August 31, 2020: The Work Between
Haggai 1:1-6, 14-15; 2:1-5
Rev. Dr. Rhonda Blevins
In the second year of King Darius, in the sixth month, on the first day of the month, the word of the Lord came by the prophet Haggai to Zerubbabel son of Shealtiel, governor of Judah, and to Joshua son of Jehozadak, the high priest: 2 Thus says the Lord of hosts: These people say the time has not yet come to rebuild the Lord’s house. 3 Then the word of the Lord came by the prophet Haggai, saying: 4 Is it a time for you yourselves to live in your paneled houses, while this house lies in ruins? 5 Now therefore thus says the Lord of hosts: Consider how you have fared. 6 You have sown much, and harvested little; you eat, but you never have enough; you drink, but you never have your fill; you clothe yourselves, but no one is warm; and you that earn wages earn wages to put them into a bag with holes.
14 And the Lord stirred up the spirit of Zerubbabel son of Shealtiel, governor of Judah, and the spirit of Joshua son of Jehozadak, the high priest, and the spirit of all the remnant of the people; and they came and worked on the house of the Lord of hosts, their God, 15 on the twenty-fourth day of the month, in the sixth month.
In the second year of King Darius, 1 in the seventh month, on the twenty-first day of the month, the word of the Lord came by the prophet Haggai, saying: 2 Speak now . . . and say, 3 Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory? How does it look to you now? Is it not in your sight as nothing? 4 Yet now take courage, O Zerubbabel, says the Lord; take courage, O Joshua, son of Jehozadak, the high priest; take courage, all you people of the land, says the Lord; work, for I am with you, says the Lord of hosts, 5 according to the promise that I made you when you came out of Egypt. My spirit abides among you; do not fear.
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Today I conclude the sermon series, “The Summer Between: Adventures in Liminality.” Back in May, we knew it was sure to be a strange summer as we made our way through this unprecedented time in our nation and in our world. We knew we’d be living in liminality—a threshold between life as it was pre-pandemic and whatever the world will look like when this chapter of our collective story is written.
If you’ve been joining me on this journey through some favorite Old Testament stories (and even if you haven’t), here’s a recap:
We started “in the beginning” in Genesis 1.
We looked at the stories of Noah, Abraham and Sarah, Jacob, Joseph, and Moses.
We studied the people of Israel in the desert and Rahab hanging a scarlet cord out of her window.
We explored the stories of the prophets Elijah and Jonah.
A common theme in all of these stories is that throughout the course of history, we humans have lived in liminal time, between what was and what is yet to come. My first grader is learning that every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. If you’re listening to me today, you’re somewhere in the middle of your life’s story. That means there’s tension, there are problems, a cast of characters, emotions (both high and low). It’s all part of the beautiful, messy, glorious, confounding story of your life. Our lives are lived in liminality.
Maybe one day we’ll get used to liminality. 2020? Pandemic? Polarization? Racial tension? Election year? It’s all backdrop, the setting for the fascinating story of your life. Don’t hear me minimize hardship and struggle. Do hear me remind you that you’re not alone. We’re all with you in this human condition; we’re all writing the story of our individual lives.
We’re also writing the story of our collective life. We’re writing the story of our nation, our community. And as people of faith, we’re writing the story of the Church universal. As a local church community, we’re writing the story of Chapel by the Sea.
This week in our scripture lesson, we find the children of Israel writing their story. We’re in the book of Haggai, one of the shortest books in the entire Bible. It’s only 2 chapters long, 38 verses, 1,131 words (quite a bit shorter than one of my sermons!) I encourage you to go home and read it this week. How many of you remember hearing a sermon based on Haggai? Yeah, me neither. I’ve never preached from Haggai. Here we go!
