The Hidden God

Isaiah 64:1-9

First Sunday of Advent / November 27, 2011

“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!” These words from Isaiah seem odd on this Sunday after Thanksgiving, when we have enjoyed time with family and friends, feasting on rich food and giving thanks to God for all that God has given us. 

“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!” This cry to God seems out of place on this First Sunday of Advent, as we pull out our Christmas decorations and light the first Advent candle and sing those beautiful songs that we only sing during this season.

And yet, so many of us sat at Thanksgiving feasts keenly aware of those who were missing from our tables – those who were prevented from traveling, those whom we have loved and lost.  So many of us enter into this season of joy and hope masking the despair and loneliness we feel. So many of us gather this morning, genuinely thankful for all that God has given us, and yet we see the incredible brokenness of this world.  We see grief and pain and hunger and poverty and greed and selfishness; we see people crying for justice and leaders who are more concerned about power than justice; we see war and terrorism and people living in fear for their very lives.

It is in this space that we cry: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”  Let the mountains tremble at your presence! Pour out fire on brushwood, that we might see your power! Shock your enemies with your mighty deeds that the nations might tremble at your presence!  Show us a sign that You have not turned your back on us.  Show us a sign that You are indeed still in charge!

 

And in the stunned silence that follows our bold cry to God we realize that we are not the first to demand a sign from God – and we will not be the last.  From the Babylonian exile and the destruction of the temple, to the persecution experienced by the early Christians, to the horrors of the Nazi concentration camps, the genocides in Rwanda, and the killing fields of Cambodia people have cried to God for a bold sign: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”

Come down and save us, like you saved the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. Raise up a leader for us like Moses – speak to us again through a burning bush. Pour out plagues upon our enemies, turning rivers into blood and darkening the sky. Part the sea so we can escape the horrors of our past on dry land, without slipping or falling. Lead us through the wilderness of our lives revealing yourself to us as a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night – guide us every step of the way. Speak to us from your holy mountain, shake the earth and pour out fire and smoke, that we might see your power.  Lead us to a good land – a land flowing with milk and honey – that we might know your goodness. Come down and save us, like you saved the Israelites from slavery in Egypt.

We boldly cry to God with Isaiah and the people of God throughout the ages.  And yet, God has not chosen to reveal God’s self in the way he did during the Exodus. So with Isaiah and all of people of God we cry: “You have hidden your face from us.”  Although “no eye has seen any God besides you,” you have hidden your face from us.  You have hidden yourself, and we have sinned.  We have become unclean. We have shriveled up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins have swept us away.  You have hidden your face from us and melted us into the hand of our iniquity. In our sin, we have come to experience You as a hidden God. In our brokenness, we feel like you have turned your back on us.

I wonder: What are we asking for when we ask God to tear open the heavens and come down? What kind of a sign are we hoping for?  Could it be that God is hidden from us because we are looking in the wrong direction?  Could it be that God is hidden from us because we are missing the signs?

My dog Dakota has some bird dog in her.  It is not at all unusual for us to be out walking and for her to stop dead in her tracks and lift a paw and point. I often cannot see what she is pointing at, but I have learned that it is worth taking the time to discover the bird hidden in the greenery.  With Dakota’s help I have seen blue herons perched in the top of trees, and owls watching us intently; I’ve seen hawks nesting and pheasants hiding. I’ve been able to observe birds that otherwise would have remained hidden from me because of my dog’s instincts.  I have come to experience this as an extraordinary gift!

In the same way, there’s something magical about taking a child outside on a starry night and pointing out Orion’s belt and the Pleiades and the Big Dipper.  Hidden in the mass of stars that fill the night sky, there are patterns and stories that spark our imaginations.  As we uncover the wonders of the night sky, I’m always struck by the fact that we share in the same joy of discovery experienced by our parents and grandparents before us.  We look up at the same sky the Israelites saw in the wilderness.  We gaze at the same constellations that shone over Bethlehem two thousand years ago, sparking the imaginations of shepherds and astronomers alike with their patterns and stories.

And we realize that hidden does not mean absent.  Hidden does not mean inactive in the world.  The God we experience as hidden is still powerfully present and active in the world – we just have to slow down and pay attention.  The God we experience as hidden can be powerfully revealed to us through others – we just have to listen and watch and learn.  And we realize that perhaps we have been seeking a God who is revealed in power and might, when our God is a God who is so often revealed in beauty and love.

Isaiah seemed to understand this.  After his cry to God to be revealed in power and after his acknowledgment of God’s hiddenness from us, Isaiah affirms: “Yet, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand” (64:8).

In wonder, Isaiah has recognized: O Lord, in spite of everything we have done wrong, you are still hidden in the potter who sits at a wheel with a lump of clay, lovingly forming each one of us between your hands, caressing us into existence; fashioning us in your image, each beautiful, yet unique. You are the potter, melting and molding us, filling us with your loving presence.

In awe, we recognize: O Lord, even in the midst of the blackness of our sin, you are hidden in the painter with a colorful palate in hand who paints boldly on the canvas of our lives, revealing depth and richness through your subtle use of color and brush.  You are able to capture the infinite shades of our lives the same way a painter captures the infinite shades of blue that extend from the horizon to the middle of the sky.  You bring out the texture of our lives the same way an artist brings out the textures of trees and grass.  You paint the wisdom into wrinkled faces and the joy into youthful ones.  Your painter’s eye sees the most intimate and beautiful details of our lives.

And we all recognize: Yet, even now, O Lord, you are our Father.  We are created in your image and you have loved us since before we were born. You have nurtured us and protected us.  Like a good father, you have allowed us to make mistakes in order to learn from them.  In the depth of your love, you have welcomed us home each time we have strayed.  You cry with us, you celebrate with us, you comfort us, you rejoice with us, you forgive us.

I wonder: How do you experience God as hidden? What kind of a sign are you hoping for?  Could it be that God is hidden because you are looking in the wrong direction?  Could it be that God is hidden because you are missing the signs? Could it be that we have failed to see God because we are looking for the mountains to quake and the seas to part instead of looking for a baby in a manger?

Two thousand years ago, God did tear open the heavens and come down.  Although perhaps not quite in the way we expected.  God’s bold sign came in the form of a baby born of a virgin.  Instead of the mountains quaking at the presence of God, the child in Elizabeth’s womb leapt for joy at the presence of the unborn Savior.  Instead of fire raining down in power and might, a star led astronomers who carrying gifts fit for a king to the child born in Bethlehem. Instead of the nations trembling at the presence of the newborn king, the holy family fled in fear to Egypt.

So where do we look for the hidden God to be revealed today?  We need only look to the friend who sits with a person who is grieving, or a mother who kisses a wound and makes it all better.  We need only look to the grandmother who lovingly knits a sweater for her new grandchild, or the teacher who works patiently with a student who is struggling.  We need only look to the hungry person who comes to Loaves and Fishes with open hands and leaves filled with gratitude.  We need only look to the orphans in our ZOE workgroup in Zimbabwe who are flourishing as they come to know Christ and form a strong Christian community. 

We need only look to this Table with an ordinary loaf of bread and a jug of grape juice to see the hidden God revealed through the body and the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.  So we come to this table confessing our sins and confronting our brokenness.  We come to this table recognizing Emmanuel, God with us, in the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup.  We come to this table knowing that God has done and will continue to do awesome deeds that we did not expect or deserve – awesome deeds that reveal the depth of God’s love for each and every one of us.