There's always room for one more

This is the text of the sermon I delivered in chapel Thursday, August 21. Purihin ang Diyos, it was received well:

Riding back to the seminary from the airport, I was given a brief cultural introduction to the Philippines by Kuya Ed Viado, Kuya Eric Zane and his wife Ate Linda. Honestly, I do not remember much of what they said—I had just gotten finished with a twenty-four-hour-long plane ride that took me from Boise, ID, to Seattle, WA, and from there to Taipei, Taiwan, and from there to Manila. But one thing I do remember is that Kuya Eric said to me, “In the Philippines, there is always room for one more.”

In the States, we highly value personal space and the definition of a group over against the outsiders, those that do not belong. Some groups are more inclusive than others, while yet others pride themselves on exactly how exclusive they can be. But it is not so in the Philippines. There is always room for one more. Empty space is begging to be filled up. Nature abhors a vacuum. If you can fit it in there, even if it’s by the nose of a jeepney or the wheel of a tricycle, then you can do it, and in fact, you must do it.

But what of the ones who are excluded? In my culture, we do not have much concern for them, for precisely because they are not part of the group with which we identify and whose identity and integrity we have sworn ourselves to maintain, they do not matter for us. As for those who do not fit in, it is as if they do not exist. I remember my own experiences of being excluded, shut out from the in crowd, and ignored. I remember how it felt. And I did not like it.

In the final scene of the 1984 movie Revenge of the Nerds, one of the principal characters has just complained of a great injustice done to him and his fraternity brothers in college, forced to band together because they had been excluded by the rest of the community due to their status as intellectually gifted but socially inept young people. After winning the crowd to his cause, he holds an altar call of sorts, calling all others who have ever felt stepped on, left out, picked on, put down—ostracized because of their status. It’s a silly movie, but in many ways it is an accurate depiction of how the excluded are treated, no matter what the community of which they long to be a part. I remember how I felt wanting to be a part of the in crowd, or at least not to be ridiculed by the in crowd. Sometimes the only attention the in crowd paid to me was when they circled their desks around mine and hurled insults at me, one after the other, until I cried. I remember how it felt. And I did not like it.

For sometimes those who are excluded begin to think that they are unworthy, that there will never be a place for them. Over the past dozen years or so, this feeling has erupted from time to time in the US in deadly ways, with the stepped on, left out, picked on, put down resorting to violence to right the wrongs they perceive in the way they were treated. But more often than not people in this situation react like I did, turning toward themselves and withdrawing into despair and hopelessness. I wonder if some of you are like that? In a seminary, we are taught all sorts of things, how to exegete Scripture and how to think theologically and how to understand missions and how to prepare sermons and how to engage in sound educational practice and the lessons we can be taught by the history of the church and how to properly manage resources and how to plan strategically…but sometimes what gets missed is the most important part. For we never seem to hear how to negotiate how to engage forming and leading an inclusive community of believers when we ourselves know nothing but being excluded. Oh, we get good, don’t we, at hiding our true emotions, our feeling of inferiority, the sometimes crushing sense that there will never be a place for us at the table. But we remember, don’t we, how we felt wanting to be accepted, wanting to be loved, wanting not to be ridiculed, wanting not to be shut out. We remember how it felt. And we did not like it.

Isaiah 56:1-8

(1) Thus says Yahweh:

Maintain justice and perform righteousness,

for my salvation will come near,

and my vindication will approach.

(2) Blessed is the person who does this,

the human being who holds fast to it,

who keeps my Sabbath and does not profane it,

who keeps away from works of evil.

(3) Let not the foreigner say,

(the one who has bound himself to Yahweh),

“Yahweh will irrevocably cut me off from his people!”

And let not the eunuch say,

“I am only a shriveled up tree!”

(4) For thus says Yahweh:

The eunuchs who keep my Sabbath,

who choose what pleases me,

and who hold fast to my convenant,

(5) to them I will give within my house and a memorial and a name,

which is better than sons and daughters.

An everlasting name will I give them,

which will never be cut off.

(6) And the foreigners who join to Yahweh,

to minister to and love the name of Yahweh,

and to be his servants,

all who keep the Sabbath and do not profane it,

who hold fast to my covenant—

(7) I will bring them to my holy mountain,

and I will make them joyful in my house of prayer.

Their burnt offerings and their sacrifices

will be accepted on my altar.

For my house shall be called a house of prayer for all nations!

