When Israel was a Child

Our scripture lesson for today from the book of Hosea is one that translators have wrestled with mightily for some time. Generally our pew Bibles offer an excellent translation of the Hebrew words recorded so many years ago, but in the case of today’s passage from Hosea I believe that the New Revised Standard Version gives us a slightly more accurate translation, so today I’ll be reading from this version while I invite you to follow along in the pew Bibles.
Our 2nd Scripture Lesson for today is Hosea chapter 11: 1-11, page 642
When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them, the more they went from me; they kept sacrificing to the Baals, and offering incense to idols.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk, I took them up in my arms; but they did not know I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness, with bands of love.
I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks. I bent down to them and fed them.
They shall return to the land of Egypt, and Assyria shall be their king, because they have refused to return to me.
The sword rages in their cities, it consumes their oracle-priests, and devours because of their schemes.
My people are bent on turning away from me.
To the Most High they call, but he does not raise them up at all.
How can I give you up, Ephraim?
How can I hand you over, O Israel?
How can I make you like Admah?
How can I treat you like Zeboiim?
My heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender.
I will not execute my fierce anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim;
For I am God and no mortal, the holy one in your midst, and I will not come in wrath.
They shall go after the Lord, who roars like a lion; when he roars, his children shall come trembling from the west.
They shall come trembling like birds from Egypt, and like doves from the land of Assyria; and I will return them to their homes, says the Lord.
Sermon
Being a Christian isn’t supposed to be glamorous.
I’ve found myself in some pretty interesting places because of the ministry that I’ve felt called to – like many of you I’ve been to some foreign shores, but not to enjoy their beaches, to be a witness to their slums. I remember well one particular outhouse I used. It was a hole in the ground covered by a sheet of rotting plywood and crowned with a porcelain toilet. I had to go pretty bad before I could summon the courage to use it.
But this is part of the deal – you can’t go out into the world preaching the gospel through word and deed by staying isolated in the safety of your home. We Christians are called out into the world.
So like many of you I’ve been to 3rd world countries, soup kitchens, bread lines, villages of homeless people with only sheets of cardboard separating them from the elements. Hospitals, houses, and nursing homes.
There’s something unique about the air of some nursing homes – the bad ones carry with them the stench of urine, but the air in all of them is heavy with memories.
I’ve been listening to a book on tape for the last couple weeks – Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen “I am ninety. Or ninety-three. One or the other,” the book begins – the main character narrates from an old-folks home where he has grown tired and grumpy beyond measure, terrorizing most of the nurses, starting a fist fight with another resident named McGuinty:
“I used to carry water for the elephants,” says McGuinty. I drop my fork and look up. He is positively dripping with self-satisfaction, just waiting for the girls to fawn over him. “You did not,” I say. There is a beat of silence. “I beg your pardon?” he says. “You did not carry water for the elephants.”
This conversation soon elevates to name calling until McGuinty stands up out of his wheel chair only for his legs to fail him, sending him falling to the floor.
The narrator knew that McGuinty had never worked in a circus carrying water for the elephants you see, as elephants drink too much for anyone to bring the water to them, you have to bring the elephant to the water.
In this way the book opens to reveal the story of a grumpy old man – looked over and ignored by most of the world, but those who take the time to listen find that he had lived the life of a teenager who ran away to join the circus.
We humans are tempted to disregard such things – we too often forget that what we see on the surface is only a peel – what lies beneath is life lived, heart ache, adventure, pain, joy.
We humans are often too busy to listen – but God – God remembers.
“When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Israel I called my son.
It was I who taught Ephraim to walk. I took them up in my arms.
I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks.”
One of the most wonderful things about a funeral is that we are invited in to see a piece of such memories. Not long ago a woman died – for so long she was just the frail old woman who came to church every Sunday, sitting in the same seat near the middle isle week after week. Only in sitting down with DeeDee did I learn that she left home to become a model in New York City, married a Jewish man to the disdain of her family, and with him lived around the world – a spectacle in the Philippines on the golf course where no one had ever seen a woman take up a set of clubs.
The same is true of our friend Jim Greene. I knew he was a football star, but it was only near the end that I learned he played as a professional in Canada, coached for years at the black high school in Summerville, SC only to lose his job to the white coach when the schools integrated.
In this month’s newsletter is a story like it – in the hopes of getting to know each other a little bit better a family from the Hispanic ministry tells their story.
I think it’s a wonderful thing to do, as it’s so easy to underestimate people – and maybe that’s what some want to forget the past and leave it behind. Old heartbreaks, too much damage done to remember.
But God – God refuses to forget.
So God roars – and like birds from Egypt, like doves from the land of Assyria – the people return trembling, our lesson tells us.
Maybe it’s because they’re afraid.
Afraid of God’s wrath?
Or afraid of God’s terrible love that knows exactly who we are and loves us all the more because of it.
“That’s a mother talking,” Jane Edwards told us in Bible study this past week – and like a mother our God has been hurt by our disobedience – but who refuses to give up on the child she has loved so well, come to know more that most any ever could.
God is God and no mortal our lesson tells us – as we humans so willingly forfeit our ability to see people as people. We know some as friends, others as enemies, but God knows us all as infants once held close to the cheek.
In our God’s refusal to give up on us, in our God’s refusal to forget who we are, we see the model for the truest form of human love that we are called to emulate in a world that gives us all permission to dismiss, tear down, and ignore voices based not one who they are but the groups they represent.
It is a dangerous world that we live in today – not just because of what people are saying and doing – but because what people say and do rises to inhuman proportions when we fail to realize that all of us have a history, a story to tell, and a precious value in the eyes of God.
What we see in our lesson for today is the truth – that people are people – that all people, whether the represent a different ideology, social group, or social demographic, are individuals with hearts, souls, histories, and cheeks that have been kissed by the lips of God.
It’s easier to ignore each other when we don’t admit to ourselves our common identity in our one God – so our lesson for today demands that we honor one another, expecting to be surprised by what we hear when we do not dismiss difference too quickly.
When we do model this kind of love we prove that we were created in the image of God.
When we refuse to give up when so many would cut ties and go their separate ways.
When we determine to see beyond labels, generalizations, to see people as people with stories worth knowing.
When we determine to keep our arms open when we have every right to turn away.
Love one another then – as God first loved you, so you must love one another.
Amen.