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Isaiah 65.17-21

For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight. I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and delight in my people; no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress. No more shall there be in it an infant that lives but a few days, or an old person who does not live out a lifetime; for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth, and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed. They shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit.

This passage is so joyful, so full of hope, and yet it troubles me. God is making a promise – a New Jerusalem! – but in that promise lies the certainty of destruction. The old Jerusalem will be wiped away, from the earth and from our minds. For a phoenix to rise from the ashes, don’t you first have to have a fire? And indeed, in the verses previous to these God promises destruction and revenge. This passage is not a promise to heal, but to start over.

This desire to scrap the whole thing and start over carries a rueful kind of resonance for me, especially over the last year. 2020 left me few places to hide from my own inadequacies, and indeed afforded me further opportunities to develop new ones. More than once I’ve looked in the mirror and wondered if there wasn’t some kind of reset button I could hit, a return to factory settings. I feel this on a selfish, petty level for myself; I feel it on an overwhelmingly sorrowful level for the world. Even before the pandemic, hadn’t we already befouled the Old Jerusalem beyond saving? Did it not seem as though we were ever more passionate architects of our own destruction, hastening the moment when we’d be balled up and thrown in the trash?

But the passage here focuses on the joy of the fresh, clean sheet of paper, the return of God to the drawing board, having learned from His mistakes, or from ours. But a saying springs to mind: God don’t make no junk. Maybe that’s just a folksy way of saying “matter and energy can neither be created nor destroyed.” God exists in and through all things, and is ever experimenting, becoming new forms of His eternal, undimmable energy. Seen in this light, it becomes unnecessary to mourn the old Jerusalem, or to worry about it at all. The new will be built from the matter of the old, just as spring arrives through the mulch of last year’s grass, as we take up palms that will be next years ashes. Life, eternal, springing through new and ever more joyous forms.

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Hosea 6.1-6

“Come, let us return to the Lord; for it is he who has torn, and he will heal us; he has struck down, and he will bind us up. After two days he will revive us; on the third day he will raise us up, that we may live before him. Let us know, let us press on to know the Lord; his appearing is as sure as the dawn; he will come to us like the showers, like the spring rains that water the earth.”

What shall I do with you, O Ephraim? What shall I do with you, O Judah? Your love is like a morning cloud, like the dew that goes away early. Therefore I have hewn them by the prophets, I have killed them by the words of my mouth, and my judgment goes forth as the light. For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.

I know this winter has been an especially difficult time for many people. I’m grateful to be able to work from home, but because it gets dark so early in the evenings, during the week I tend to work late and often don’t go outside. After being indoors for days at a time, I start feeling stir crazy. Last weekend, while my partner was shopping at a mall I found myself waiting outside in the parking lot. I was suddenly overjoyed to just bask in the sun and look up at the clouds. And yet my struggles seem small compared to the people in our city who are homeless, hungry, or unemployed. What right do I have to lament?

So, I feel like the prophetic vision of Hosea is especially powerful during this time. A God who will bind us and raise us up, as sure as the spring rains water the earth. Unlike apocalyptic preachers of the past, I don’t believe that the coronavirus is divine retribution for our sins and I don’t believe the end is nigh.

But I do believe that this season of Lent, and this time of struggle, is an opportunity to reconsider our priorities; to remind us of what’s really important in our lives. I want to try not to take so much for granted, to concentrate on the things I can control; instead of the mindless chatter of social media or politics. To work on building community and strengthening friendships. I am encouraged by the last line of the the scripture, where God does not care about transitory things like burnt offerings or sacrifices, but instead desires love and knowledge. And so in that spirit, I think that this is an opportunity for us to strive to love, and to learn, to marvel occasionally at the clouds, while we to await the first signs of spring. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven."

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Psalm 81.5-9, 13, 15-16

He laid it as a solemn charge upon Joseph,*
when he came out of the land of Egypt.
I heard an unfamiliar voice saying,*
I eased his shoulder from the burden; his hands were set free from bearing the load.
You called on me in trouble, and I saved you*
I answered you from the secret place of thunder and tested you at the waters of Meribah.
Hear, O my people, and I will admonish you:*
O Israel, if you would but listen to me,
There shall no strange god among you;*
you shall not worship a foreign god.
O that my people would listen to me*
that Israel would walk in my ways!
Those who hate the Lord would cringe before him,*
and their punishment would last for ever.
But Israel would I feed with the finest wheat*
and satisfy him with honey from the rock.

While reading this passage I was most struck by the line “I eased his shoulder from the burden; his hands were set free from bearing the load”.

I doubt I am the only one, a year into this Pandemic, who is feeling burdened. I feel constantly weighed down- by fear, by worry and by grief. To put it plainly, this has been a year of great challenges. It also has been easy to feel alone, physically distanced as we must me to keep our communities and ourselves safe.

We are not alone.

This Psalm is a wonderful reminder that we are never truly isolated. The Lord does not want us to face challenges alone. He is always there, he loves us and will always help to carry our burdens. We need only call out, and he will save us.