Bloom Where You are Re-planted

What must it have felt like? Just imagine, all the leaders of your people, the royal family, the political leaders, the artisans and craftsmen, most of the priests and royal spokespeople taken into exile, ripped away from Jerusalem and deported to Babylon. The beautiful temple built by Solomon looted and dismantled. That’s what happened to the people of Judea in 586 B.C. To feel the shock of that event, let’s think about it in our own terms. Suppose that after a failed series of political maneuvers and attempts at alliances, some foreign power invaded the United States, kidnapped the president and first lady, the members of Congress, the governors, the editors of the leading news media, the presidents of the colleges and universities, and the heads of the major manufacturing and financial institutions. Kidnapped them all and took them from Washington to their own capital. And on the way, the armies of this foreign destroyed the White House and the Capitol Building. This is what Jeremiah predicted would happen to the people of Judah, and this is what God allowed to happen. You can imagine that all the deported national leaders felt profound shock. You can bet that they were completely disoriented, that they felt dislocated and completely despondent. And what of those left behind? The peasants and workers, the petty artisans and slaves? What must they have felt? What do we feel when the ground shifts under our feet, and the world as we know it completely disappears?

God allowed all this to happen to the people of Judea, but the Exile was not God’s last word to God’s people. In today’s reading from the writings of the prophet Jeremiah, we get an inkling that there will be more to the story. In the midst of the people’s shock and desolation, God commanded Jeremiah to write a letter to the exiles. In the opening part of this letter, which is omitted from our lection, we learn that one of Jeremiah’s reasons for writing it was to contradict the assurances of the false prophets that the Exiles would return to Jerusalem in a year or two. No, Jeremiah tells them straight out, the Exile will last for a full seventy years – in the ancient world long enough for at least three, perhaps four, generations to be born. What is more important, through Jeremiah God commands the people to settle down in Babylon, to build houses and plant crops, to give their children in marriage so that the community will continue to grow and thrive, and to do good for the city in which they will now live. What is most important, as we hear in the verses immediately following today’s reading, God reminds the people of God’s promise of restoration: when the seventy years are done, “I will fulfill to you my promise and bring your back to this place. For surely I know the plans I have for you … plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” Exile is not the last word, says God. But meanwhile, make the best of your circumstances, and “bloom where you are re-planted.”

“Bloom where you are re-planted.” Hai Doo was a refugee from Myanmar. When he arrived in this country, legally, he had virtually nothing. He works in a laundry, and he now owns a home in Phoenix, Arizona. When he first came to Phoenix, he was sure that owning a home was impossible for him. However, matching grants converted his $5,000 in savings into a $24,000 down payment on a house. “I never thought I would get help like this,” he said. We’ve heard a lot in the news about Joe Arpaio, the Maricopa County sheriff who has taken a hard line on undocumented workers in the Phoenix area. However, we have heard almost nothing about the programs in Maricopa County that have welcomed people like Hai Doo. Hai Doo is only one of a long list of people supported by both the federal and the state government, who have been able to settle down and begin rebuilding their shattered lives. The list includes refugees not only from Myanmar, but also from Bosnia and Kosovo, who came in the early 1990s, and more recently from Iraq, Sudan, Somalia, Bhutan, Burundi, Ethiopia, and China. Despite the dislocation of leaving their homelands, almost always in the midst of civil war, despite the change in climate, language, economy, and culture, these refugee communities have begun to flourish. Like many other dislocated communities, they have put down roots in the U.S., begun to regrow their families, and even begun to give back to the cities that have helped them. Like the exiled Judeans, they have heard a word of promise and taken heart. They have begun to bloom where they are now planted.

Where are we? Are we in exile? Sometimes, as I walk around this church, I feel as if we think we are. For sure we’re no longer living in the church of the 1960s and ‘70s. The pictures in the hallway celebrate that time and earlier, when children filled the classrooms, sang in the children’s choir, and trained to be acolytes. Adult choir members filled the choir pews. Teens came for youth group, and everyone enjoyed ice cream socials, picnics, and summer camp. There were plenty of workers for rummage sales and covered-dish suppers. It was a great time to be the Episcopal Church – or so we thought. Friends, the sad truth is that the world of those photographs is a vanished world, behind us just as surely as high-button shoes and buggy whips. We need only look around us to know that we are no longer living in that world and will not live in it again, or at least for a long time. Every conceivable activity from sports, to shopping, to entertainment, to school competes with church. There’s no such thing as the Sabbath – we live in a 24/7 world. New communications media enrich – or harm – our lives. Meanwhile, here at St. Peter’s, like many congregations, we have young families and retirees, but no teens, and we have few adults between forty and sixty. As elsewhere, our attendance and pledges are down, from even the 1980s, our choirs have hung up their vestments, and the ECW is the only church group that regularly meets. At a time when many congregations are joining clusters or sharing clergy, you have gone out on a limb to call a full-time priest – at least for now.

So is this God’s last word to us? Are we to remain dispirited and dislocated exiles? Not if we believe what God said to the Judean exiles through Jeremiah. Like them, we too have God’s promise: “I will fulfill to you my promise…. For surely I know the plans I have for you … plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” I myself truly believe that the Holy Spirit is doing a new thing in our churches. We cannot yet see what shape that new thing will take. But we have God’s promise. With God’s promise in mind, while we wait for God’s will to be revealed, for St. Peter’s and for the Episcopal Church and other churches, we do so with hope. We continue to be faithful. We do the best we can, where we are, not where we wish we were. We adapt to new circumstances. We bloom where are re-planted.

What is most important, we hear God’s command to grow. If we believe God’s promises, then we consciously commit ourselves to doing everything we possibly can to reach out to others and to make St. Peter’s a truly welcoming, inviting, and inclusive community. For all of us commitment to growth means continuing to deepen our own relationship with Jesus, continuing to grow as his disciples through commitment to the disciplines, of prayer, study, worship, and giving of self and resources, in other words, as I told the confirmands on Wednesday evening, committing to a rule of life. For all of us, commitment to growth also means taking the needs of our wider community seriously and engaging in ministry that meets the needs of that community. Yesterday at Mountain Grace, we heard about the needs of the younger generation in this region and about ways some churches are reaching out to younger people. My imagination was stimulated, as I’d guess Carolyn Cogar’s and Anne Cappelletti’s were too. Commitment to growth also means experimenting with new ways of worship at new times, perhaps also with new forms of learning. Commitment to growth means making the activities of this parish known to a wider audience through diverse media. Commitment to growth, as Tom Ehrich keeps telling us, may even mean thinking like a marketer – however much we may believe that you can’t say “church” and “marketing” in the same sentence. And, most important, commitment to growth means personally inviting friends, neighbors, and relatives, to join us in any of our activities – or starting new activities that may be attractive to others.

Are we up to the charge? Do we hear God’s command to bloom in this new world where we are re-planted? Do we believe God’s promises? Are we ready to our part? With all my heart, I pray so.