In Vain [Epiphany 2A - Isaiah 49:1-7]

 The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Isaiah 49:1-7

 

In Vain

 

I shouldn’t have been mad at them but I was.  Our neighbors across the alley are very nice guys, a lovely older couple.  They greet us warmly when we pass on family dog walks.  They say kind things about our boys.  They hand out lots of candy on Halloween.  Every time I see them they flash me a kind smile and an enthusiastic wave.

 

And still I was fuming.  It was Spring of 2020.  And I was trying to record a sermon in my back yard, in the shadow of a blossoming lilac bush.  And take after take after take were interrupted by the sudden screech of a power saw.  Little did they know that their woodworking project was ruining my life and I about to absolutely lose it.

 

Three years ago, in January of 2020, things were going really well.  I had been at the church for four years.  And those four years had been exciting and encouraging.  Each of those first four years together saw our average Sunday attendance increase.  We were in the midst of a visioning process, one that was moving us in the direction of a capital campaign that summer.  We were still basking in the glow of Presiding Bishop Michael Curry’s visit and preparing to host Bishop Kym at a big parish dinner.  We had so much positive momentum.  We were growing and thriving in a time in which national Church trends were less than encouraging.   

 

And then the pandemic hit.  And it took the whole world hostage.  And average Sunday attendance, a metric upon which I had long relied, ceased to exist because, for a time, there was no attendance.  And the plans for a summer 2020 capital campaign were put on hold, indefinitely.  And our local visions and dreams were very suddenly replaced by a global nightmare – one from which we could not wake soon enough.

 

At the church we tried to be creative, we tried to hold everything and everyone together.  We spent hours making videos that were admittedly far below our typical liturgical standards.  The vestry met on Zoom weekly to keep an eye on our uncertain financial position.  Members of the staff were on facebook and zoom almost constantly so that people could see us and hear us and connect with us.  We developed elaborate plans, plans that included circles and FM radio and Communion contraptions, just to be able to be together in person.  And then we felt excited when 25% of our pre-pandemic attendance showed up on the lawn. 

 

I worked so hard for so much less.  The staff worked so hard for so much less.  You, our lay ministers, worked so hard for so much less.  And there were days when I just wanted to quit, to be done, when the screech of a saw felt like the last straw.  There were days when the excitement and growth and momentum of January 2020 taunted me, haunted me.  There were days when I was the prophet Isaiah saying, “I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity.”  And then on the good days, which did happen occasionally, I could maybe muster the prophet’s faith and add, “yet surely my cause is with the Lord, and my reward with my God.”  But not every day was good.

 

And I know I was not alone.  And the church was not alone.  It was happening everywhere.  From restaurants to retail, from shops to symphonies, people were being endlessly creative and were working incredibly hard – not to expand or thrive but to simply survive.  And it was exhausting.  And everyone was the prophet Isaiah, wondering if it was all for naught, if we were all spending our strength in vain.

 

One doesn’t need a pandemic to have an existential crisis.  That the prophet Isaiah is questioning the efficacy of his work tells us that this is very much a human condition.  We are still reading the prophet more than 2500 years after he put pen to paper.  People set his poetry to music.  He is enshrined in stained glass.  Some people even name their children after this guy.  And still he was not above or beyond doubt.  Like us, Isaiah questioned if his labor was in vain, if he was spending his strength for nothing.

 

Isaiah was desperately trying to carry out the mission to which God had called him.  He was trying to convince his own people, his own nation, those to whom he had been sent, that they should listen, that he had a life-giving, life-changing word for them.  He was putting his heart into that work, giving his life to that work.  But no one would listen; no one cared.  And it all felt hopeless.  Isaiah’s was initially a small mission to a small nation.  And even that felt like too much.  And he felt like a failure.

 

And it does not feel good to feel like a failure.  What Isaiah admits to God in this passage is hard to admit.  It is a painful thing to say out loud. 

 

I don’t know about you, but I invest a lot of my self-worth in my work.  And when something goes wrong, or if someone dislikes what I offer, I feel it in my soul.  When people criticize the parish, or leave the church, I take it personally.  And though COVID helped me some on this front, I have spent years allowing average Sunday attendance measure my effectiveness as a rector.  

 

I think it does make me feel a little better to know that I am in good company – with Isaiah and maybe with you too.  It is so very human to want to make a difference in the world, to leave a legacy, to do something good.  And also very human to fear that none of that is actually happening.

 

So Isaiah pours out this vulnerable prayer to God.  This prayer is an act of deep trust because it is hard to be so honest with someone you don’t trust. 

 

God doesn’t pacify Isaiah with empty sentiments or try to assuage him.  God doesn’t tell the prophet to look on the Brightside.  God doesn’t silence the man’s honest fears and concerns.  But even though no one else listens to Isaiah, God does.  God answers his vulnerable prayer; and God speaks – for the first time in this passage – directly to this crumpled prophet. 

 

God’s words are words of stunning affirmation.  Unlike Isaiah, God doesn’t see a failure; God sees his heart.  God doesn’t see a failure; God sees the light shining in his soul.  Isaiah wasn’t called to be successful.  Isaiah was called to be faithful – and to trust that the God who called him called him for a good reason – and could work miracles with a willing heart and his honest effort. 

 

God takes this man who is certain he is making a mess of the small job and puts him on an international stage – and time tells us that it works out.  Even though Isaiah thought about giving in, God never gave up on him.  Because God believed in him – even if he couldn’t believe in himself.

 

And God believes in you.  You are more than your work and your achievements.  You are more than your successes and your failures.  You called and you are claimed by the One who loves you.  You matter and the labor of love you offer this world is never in vain.  You are loved because of who you are and you are special.  And that is why God is holding you up as a light in this world – a light that, I promise, shines brighter than you will ever know.