It’s an understatement
to say that the book of Nehemiah is a rather low-profile book of the Bible. And
yet, the scripture we heard this morning – the only portion of Nehemiah that
finds its way into our three year Sunday lectionary – is a reading that
inspired one of the best sermons I’ve ever heard. The sermon was delivered way back in seminary
days by a fellow student at VST, Ted Roworth, who some of you will remember
from 2004-2005 when he preached in Osoyoos.
Ted’s sermon began with his face beaming, breathlessly proclaiming, “you
should have been there!” and then he described first-hand what it was like to
be part of the crowd when all the people gathered in the square to hear Ezra
read the Hebrew scriptures.
While the book of
Nehemiah is named for a Hebrew prophet, it’s more like journalism than prophecies.
You see, Nehemiah is written in the style of a first-hand account of someone who
is experiencing history being written before his very eyes. The story he tells is so important in times
like ours, for he has seen the rise and fall of Empires, the hardships of the
immigrant underclass, and the durability of religious life when times are
tough.
Around 600 BCE, the Babylonians
were THE powerful nation of the middle east but, as is always the case for
powerful nations, even now, they were not content with what they had. One of
their expansionist targets was the land and people of Judah. Starting
with the most skilled workers, the Jewish people were forced to leave their
homeland, exiled to Babylon. It seems
that there was a surprising amount of personal and religious freedom for the
Jews in Babylon, but they kept their faith alive on a household by household
basis; so far as we know, gathered religious instruction or public worship
services were not allowed. But while we
might regard the Babylonians as benevolent tyrants, overlords are still
overlords and exile was still exile for the people of Judah, and I do not want
to downplay that. To live in exile is
heartbreaking, as we have learned from the Indigenous peoples of our land who
were forcibly removed from their parents to go to Residential School. In
Babylon, the Jews never stopped yearning for a return to their beloved
Jerusalem, and the rock-strewn hills of its surrounding countryside.
In the year 538 BCE, the
Persians overthrew the Babylonians, and the people of Judah were released to return
to their homeland. But when I say
homeland, in reality it was a home they knew only from the tales of their
elders. Forcibly kept away from Judah
for over sixty years, generations had born and died, so virtually none of the
people who were “returning home” had ever actually seen it. They had inherited their parents’ and
grandparents’ longing to return to Judah and Jerusalem, but they were, in the
words of John Denver, “coming home to a place they’d never been before”. And to
top it off, when they returned to the holy city of Jerusalem, they found the
temple in ruins.
We pause for a moment to
size this up. Exiled: forcibly kept away
for sixty years, and when they returned to this storied homeland they’d never
seen, it had been trashed, and other people were living there. Exhausted yet determined, the people put twenty
years into rebuilding the Temple so they could properly worship the God of
their forebears.
So here we are, at the
scene described by the 8th chapter of Nehemiah. The Temple was rebuilt, and the men, women
and children were ready for the grand opening. It was time to hear the word of
God read aloud for the first time in a long time. The crowd was too large to be inside, so they
gathered in a public square just outside the new and glorious temple, and as the
scribe and priest named Ezra started to read, the emotions were deep and
varied: we’re told that people were bowing and weeping and shouting amens, moved
to the core by the Spirit. We can only imagine the energy in that place. The joy, the sorrow, the trauma, the fatigue all
rolled together in one great big emotional, energetic mass. And for many it was
bittersweet: their parents and
grandparents did not live to see this day, but they trusted that their children
and grandchildren would live good lives here.
Gathered in that public
square, I wonder how God’s Holy Word would have sounded to them. The people spoke Aramaic, but the scripture scrolls
were all written in Hebrew. Ezra,
knowing that this was the case, provided translators beside him on the stage,
but I suspect that even without knowing the words, the people would have heard
and felt the rise and fall of their mother tongue, a language of love spoken
and sung by their people from the days of old. The sacred words of the old
language, now spoken in real time; the old temple, destroyed, the new temple
rebuilt, and as they stood there, the future of their faith was being written
before them.
