Messiah, Tenor Accompagnato: "Comfort Ye"

Listen: 3:25

Comfort ye, Comfort ye my people

saith your God.

Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem

and cry unto her that her her warfare is accomplish'd,

that her iniquity is pardoned. 

The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness:

Prepare ye the way of the Lord,

make straight in the desert a pathway for our God. 

(Isaiah 40:1-3, KJV)

Reflection: 

From the minor key of the opening symphony, we now hear a gentle, flowing melody in a major key. A song of comfort. A Tenor, in gentle but firm tones, sings the first two words: "Comfort ye." Handel chooses to begin his oratorio with a word of comfort from Isaiah. 

The "people" God tells the prophet to comfort are the people of Jerusalem, the people who have spent a generation exiled from home, in Babylon. By saying "her warfare is accomplished," and "her iniquity is pardoned," God is letting the people know: You are forgiven. You are coming home soon. And yet, over the centuries, Jews still felt a sense of "exile" even after returning to their homeland. Things were never quite the same. That's where the idea of a "Messiah" began: a faithful,anointed Jewish king who would properly establish God's rule. But first, a voice needed to cry out in the wilderness, "prepare ye the way of the Lord." That is a role John the Baptist, cousin of Jesus, eventually took upon himself. 

Comfort looks different to different people. I myself am an introvert: I love to interact with people, but it does take energy, and as the weather gets colder, there's nothing quite like a warm house, a hot cup of tea, a good book and/or a full Netflix queue. It's ironic that this holiday season can become so frantically busy at a time when our biological instinct is to withdraw into our "hobbit holes" and hibernate. As the days get shorter, our to-do lists become longer, and it can be taxing for even the most caffeinated of go-getters. My prayer for you in this Advent season is that you find some quiet moments of comfort, and hear God's voice echo in your heart, that your warfare is accomplished, and your iniquities are pardoned. In Jesus, the Messiah, we have peace with God, and that peace can change us from within, and change the world into a more peaceful place. But first, we have to let ourselves be comforted. 

Questions for discussion: 

1) What does "comfort" look like to you? Physically? Mentally? Spiritually?

2) Is there a difference between being "comforted" and being "comfortable"? Are there times when God wants us to go beyond our comfort zone in order to comfort others?

3) If you were a voice "crying in the wilderness" today, what would you cry? What do people most need to hear in order to be ready for God's presence?   

Messiah, Overture: Music of Exile

Listen: Symphony (3:25)

Reflection: Pain. Oppression. Burdens. Frustration. Starting with a powerful E minor, the opening chords of  Handel's overture hit me like tidal waves of sadness. Then, partway through, the pace picks up, and so does the sense of tension and urgency. What before felt like a siege becomes a midnight escape.

In the context of the Isaiah passages we'll hear sung this week, this overture to me tells the story of the people of Israel. In the 6th century BC, the time when Isaiah 40 was likely written, the people of Judah were exiled from their homes. They had seen Jerusalem under siege by the Babylonian Empire. Their food and water cut off. Their temple--the one built in grand fashion by Solomon, which had stood for centuries--was destroyed, and its temple implements destroyed. The best and brightest minds of Judahite culture were taken hundreds of miles from home to live in Babylon. I don't know if this was Handel's intention in writing the opening symphony, but for me, this sense of exile from home, of being out of place in our lives and with our God, is essential to understanding the writings of the prophets.

I can't in a million years imagine what it feels like to be removed from my country by force, with no idea when I will return home. But I do know that there are many people on this planet, and in our own country, who know exactly what that feels like. As I hear this symphony, my heart and mind are going out to people in refugee camps across this world, exiled from their homes.

The closest I ever came to being a refugee was my internship year during seminary in Libby, Montana. Our landlord had found mold in our apartment, had took a less than charitable attitude toward Laura and me as a result. We were (illegally) asked to leave permanently with one week's notice, and that week was...wait for it...Holy Week. We were "house sitting" for friends on Easter Sunday, and for a couple of weeks that year, we were technically homeless. But what I learned from that experience was, as terrifying as it can be to not have a place to call home, it opened my eyes to the many ways God blessed us through people's kindness. From an edlerly member who volunteered her garage for us to temporarily store our stuff, to a member who owned a house which just happened to be across the street from church, it all came together, and we knew God was still caring for us. Even in times of exile, God is our shelter.

Questions for discussion: 

What feelings does this opening symphony evoke for you? 


When is a time in your life when you felt you were in exile? How did your feel God's presence (or absence) during that time? 


Who can you think of (personally, nationally or globally) who may be in exile, or "homeless", today? What is one way we can be God's presence for them? 

Prayer: God, you are our home and our shelter in times of uncertainty. Be with all people exiled from their homes today. Remind them of your presence and your comfort. In Jesus' name, Amen. 





  

Psalm 50:7-14 No Bull

⁷"Hear, O my people, and I will speak,
O Israel, I will testify against you.
I am God, your God.
⁸Not for your sacrifices do I rebuke you;
your burnt offerings are continually before me.
⁹I will not accept a bull from your house,
or goats from your folds.
¹⁰For every wild animal of the forest is mine,
the cattle on a thousand hills.
¹¹I know all the birds of the air,
and all that moves in the field is mine.
¹²"If I were hungry, I would not tell you,
for the world and all that is in it is mine.
¹³Do I eat the flesh of bulls,
or drink the blood of goats?
¹⁴Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving,
and pay your vows to the Most High.

Observation: God makes a point that's fascinatingly obvious, yet easy to forget. Our "trading" relationship with God is completely one-sided. People can not "feed" God with offerings or "give" God anything that doesn't already belong to God. What God wants instead is our thanks. 

Application: I still remember a time in middle school when my best friend Jason paid for something for both of us--I can't remember if it was a movie, or lunch, or what--and I said, "Ok, I owe you X dollars", and Jason said, "Don't worry about it. I know you'll get something for us later, there's no need to keep track." I remember feeling hugely honored that our friendship had reached the point where we stop keeping track, where we just do for each other when we can, because we know eventually others will do for us. I don't know that even some families necessarily get to that point, and if they do, it's not easy to stay there.

That's the kind of relationship, I think, that God wants with us. 

In ancient times, the temple sacrifice system worked under the implied idea that we could "get paid up" with God. That the right animals, sacrificed at the right time for the right reasons, could remove any outstanding debts and get us "even" again. 

To this, God's response (which becomes a double entendre in English) is, "No Bull." No more deluding ourselves. No more bribes or payoffs or protection money. God is not our landlord. God is our Loving Parent, who just by speaking us into being has done more for us than we can ever pay back. 

What God asks for is gratitude. Gratitude is not a repayment. It's not a check, cash or IOU. It's the acknowledgement that God has done something for us that we can't repay, and the best we can do is say that out loud, and live like we've been blessed. 

Prayer: God, thank you, thank you, thank you. Help me to cut the "bull", and just live in thankfulness.