(8) Thus says Lord Yahweh,

who gathers the dispersed of Israel:

I will gather others,

in addition to those already gathered.

This prophet, commonly referred to as third Isaiah, is writing at a time when the exile is over, and the people—such as they are—have come back to the land—such as it is—and found it a desolate place, and many of them are probably even seeing it for the first time. Yet they have their traditions and their memories, their texts and their meditations, to tell them what it was like way back when, when the people had first been ushered out of the land of Egypt, out from the house of slavery, and into a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey. But now, the milk has gone sour and the honey has become wax. Now, the good and broad land is bad and broken down.

Something had gone terribly wrong to get them into this situation. And so now they were being given a new opportunity, a chance to reconstitute their life together of faithfulness to Yahweh, of trust in his covenant, of adherence to his statutes and ordinances. In the post-exilic period, this is precisely where the decision had to be taken as to how the new community, coming out of exile, was to be constituted. For, you see, the profound experience of exile, loss of land and temple—and sometimes life—was not just for a punitive purpose but it also served a purgative purpose. That is, it represented not only judgment on previous sin but also cleansing so that a new life of faithfulness to God and faithfulness to the covenant could be lived out. Sounds simple, right? Well, it might sound simple, but it really was not a simple matter at all, and this is one of the many places where the Bible shows itself to be a living document, reflective of real, live, real-life debates as to what exactly it meant to live a life faithful to God. The Bible gives us a wonderful glimpse into the disagreements, disputes, and discontinuities that were alive in the post-exilic community, and these things can only be reconciled at great peril, at the expense of sacrificing credibility and diving headlong into credulity.

One side of one of these disagreements can be found here in our text, set over against the vision of the new temple in Ezekiel, as well as the condemnation of so-called “mixed” marriages in Ezra and Nehemiah among others. It is perhaps reasonable to assume that third Isaiah and the Ezekiel/Ezra/Nehemiah complexes of tradition represented the views of various parties in the discussions going on in post-exilic Judaism. What is important to note is that both of these groups were interested in faithfulness to Yahweh, in keeping his covenant, in maintaining justice and performing righteousness, as verse 1 of our text commands. But exactly how that was to be worked out was what was at issue, and we as the inheritors of this biblical tradition are much the richer that the editors of the Bible did not smooth out the wrinkles and the fractures that warp the text and threaten, so it seems, to tear it apart.

The specific issue at play, it seems, in the discussion is the place of the previously excluded in the community of the faithful, chosen people. The word here for “foreigners” is neker, which has a much more negative connotation than the word ger, ‘resident alien.’ The latter were allowed to participate in such important things as the Passover meal (Exodus 12:48), but the former were not (12:43).

One option was to hold the belief that allowing nekarim into the sanctuary was one of the things that defiled it so much that Yahweh’s anger burned hot against the city and the country, and so that was why, among other things, that they found themselves in the situation of exile. So elimination of foreigners from the temple and the land would be the best way to reconstitute the life of faithful Israel in the land of promise, the land which should be flowing with milk and honey but was presently fouled by sour milk and clogged by wax. So there were laws established that everyone should divorce their foreign wives and husbands, that the purity of the land and the community is to be reestablished, so that Yahweh’s anger will be stilled and he will not come again at his people and allow them to be overrun by a filthy, uncircumcised people as they had allowed themselves so to be in the past.

Third Isaiah, however, takes another option. He (or she) suggests that the new community should be more inclusive, not less. The theological theme introduced here is, admittedly, a rather radical innovation when you consider it alongside the many texts excluding non-Israelites from the service of Yahweh and from a position among the blessed community. But at the same time, there are hints of an inclusivity, something approaching universalism (but without some of the theological load that that particular word carries in our understanding), at various points in the story. In any event, the perspective of third Isaiah is that foreigners, nekarim, should indeed be admitted to the land and the service of Yahweh. The thought behind this is perhaps that the exclusion, the mistreatment, of those people, the stepped on, left out, picked on, put down is what caused the souring of the milk and the congealing of the honey.

But third Isaiah is not willing to let just anyone in, but he (or she) is establishing what might be called a “path to citizenship.” Third Isaiah says that those foreigners who have joined themselves to Yahweh, who minister in his service and who love his name, are not to say that Yahweh will surely cut them off from his people. These new membership requirements have nothing to do with the present status of these people as foreigners, those not born of Israelite or Judean parentage (which was a somewhat difficult matter to prove in those days anyway).