To understand Haggai, it’s important to understand the context. You know about the Israelites being slaves in Egypt, and Moses leading them out of Egypt, Joshua leading them to conquer the “land flowing with milk and honey,” and the Israelites making their home in Canaan. Eventually they establish a monarchy; Jerusalem becomes the capital under King David. David’s son, King Solomon, builds the glorious First Temple. The kingdom then splits with Israel in the north and Judah (where Jerusalem is) in the south. Israel is crushed by the Assyrians. Then Judah is conquered by Babylonia. Jerusalem is utterly destroyed. The glorious First Temple—rubble. Most of the Jews, particularly the learned and elite, are exiled to Babylon where they live for roughly 70 years. When the Persians conquer the Babylonians, they permit the Jews to return to Jerusalem.
That’s where we are when we begin the book of Haggai. We’re 16, maybe 18 years after the Jews have returned, little by little, to their ruined city of Jerusalem. Haggai, it seems, knew what Jerusalem and the Temple had been before their destruction—they were 70 years in Babylon—so Haggai must be in his mid to late 70’s at the youngest. And as Haggai looks around at the city of Jerusalem, and the Jews rebuilding their lives, he notices something—the Jews have been busy rebuilding their individual lives, but have neglected the rebuilding of their community life, most notably, the Temple.
In short, the people had become consumed by their own self-interests, neglecting the Temple, the primary symbol of community life. The Temple was the center of both national and religious life. In their rebuilding after exile, the people had become insular and self-absorbed. Haggai pointed this out to them, and urged them to rebuild the Temple, and in so doing, rebuild community.
Where do we find ourselves in this story? How might we relate it to our own contemporary experience?
First, let’s give thanks that we haven’t been overtaken by some global superpower and shipped off to some foreign land. That’s something, right?
But we have found ourselves exiled, each to our own homes, during the pandemic. And like the Jews returning to Jerusalem, not all at once, but little by little, we have been returning to society, little by little. Some of you watching online, you’re still exiled. I know a few of you live in buildings that will not let you leave. You’ve been exiled since March. You’re still in exile. On the other end of things, some of you are living as if pandemic never happened. Oh, you’ll wear a mask when you’re out and about because of the local mandate, but otherwise, it’s business as usual for you. Then there’s the rest of us, somewhere between those two responses. It’s been interesting to observe how different people have responded.
And like the Jews returning to Jerusalem, we’ve maybe become a little self-consumed. We’ve had to. We’ve had to take our health seriously, and the health of our loved ones. Some have lost jobs—had to hunker down and reduce spending. Others have taken advantage of stay-at-home time to do home improvement projects—the 23% bump in the home improvement industry tells us this.[1] How many of you have focused a bit more on house projects this spring and summer? Back in April the US hit a record savings rate as spending plummeted and Americans stashed money away.[2] These two metrics point to a trend during COVID of increased self-interest and a focus on hearth and home. It’s understandable. I’ve lived this myself as a fellow coronavirus exile.
Here’s another thing I noticed about my own response. When the board and I first decided to suspend corporate worship, I was scared. I worried about the future of the church. Whether we could survive it. One Sunday turned to two Sundays turned to three Sundays. I knew we needed to create something in place of gathering together on Sunday mornings, so frantically we figured out how to do everything online. I recorded sermons, sometimes from my own home, sometimes on location. I learned how to use video editing software and zoom backgrounds. I wrote devotional messages every day. I bought a green screen and lighting and a podcasting microphone. I worked long hours, writing sermons, recording sermons, editing sermons together with music, downloading, uploading . . . I made lots of mistakes before the final product you saw. I did all of this because, yes, I care about this church, but also because, I thought it was all on me.
