bearers, get up to the high mountain, look to the horizon and see: God is here!  Feeding the flock, carrying us close to God’s own heart, God is here offering comfort and peace.  Amen.