(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Sunday Worship on November 06, 2016, Proper 27)
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The Glory of Holidays Gone By
The holiday season, like it or not, is more or less upon us. Some of us have already begun shopping. Others may sneak a tree up before the month has ended.
As our anticipation heightens and we look ahead, many of us will also look behind. In the same way that our mashed potatoes are covered in gravy, or our pumpkin pie is smothered in whipped cream, the holiday season is spread thick and deep with nostalgia. We are besieged by memories, by the glory of years gone by. Some of us may recall a particularly meaningful gift that we received. Other minds might wander back to a legendary sled ride or snowball fight. Still others will simply remember putting up a tree, hanging up some lights, and then watching as day by day the gifts underneath began to accumulate.
I think this nostalgia is part of the reason that so many folks have made a holiday tradition out of watching the 1983 classic, A Christmas Story—you know, the one about that boy and his desperate hopes for a Red Ryder BB gun. That entire movie is a like a sepia-tinged photograph. It resonates with our own memories of a glory gone by. Remember when Christmas meant carefree weeks with no school? Remember when it meant big gifts? Remember when it meant the fullness of family and feasting and fun games beside the fireplace?
“Remember the Glory of Before?”
According to our scripture today, the ancient Israelites were probably asking similar questions when their forced captivity under the Babylonians ended and they returned to rebuild their homeland. “Remember when the temple was bigger?” “Remember when we still had the ark of the covenant?” “Remember when our leader was a true king, and not the powerless puppet of some other empire?”
According to one of Haggai’s contemporaries, the priest Ezra, when the older Israelites saw the measly reconstruction of their homeland, they wept with a loud voice (Ezra 3:12). Haggai himself appears to acknowledge that things are not quite as great as they once were: “Who is left among you that saw [the temple] in its former glory?” he asks. “How does it look to you now? Is it not in your sight as nothing?” (Hag 2:3). You can almost see the elders shaking their heads ruefully in the background, their hearts full of nostalgia, their eyes glazed over with the past. They cluck their tongues, saying to each other: “Remember the glory of before? Remember…? Remember…?”
Glory Greater than Before
I can only imagine, then, that what Haggai says next would have been music to their ears: “‘I will fill this house with glory,’ says the Lord of hosts. ‘The silver is mine, and the gold is mine…. The glory of this house shall be greater than before!’” (Hag 2:7-9).
When the crowd heard him speak these words, they probably erupted with joy. Their glazed eyes probably glowed even brighter. Silver. Gold. Glory greater than before.
Funnily enough, it appears that the translators of this passage were also mesmerized with the dream of greater riches. Because the word that they had previously translated as “glory”—indeed, the word that is translated as “glory” throughout the Old Testament—here they translate as “splendor,” suggestive of the shine of that gold and silver. And not only that. In Haggai’s next prophecy, where God promises shalom, or “peace,” the translators tell us that in fact God promises “prosperity.” Haggai’s crowd is not alone. Our translators too have fallen under the spell of wealth and comfort, assuming that when God promises glory and shalom, what God really promises is what they really want: “splendor” and “prosperity.”
“Smaller, Emptier, and Weaker…”
The only problem is, this “splendor” and “prosperity” would never come true. The reconstructed Israel would never reach the heights of its past. It would never attain its former splendor. The temple was smaller than before. It no longer housed the ark of the covenant, and so it was emptier than before. And because the people’s leader was no more than a puppet of a foreign empire, the people of Israel were weaker than before. Seen from this standpoint, the reconstructed Israel was a ghost of its former self. It was smaller, emptier, and weaker than before.
So when Haggai promised greater glory than before, either he was lying or he was talking about a different kind of glory. Either he was one of those false prophets who tells the people what they want to hear, or he was talking about glory in a different kind of way.
I can’t know for sure what Haggai meant. But when I listen to other prophets in the Old Testament, I hear them proclaim a different kind of glory, a glory less concerned with material and might. There are some prophets, like Isaiah and Hosea, who warn people that the material religion of the temple often masks an empty heart.[1] There are others, like Jeremiah, who dreams of a day when the ark of the covenant will no longer be missed or even remembered.[2] And it’s no secret than many prophets were critical of the monarchy and its power. For all of these prophets, the problem with being bigger, fuller, and more powerful, was that this threatened to distract the people from God. It tempted the people to trust in themselves.
