Our Sacred Story comes from Ezra 1:1-4; 3:1-4, 10-13 where the Jewish get the news every refugee and exile longs to hear: “you can go home and we’re going to help with the finances or rebuilding.” BUT…we know that going home (or not) is complicated and it’s been the story of God’s people for…well…ever.

It’s a long story. One we don’t really want to get into right now, but…well…it’s going to be here whether we talk about it or not. Maybe we should just talk about it. It’s a bit of a mess, but it’s OUR mess. The people of God are actual people after all. We’ve got history and feelings. We’ve seen things, some beautiful incomprehensible glorious things and some…awful unspeakable heartbreaking things.

Here’s the quick version: Babylon conquered Israel, now Persia has conquered Babylon. One empire is replaced with another. Most of the Jewish people were cast out into exile; kicked out of their home, their sacred places and now they are finally allowed to go back. Their glorious temple which they had worked for generations to build lies in ruin, but now they have the opportunity to build something new there. In the meantime, many of them built lives and communities apart from the old places and have no interest in going back, but a portion of them do return to the ancestral home, to family they haven’t seen or spoken to since…it’s been too long to remember.

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Some stay and some go back. Can you imagine? The anxiety, the excitement, the overwhelming weight, the overwhelming hope, the memories they carried with them as they traveled, the visions of what might be when they arrive? And when they get there, one thing is clear…it isn’t what it was.

The faces are familiar, but changed. Some things that I couldn’t contemplate ending, are just gone and somehow things still continue? Some things are entirely new, but we weren’t here for their beginning. Even the air feels a bit different as it enters our lungs, rests differently on our skin. It isn’t what it was. Perhaps like the mother Mary when she was surrounded by strangers who were somehow blessing her and as she was filled with the joy of new life and also the knowledge of all of the struggle it would involve, perhaps all these things linger together in the hearts of the people.

So as the rebuilding begins in earnest, it is a bittersweet moment for the people as a whole. On one hand, there’s a sense of joy at being reunified with a place and a people that holds so much meaning and memory, where even the rubble stones cry out to sing of God’s faithfulness and care throughout the turmoil. There is gratitude for what was AND excitement for what is possible. On the other hand, there is grief for what was lost and what will never be again. There is a sadness for the shift in identity and ideology that is difficult and draining.

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There is rejoicing AND weeping…as when we sing carols of glad tidings, but it only makes us more aware of the contrast we feel in our hearts because the depression and anxiety feel overwhelming. There is grief AND hope as when we say goodbye to loved ones moving on to new chapters in their lives. There is pain AND joy as in the labor and birth of a child. As it turns out…we don’t have to suppress our tears, but neither do we have to hold back our praise.

Life is full of these moments where both these things exist side by side and neither need be absorbed or assimilated by the other in order to be worshipful or holy. We can feel what we feel and still sing to God together. It doesn’t make us fake or naïve, but points us to good news that remains true in the trenches, that is built on a base of messy realities and is still good. There is room for all of it in God’s story, there is room for all of you in God’s story – the one who go back to old new places and people to reflect and dream of what was and what could be, AND for the ones who stay where they are and create a new song there.

God’s story of redemption includes those who are bursting with joy and those who are bursting into tears. The people sing BOTH songs together so that it makes one loud and boisterous tune where you can no longer separate the joy from the weeping, but all together they proclaim God’s greatness. God looks at our whole selves with love and invites us to take our place at the table and be filled with wondrous things.

That’s why we dwell in this season where light AND dark speak to us of God’s imminent arrival, of God’s presence and unfolding promise in the glory AND grit of our messy reality - so that we might notice the holy in the harried and the eternal in the everyday. We gather into this season of holy anticipation so that we are primed to look for it, to listen for it, this sacred melody in the mix of voices, to look for God among us in those moments, in every moment. It isn’t what it was, but it also isn’t yet what it’s going to be. Amen.

If you see yourself in this story, here are some links to articles you might appreciate:

8 Queer Tips to Get Through the Holidays (but they’re good ideas for others too)

When The Holidays Aren’t Joyful

When Self-Care is Not Going Home for the Holidays

If you’re feeling absence of loved ones, loneliness, sadness, grief, or depression during this season, join our neighbors at Christ the King Lutheran Church for a beautiful and somber worship on the Longest Night of the Year, Sat., Dec 21 @ 6 PM

Going Home: A Song of Joy and Grief