Many of us can
identify, in a metaphorical sense at least, with living in exile. In our families, there may be brokenness that
feels like exile. Sometimes changes in
health, or the death of a loved one, can be like exile. I feel exiled from our American neighbours,
as we are kept off-balance and offended by their leaders. And in many nations, the civility that was
counted on for decades has been replaced by a divisive nastiness that splits
our world into us and them, which feels like a global exile from our best
selves.
And then there’s
Church. When I was growing up, I could not imagine – and did not imagine – the decline
of the mainline Christian Church in Canada.
When I compare what I expected with how it unfolded, it feels a bit like
exile. We remember Church buildings and Sunday Schools completely full, youth
from Church and community involved in CGIT and Hi-C, the women of the Church
serving through the WA and WMS and, later, the UCW, the men of the Church
actively involved in Church governance and, in some places, AOTS. We now know,
from the stats of Rev. David Ewart, that Canadian Church attendance peaked
around 1964 or 1965 and gradually diminished from then on, but in the midst of
it, it didn’t feel like something declining; this United Church of ours was integral
to the “fabric of Canadian society,” as central as... uh-oh… Eaton’s, and The
Bay. At times there is a hollowness
within me that aches for what was.
But exile, in the
Biblical record, was eventually followed by restoration, and the unfolding of new
life, as is God’s pattern, Christ’s pattern, of resurrection to life anew. The exile was long but it did not last
forever. In the 8th chapter
of Nehemiah, the troubles in Babylonia were becoming more and more distant. Now in Jerusalem, in the courtyard of the
newly opened Temple, the people were allowed to gather, and listen, and be
moved by the almighty God as they became accustomed to hearing Hebrew once more.
It wasn’t perfect, but there was hope; when Ezra spoke the old words in this
new place their spirits soared to the heavens.
In the Annual Meeting
today, we look back a little way, as we review the year 2025, and we give
thanks for everything and everyone in that recent history that contributed to
the life and work of this congregation. We
are thankful for the Councils and the Committees and the Transition Team and
the JET, for the efforts of all our staff, and we thank everyone for their
financial contributions and the other ways you support this place. Remembering
that 2025 was the year in which we marked the 100th Anniversary of
the United Church of Canada, we also look much further back with gratitude to
our forebears in the faith, in this congregation and in the Churches we grew up
in, and we recall with fondness the faithful who kept things alive in the lean
years.
And… and… as we look
backward with gratitude, we look forward with expectancy, knowing that the Holy
Spirit is, as always, leading us into new futures. No, it’s not as dramatic as hearing Ezra read
from long-neglected sacred scrolls, but I hope that you feel that new things
are possible here, that God will continue to place opportunities before this
community of faith. In our eighteen
months together, you have discerned your sense of identity, thought about the neighbours
you are called to serve, and opened yourselves to what God is calling you to be
and do. You have expressed a desire to
continue to be a people of welcome and light and unconditional love, and for
your Church home (whether that’s here or St. Edward’s) to be a place where
there is always room for more at the table.
Not in the same old ways, but with open ears and open eyes and open
hearts, paying attention to the actual needs of your actual neighbours in a way
that fits in 2026. We are informed by
who we were ten years ago, and twenty years ago, and forty years ago, and
eighty years ago, but the work is today, and tomorrow, moving toward a new
horizon. God is NOT done with you yet, not by a long shot. You have identified that, and are called and
empowered to lean into it.
And so we pay attention
to the world, and our hearts go out to people who live in all manner of
exile. In acts of love and words of
solidarity, we commit ourselves once more, to be a people of love, shaped in
the image of Christ. We hold gratitude
for the fidelity of those who went before us; we give thanks for the present
and for these companions on the journey; and we seek new ways of being. May we be
ready for whatever will come next.
Thanks be to God! Amen.
For further reading:
Denver, John. https://johndenver.com/tracks/rocky-mountain-high-5/
Holmes, David. “Together We
Worship” video sermon, January 4, 2026.
