What a magnificent dream Isaiah proclaims–a dream he hears as God’s dream. Jerusalem as a joy, a delight-filled people, houses and vineyards, healthy babies and vital elders. It is a beautiful dream–and an amazing one. It is amazing that Isaiah could dare to envision such transformation in the face of his reality.
Many scholars believe Isaiah 65 was written by a prophet in the time just after the end of the exile. For several generations, a large portion of the Judean people, including their leaders, lived in forced exile in Babylon. There, they struggled against despair, trying to hold on to hope that someday they would return to their beloved Jerusalem. To keep themselves going, they imagined a glorious homecoming.
When they finally are allowed to go home, what they find is far from glorious. The temple is in ruins. The people who remained behind have moved on, developing their own leadership and faith practices. Reintegrating the exiles, who are accustomed to being in power, is fraught with tension. Who is going to be in charge? How will they work together to rebuild their temple and community?
In that charged climate, with power struggles and shattered hopes swirling around, Isaiah dares to dream God’s dream. The poem he writes is filled with beautiful imagery, and with a sharp challenge to our human tendency to concentrate power and wealth in a few people. Isaiah envisions a city where people build their own homes and live in them, labor in their vineyards and reap the rewards of their work themselves. There are no masters and servants, no owners and workers. Healthy living conditions and enough food for everyone mean infants do not die in their critical first days. Peace means young people are not sent off to war. Honoring human dignity means elders live long lives. It is a bold dream.
I wonder whether, some 500 years later, Jesus thinks of Isaiah’s bold dream as he begins his ministry, proclaiming the coming of the kingdom, the kin-dom, the realm of God’s love. Does he remember that vision of a healthy society when he reaches out his hand to heal a leper? Does he picture the houses and vineyards of Isaiah’s poem when he says, “Blessed are you who are poor, for the kingdom of God is yours?”
Isaiah is bold in dreaming God’s dream, even in the face of destruction that makes even the smallest dream seem outrageous. Jesus is bold in proclaiming that this is more than an idle dream. This, he says, is happening right here, right now. In the midst of Roman empire, the kingdom of God, God’s dream of a new world, is coming to fruition.
Sometimes we are inclined to dismiss dreaming as a harmless, if somewhat naive, exercise. Isaiah and Jesus know that is not true. A dream reminds us that things do not have to be the way they are. A dream threatens those who have a vested interest in keeping everyone else thinking that the way things are is the only possible way things can be.
From the beginning of his ministry, Jesus understands how his proclamation of God’s dream is a threat. Every time he talks about the kingdom of God, he makes those who serve the kingdom of Caesar nervous. When he goes to a tax collector’s home for dinner, when he talks to the Samaritan woman at the well, he threatens the way society is ordered. Jesus knows exactly what he is doing. He chooses to keep doing it even as he realizes it will lead to his death.
In our brief reading from Matthew’s gospel, Jesus is already approaching his death. He has ridden into Jerusalem to the waving of palms. He has turned the tables over in the temple. He has argued with the Pharisees, accusing them of hypocrisy. And then, in a moment of anguish, he laments over this city he loves. He cries out his rage and disappointment at how far Jerusalem is from God’s dream. How can you not be moved by Isaiah’s vision? How can you not hear the good news I have been proclaiming? How can you not find it in you to let go of your power to receive the gift of a new kind of community? How I have longed to gather you, he cries out, as a hen gathers her brood, but you will not listen. A poignant, heart-wrenching cry–a cry that echoes two thousand years later.
I imagine Jesus today, looking out over our nation, crying out with that same anguish at what he sees. I imagine his rage at people who believe that if you tell a lie often enough it becomes true, his rage at the lengths people will go to consolidate their power. I imagine his deep sorrow at the stories of pain and abuse that are coming out, and his indignation when they are ignored or dismissed. I imagine his distress at the depths of racism and sexism being revealed anew.