But the radical, expansive vision of the community that third Isaiah supports does not end there. This prophet also includes eunuchs in the reconstituted people of God. There is a great opportunity here to include more people who have previously been cut off—an unfortunate term when we’re discussing eunuchs, but we’ll use it anyway—in the blessed life that is offered to those who are faithful to Yahweh. Third Isaiah says that the eunuch should not say, “I am only a shriveled up tree,” not able to fulfill the command of God at the creation of humanity to be fruitful and multiply, to fill the earth and subdue it. Eunuchs had, by becoming eunuchs, rendered themselves fit for service in the imperial court and, therefore, unfit for the service of Yahweh.

The same words used of the foreigners—keep the Sabbath and do not defile it, hold fast to my covenant—are used of the eunuchs who are now, in this expansionistic vision, allowed to join in the community of the faithful. Salvation comes from the community, and those who would join in the community are subject to the demands laid on the community. It does not have anything to do with their past condition of having made themselves fit for service in the imperial court. If they are willing in the present to keep Yahweh’s covenant, to keep the Sabbath and not defile it, then the door is open for them.

So what about the excluded, the stepped on, left out, picked on, put down? It is a usual response to turn inward and refuse to expose oneself to further hurt at the mistreatment afforded by others. It is another usual response to erupt in violence, to seek revenge on those who have wronged one in the past. But the vision of third Isaiah is that the community of the faithful should be more expansive, more universalistic, more open than it was under the old way of doing the covenant. I am thankful that the Bible contains these competing visions, and allows the tension between them to remain unresolved, for that leaves the decision up to us.

When we are in the position of deciding who is to be included and who is to be excluded from the in group, whether that in group is the socially involved people in a high school or a college (or a seminary!) or a nation, or a church, then we have to decide. Will we follow the vision of Ezekiel/Ezra/Nehemiah, judging people based on their present and their past, based on their status as foreigners or those who have crossed a rather arbitrary boundary? The foreigners belong to another kingdom and the eunuchs have made themselves fit for another kingdom, but they desire to join up with us now. Or will we follow the vision of third Isaiah, and of Ruth, and of the saving of Rahab in the battle of Jericho, and allow in all those who, in spite of their present or their past, have committed themselves to following God’s commands just as we do, to keep his Sabbaths and not defile them, to take pleasure in that in which he takes pleasure, to minister and serve in his temple, to love his name?

And what about when we are the excluded, the stepped on, left out, picked on, put down? Whether your experience is like mine, sitting in the middle of an hour-long, multidirectional volley of insults, or whether your experience is different than mine, excluded based on something you are or the decisions you have made, there is a decision for me and for you and for all of us to take. The vision of the faithful community that is offered by third Isaiah is an expansive one, wherein those previously excluded, whether on the basis of their present or their past, need not either retreat within themselves or lash out in a vain attempt at revenge. There is nothing wrong with you! You are not excluded! If you would but commit yourself to remain faithful to what God requires, then that is the only mark of citizenship in God’s community.

Sometimes in a seminary, we allow ourselves to put on a mask of having everything put together, of being free from the pain and exclusion and hurt of the past, of being immune to poor treatment by our coworkers, our classmates, our family. Oh, we get good, don’t we, at hiding our true emotions, our feeling of inferiority, the sometimes crushing sense that there will never be a place for us at the table. But we remember, don’t we, how we felt wanting to be accepted, wanting to be loved, wanting not to be ridiculed, wanting not to be shut out. We remember how it felt. And we did not like it. But the vision of third Isaiah, which invites us in to an ever-expanding vision of God, shows us that our present and our past, while they are important in defining who we are, need not be any sort of barrier into a helpful and hopeful future. If you have ever felt stepped on, left out, picked on, put down—ostracized because of your status—then the beauty of this vision, the beauty of the Gospel, is that you, even you, can “let the Son of God enfold you, with his Spirit and his love, let him fill your heart and satisfy your soul. Oh let him have the things that hold you, and his Spirit like a dove, will descend upon your life and make you whole…Oh come and sing this song with gladness, as your hearts are filled with joy—lift your hands in sweet surrender to his name. Oh give him all your tears and sadness, give him all your years of pain, and you'll enter into life in Jesus' name.”

At the foot of the Cross, there is always room for one more. Amen.

(Benediction) At the foot of the Cross, there is always room for one more. Give him all your years of sadness, give him all your years of pain, and even if you have been excluded because of your present and your past, you may even now enter into life. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.