Then one day I crashed. I decided I couldn’t continue to do it the way I had been doing it. So I gave up the video editing bit, and we returned to livestreaming. We had a lot of glitches with that for a few weeks. But Leon and Rick worked, Leon putting in extra hours, troubleshooting the problem. I opened my eyes to recognize how hard Joe was working to offer meaningful education experiences online—I remembered how Ron and the choir spent hours learning a new software platform in order to make music together, also with ample trial and error. I saw how you called one another, wrote letters, sent e-mails. I learned that your giving didn’t miss a beat. You showed me, reminded me, this isn’t my church. This church was here long before me; it will be here long after me. Nor is this your church. This is God’s church—a local expression of the timeless and universal body of Christ. We just get to participate in it for a little while. I was reminded that the greatest gift we receive from the church is not the weekly erudite wisdom you get from me or Joe, not the beautiful music you get to hear from our musicians, it’s not even the sense of community you share with one another. The greatest gift of the church to the people is the opportunity to participate in what God is doing in the world.
We, as humans, are unique among species in that we seek meaning. Perhaps that’s because we are unique (so far as we know) in the ability to contemplate our own death. We know our lives are short, so we strive to be part of something that will outlast us. We know that God’s Church (capital “C”)—the Church universal—will outlast us. It will change and adapt as the world changes, because God’s church is forever. This church, the local church (lower-case “c”)—let’s just say it’s up to us what becomes of it. We get to be a part of that history!
Father Richard Rohr has been writing recently about the cyclical nature of faith and systems: order, disorder, and reorder. Chapel by the Sea has experienced significant “disorder” over these past few months. This “disorder” been hard for those of us for whom this church is an important part of our lives. “I miss church,” I’ve heard from some who haven’t made their way back since the shutdown. Some who have returned (including me) have lamented, “I miss church the way it used to be.” More people. Singing. Hugging. A couple of weeks ago I sat down with the marketing team, and we started talking about Christmas Eve. “How can we gather with others and sing Christmas carols together?” we wondered. We started thinking of outdoor venues that would be safer than our indoor sanctuary. One of the people in the meeting, a little teary-eyed, said, “I’m realizing that the church we once knew is no more.” Nobody argued.
While he may be right—that church-as-we-have-known-it may be no more—I want to invite you to remain hopeful. This church, throughout history, has gone through several cycles of order-disorder-reorder. We are simply living through the latest iteration of the cycle as old as time. I don’t want to minimize the grief that comes with the disorder phase. I have grieved. I am grieving. But even as we grieve, we can remain hopeful that God is doing a new thing. Just like God was doing a new thing for the people of Israel when God sent the prophet Haggai to shake the people out of their self-centeredness to remember the Temple—God’s house and God’s community. God tells the people through Haggai, “work . . . my Spirit abides among you; do not fear.”
And if you’re having trouble finding the hopeful view, let me offer some snippets of hope I’m seeing. For instance: this pandemic forced us to figure out how to connect beyond the building—how to connect virtually.
Nikki Walton, who started a meditation class here back in the fall with probably 20 people max, took her class online. Now she has 800 people registered with a 200-person average attendance!
We launched online classes and sermon-based small groups, attended from San Diego to Virginia, Canada to Clearwater, engaging dozens of people, a solid increase from small group participation last summer.
Our online worship participation increased 276% on the third week of August from last year to this year.
Friends, our church is far from dead. It’s different for sure. But far from dead. Last year when we said goodbye to our large snowbird population, we said, “See you next year!” This year, we’re saying, “See you next week!” Chapel by the Sea is no longer just a church for Clearwater Beach. And if you’re worshipping from San Diego or Canada or Virginia or wherever you may be in this big, beautiful world, you are a part of this church.
So don’t give up hope. The church will rise, indeed it is already rising. There is work to do between. It’s going to take all of us to rebuild this temple. But just like God told the people of Israel through Haggai, “work . . . my Spirit abides among you; do not fear.” So the people worked. They rebuilt the Temple.
How exciting to be a part of what God is building! “Beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In [your] righteousness, [you] will be like great oaks that the LORD has planted for his own glory.” -Isaiah 61:3 NLT
[1] https://www.businesswire.com/news/home/20200723005099/en/Home-Improvement-Activity-Increases-COVID-19
[2] https://www.cnbc.com/2020/05/29/us-savings-rate-hits-record-33percent-as-coronavirus-causes-americans-to-stockpile-cash-curb-spending.html