I hear him crying out to us, as he cried out to Jerusalem. Didn’t you hear the dream? Can’t you trust the promise? Don’t you want to be part of this kin-dom of God breaking in? How I long to gather you together….why are you not willing?
“Dream God’s dream, Holy Spirit help us dream…” We sang this prayer just a few minutes ago. In this divided nation, where we are so far from God’s dream, what does this prayer mean for us, the people of Edwards Church? How do we, with Isaiah, dare to dream God’s dream? How do we, with Jesus, dare to move the dream from imagination to reality. What is our ministry of dreaming–our ministry of seeking a just peace?
As we struggle to figure out our church’s role in this contentious time, our starting point needs to be the example of Jesus. Like Jesus, we begin by acknowledging the reality of the way things are: the reality of entrenched power, deeply-rooted racism and sexism and heterosexism, the growing gulf between rich and poor. We listen to stories of oppression and abuse even when we don’t want to hear them. We dive deep to try to understand white privilege. We study the history of anti-semitism and xenophobia so we can see how it plays out today. We resist the impulse to shut out the problems of the world.
We name the reality we see and, with Jesus, we refuse to accept that it has to be this way. We say no–and we say yes. No to the abuse of power. Yes to God’s dream–a vision of a society where power is shared and human dignity upheld, where creation is treasured and there is enough for everyone. We say no by interrupting racist jokes, disrupting bullying, speaking out against policies that dehumanize immigrants, showing up at vigils. We say yes by writing letters to the editor, putting out signs on our lawns that say “you are welcome here,” accompanying a vulnerable neighbor to court, calling our senators to let them know what matters to us, donating to organizations working for national and global change. We say no and yes when we vote–an opportunity Jesus didn’t have.
Jesus didn’t just proclaim God’s dream; he lived it into existence. And so we, his disciples, are called to live God’s dream, right here and right now. We are called to build an alternate reality to the one that is dominating the news.
We start with our own church community, seeking to be a pocket of the kin-dom breaking in. We sing together to lift our spirits. We pray for one another. We give each other rides and send birthday cards. We trust each person to give as they are able and to ask for what they need. We celebrate a diversity of sexual orientations, gender identities and family configurations. We keep asking ourselves how we can become more culturally diverse. We support one another in our struggles with mental health and addictions.
Our vision expands to encompass all that happens on our campus. Through Open Spirit we create small communities of healing in our yoga, meditation and Qi Gong classes. We offer mindfulness programs to empower the most vulnerable children in Framingham schools. We partner with local groups to create gardens that offer peace and an example of what is possible. We bring people from diverse faith communities together. We create a safe space where veterans can seek healing from the hidden wounds of war. We prepare to welcome a refugee family into our parsonage.
We seek to broaden the vision beyond this location, partnering with Plymouth Church for our annual Veterans Appreciation Dinner, pen-palling with Tenzin, our student at the Tibetan Children’s Village, donating to UCC Disaster Relief so local churches in hurricane- or explosion-ravaged areas can use their community relationships to be a source of healing, sending our young people to regional events so they can meet other youth who long to change the world.
What we build here may seem too small to matter. We don’t know, though, what ripples God might create to expand our circles of compassion outward. We don’t know when the breath of the Spirit might scatter seeds from the gardens we have created.
The final lesson we draw from the example of Jesus is that we cannot do this alone. Jesus took time away pray–to reconnect with the source of his compassion and strength. And Jesus surrounded himself with friends who tried their best to work together–not perfectly, but powerfully. Our ministry of seeking a just peace must always be grounded in prayer–prayers for wisdom and guidance and perseverance, prayers to help us remember it is not about us. And our ministry of seeking just peace must be rooted in community–being together, standing together, taking action together.
“Dream God’s dream,” we sing. Following Jesus’ example, we begin by facing the reality around us. We say no and we say yes, proclaiming that another way is possible. We live the dream where we are, trusting that God is at work through our smallest efforts. We pray. We work together.
May the Holy Spirit inspire us to dream boldly, to live God’s dream faithfully, and to stand together in hope. Amen.