Isaiah 49:8-16a                                                     Ordinary Time

 We live in a time of increasing national insecurity. People are losing their jobs, right and left. Gasoline prices are higher than we ever imagined they could be. The housing market has gone into a serious slump. Plus global warming, which we thought might not be such a big deal is turning into a problem none of us can ignore. Meanwhile, the average age of our military personnel is nineteen. I’ve been opposed to this war in Iraq from the beginning, but on this Memorial Day week-end, let’s honor these young adults who are bravely serving in sacrificial ways. I hope we can bring them home very soon.

 Our youth are growing up very fast in a frighteningly complex world, a world in which we view in our own living rooms the tragedies of abused children in fundamentalist Mormon sects, and we see the devastation of cyclones and earthquakes from the other side of the world in an up close and personal sort of way. We live in a world in which dastardly pornography is just a click away, cynicism toward religion has run rampant, and cancer continues to stump the best of our medical researchers. These are challenging times, but by the grace of God, we can live in security, no matter what.

 Isaiah wrote the words we are going to hear today when the Israelites had been stripped away from home, taken to Babylon, and forced to live in a way that made them uncomfortable. Think of the national insecurity that we might experience if we were forcibly taken from here and asked to fit in the people of Mexico. Think of the personal insecurity of leaving behind everything you love and many whom you love to go to a foreign land to be forsaken. They too were in the land of insecurity. They wondered where is God? Have we been forgotten?

 Dr. Gardner Taylor, often called the dean of preaching in America, taught at both Harvard and Yale Divinity schools. When Taylor was a young preacher in Louisiana during the Depression, electricity was a relatively new thing in poorer parts of the country. He was preaching in a rural, African American church that had just one light bulb hanging from the ceiling to illumine the whole sanctuary. While preaching, that bulb went out. The building went suddenly dark. Taylor was at a loss for words, stumbling around in the front of the church until one of the elderly deacons said,
“Preach on, brother. We can still see the Lord in the dark.” Sometimes that's the only time we can see God — is in the dark. Because in the light, we busy ourselves and forget to look. And the good news of the gospel is that whether we can see him in the dark or not, he can see us in the dark.
(Timothy George's sermon "Unseen Footprints,")

 Hear now Isaiah’s message of comfort and hope for the dark days. This entire section of Isaiah is called the book of comfort, chapters 40 - 66 of Isaiah:
 

 ^NRS Isaiah 49:8 Thus says the LORD: In a time of favor I have answered you, on a day of salvation I have helped you; I have kept you and given you as a covenant to the people, to establish the land, to apportion the desolate heritages; ⁹ saying to the prisoners, "Come out," to  those who are in darkness, "Show yourselves." They shall feed along the ways, on all the bare heights shall be their pasture; ¹⁰ they shall not hunger or thirst, neither scorching wind nor sun shall strike them down, for he who has pity on them will lead them, and by springs of water will guide them. ¹¹ And I will turn all my mountains into a road, and my highways shall be raised up. Lo, these shall come from far away, and ¹² lo, these from the north and from the west, and these from the land of Syene. ¹³ Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing! For the LORD has comforted his people, and will have compassion on his suffering ones. ¹⁴ But Zion said, "The LORD has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me." ¹⁵ Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. ¹⁶ See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands;
 

 Every time I reached the last trimester of pregnancy (and that was often in a the late 80's to mid 90's) I’d start dreaming the same dream. My infant died because I forgot to feed her or him. Fortunately for my babies, God put this built in timer for feeding. The buzzer sounds like this – whaah, whaah, whaah. So I never did forget to feed them. But I did forget them a few times after they started going to preschool and beyond. You see, I’m not very good at clock-watching, and I am easily absorbed in whatever I’m doing, so there were a few times when my poor children waited for their father or for me. Everybody else had left and there they stood. Ouch, the parental guilt of being the last parent to pick up. That’s why our children were not the last among their friends to get cell phones. It was not to call their friends, you see, it was for the purpose of calling their forgetful parents. “Mom, Dad, where are you?”

 That’s how Israel felt toward God. God, where are you? Are you leaving us at the school house of Babylon’s hard knocks forever? We’ve called your name. We’ve waited. Where are you? They say to one another, “The Lord has forgotten me.” The young soldier in Iraq for a second term says, “The Lord has forgotten me.” The cancer patient, who was wishing for a better prognosis says, “The Lord has forgotten me.” The chronically depressed person, slips into the pit again, saying “The Lord has forgotten me.” The financially unstable person loses another job, after just a few months, and says, “God, have you forgotten me?” The one who has prayed hard over a failing marriage or a broken relationship with a son or daughter, says, “Lord, when will you remember me?”

 Scripture says, even though a mother may forget her nursing child, even though she may have no compassion on the child of her womb, yet God will never forget you. You are God’s covenant people. You are the promise for the whole world, people of God, people who can witness to God’s saving work. You are not forgotten. God, better than the most devoted mother you know, will come and lift you into her arms and carry you to safety, and will nourish you with good things, and will be your salvation. (There are other references to God as maternal.)

 Sometimes we just don’t see what God is doing. We don’t have the big picture. The great missionary explorer, David Livingstone, served in Africa from 1840 until his death in 1873. On one occasion, he came face-to-face with a tribal chief who insisted that they make an exchange of property in order for Livingstone to pass through his land. Of all the things he had, Livingstone valued his goat the most because the untreated water in Africa upset his stomach and the goat provided milk. To his dismay the chief took his goat and in exchange gave him a walking stick. Livingstone was most disappointed. He began to gripe to God about the stupid walking cane. What could it do for him compared to the goat that kept him well? But then he learned something amazing: It was not a walking cane. It was the king's very own scepter, and with it he could gain entrance into every village in that country."

 Sometimes, in our disappointment over what we don't have, we fail to appreciate the significance of what God has given us. (John Beukema, Chambersburg, Pennsylvania; source: Robert Lewis and Wayne Cordeiro, The Culture Shift)

 Other times we don’t realize that what we most need is not removal from a situation but we need the experience of God in the situation.

 We are like the child who pleads with his or her parents to get up out of the bed at bedtime, saying. “I’m scared. I’m thirsty. I’m hot.” But the parents say, “You must stay there. You need to be where you are. Rest.” But after much pleading, the mother comes in to speak to the anxious child. The child may not leave the dark room, but the child may just be comforted by the presence of a loving parent. Now a rebellious child will kick and scream and be dissatisfied with staying in the room. A rebellious child will run out of the room, insisting on his or her own way. But a secure child will be comforted by an embrace and a prayer. “Sleep will come. Morning will come. You do not need to get up and play right now. You need to be right where you are trusting
that I know what is best for you, my child. You are not forgotten. I am right here, and you are written on the palm of my hand. Trust in me, and do not be afraid.” There is no better security than being in the palm of a loving, providing, comforting God.