In other words, maybe smaller, emptier, and weaker than before isn’t as bad as it sounds. Maybe that’s what some of the prophets were pointing toward. Maybe that’s even “the greater glory than before” that Haggai was pointing toward, whether he knew it or not.
“…Is What the Glory of God Looks like.”
I can’t help but notice a vague pattern forming. After the exile, ancient Israel was smaller, emptier, and weaker than before. To the world, it might appear as if their glory had been stripped from them.
Years later—so the story of our faith goes—a little baby Jesus was born. His life is the glory of God. And yet what a different kind of glory it is. Paul proclaims this paradoxical glory best in his letter to the Philippians:
Though he was in the form of God,
He did not regard equality with God
As something to be grasped,
But emptied himself,
Taking the form of a slave,
Being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
He humbled himself
And became responsible to the point of death—
Even death on a cross.[3]
“Humbled himself.” “Emptied himself.” “Death on a cross.”
Smaller, emptier, weaker. This is what the glory of God looks like.
The Presence of God
The promise of Haggai that likely mesmerized his ancient audience—and that certainly mesmerized our translators today—was the promise of “a glory greater than before.” To an audience that dreams of material gain and might, this promise is irresistible.
But the key to Haggai’s promise comes just a moment earlier. “‘Take courage, all you people of the land,’ says the Lord…. ‘I am with you…. My spirit abides among you’” (Hag 2:4-5). The glory of God is none other than the presence of God. And if the life of Jesus is any indication, the presence of God is manifest not in power, prestige, or possessions, but in a love that lives for others.
The Heart of Things
There was a wonderful little piece of street art near where I lived in Sheffield, England, with a picture of two children playing together, and a caption that reads, “The best things in life are not things.” It is a truism whose truth we forget all too often. Is this not the truth of the holiday season?
Nostalgia parades all around us, reminding us of how great it was when we were younger, when the holidays were bigger, fuller, and more intense, when they were full of fun and free time and big gifts. But is it these “things” that made the holidays such a memorable experience? Was it really the Red Ryder BB gun that made Christmas so memorable for Ralphie? I don’t think so.
Nostalgia tempts us with things: bigger, fuller, better things. But what we really miss is not these “things,” but the heart of things—like faith, hope, love, all of which are on full display in Ralphie’s story. And the funny thing is, we always have the heart of things with us, however small, empty, or weak our lives may feel. Deep down we know that. We all know that the real glory of the holidays is not found in the big presents or the shiny ribbons and bows, but in family and friends and strangers. The real glory of the holidays is not things but the heart of things, and we always have the heart of things with us. Which is another way of saying, what Haggai said, “‘I am with you,’ says the Lord of hosts.” “My spirit abides among you” (Hag 2:4-5).
The Demise of the Church—or the Glory of God?
The “greater glory” that Haggai proclaims, which is to say the glory that takes on a smaller, emptier, and weaker shape, is not only a helpful reminder for us as we step into the nostalgia-themed halls of the holidays. It is also worth pondering as we consider the church in today’s world.
Haggai could just as well have been preaching to us. Like his audience in ancient Israel, the church too is smaller, emptier, and weaker than before. Its numbers are dipping, its sanctuaries are emptying, and its voice in the world of politics is weaker than before. What then should we say? Is this the demise of the church?
Our nostalgic memories might suggest so. But then nostalgia never remembers things quite as they were. It doesn’t remember the exclusion and discrimination practiced against people of other ethnicities and orientations. It measures by the bodies in the pews but not by the hearts in those bodies.
Taking heart from Haggai, and from Jesus Christ himself, I would suggest that a smaller, emptier, and weaker church is not the demise of the church, but in fact a holy opportunity for greater glory. Church never was about being powerful or successful or effective. Church is about being the body of Christ, given faithfully for the life of the world, come what may. That is the smaller, emptier, weaker—and greatest—glory of God.
We see it first in the life of ancient Israel. We sense it deeply in our holiday experience. And we know it most fully in Jesus Christ, whose life—we pray—is our life.
Prayer
Companion Christ,
Who is always with us—
When our heavens and earth shake,
And we are tempted by nostalgia,
Open our eyes to see
Not demise
But the coming of your glory,
Small, empty, and weak, though it may be.
May we live faithfully for you,
As you have lived for us.
Amen.
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[1] E.g., Isa 1:10-17; Hos 6:6.
[2] Jer 3:16.
[3] Phil 2:6-8.
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