Third Saturday of Advent
Scripture Reading for Today:
Hear us, Shepherd of Israel…
by Tim Tang
Recently, one of my children began his first year in a post-secondary school. We decided to have him live on campus because it was more than an hour's drive from where we live. I remember back in the summer, as he was mentally preparing for this next stage of life, I would often hear him say, “When I move out...” It was an interesting set of words that he chose. I kept reminding him that he wasn’t “moving out of our home,” but in fact was simply “moving into a dormitory.” Over and over, I would try to moderate his language because, really, I had made the same journey decades ago, to the exact same institution, literally moving into the very same residence. I mean, really, it was no big deal.
I remember, however, my own parents wanting to wish him luck and even requesting to have a “last meal” with him in the days leading up to his move. I remember my mother, with ever-focused sincerity, actually looking him straight in the eye and saying, “We are so proud of you, grandson.” My first reaction of course was, “What!?” Why did I never hear those words myself, mom, when I went away for school!?!” But, putting aside my own suppressed asian need for parental approval, I began to wonder why witnessing this stage of life seemed so meaningful to my parents.Both my parents came to Canada as international students. My mother tells the story of travelling by herself about 50 years ago on an airplane with one large suitcase, a handful of cash, and simply the phone number of her supervising professor, who would provide boarding for her. It was on this journey to Toronto where she would find lifelong friendships, a faith community, and a young man who would eventually become her husband and my father; oh, yes, and a graduate degree in entomology (ask her anything about the monarch butterfly and she will be pleased to entertain you!).
My father came about 70 years ago upon the encouragement of his best friend, although post-secondary education was never necessarily his own goal growing up. Back then, it was still more common to come across the Pacific by boat, but even that long voyage did not conclude until embarking on a trans-Canadian journey (I won’t even touch on the symbolism of a young student riding on tracks that young Chinese workers died building just 50 years before him), which finally brought him to a strangely French-speaking city in what he thought was an English-speaking country. It was here, in this foreign land and at this new stage of life, that he would find lifelong friendships, a faith community, and eventually a young woman who would eventually become his wife and my mother; oh, yes, and an undergraduate degree in physics (every visit to his home still requires helping him move the couch 1 cm to the right or 2 cm to the left).
Restore us, O God...
In the second book of Samuel, chapter 7, David has become king. He has retaken Jerusalem, defeated the Philistines, and even returned the Ark of the Covenant. This was a big deal. But as he finally settles into his palace and sits on his throne, you can almost hear the desperate longing between the lines of his prayer to God, “Now what?” All he had known through his life was struggle and restlessness, so we can only imagine how finding “rest” was a bit of a stretch. What would rest even look like to a man who has spent his entire life on the move. He spent his days as a child literally following sheep and living off the land for weeks at a time. Even being invited for the first time to live in the palace never ceased his need to evade spears being thrown at his head, which eventually led to his being a national fugitive for years. So we can understand why sitting peacefully, trying to find rest, and being asked to move into this next stage of life was such a huge deal.
And it is at this point that Nathan, the prophet, speaks to him. It is at this point that God meets with him. David is looking for direction. He’s looking for guidance, and probably reassurance. And in his prayer, the first thing that is brought to mind is the Exodus:
23And who is like your people Israel—the one nation on earth that God went out to redeem as a people for himself, and to make a name for himself, and to perform great and awesome wonders by driving out nations and their gods from before your people, whom you redeemed from Egypt?
Restore us, God Almighty...
I think it is probably hard for many of us to fully understand what the Exodus meant to God’s people. As Christians, other than Jesus’ life and resurrection, we often look back to the Fall as a formative story. Gladly, I think more and more we are seeing people look to the Creation account as an even more seminal narrative. But if we really examine the facts, we quickly realize that the Exodus was truly, in fact, a big deal.
Over 200 years in the foreign land of Egypt—that alone should be the story. But if we trace the thread back to Joseph, we are reminded of the notions of rescue and prosperity that commenced that journey for Jacob’s family. A journey that eventually led to oppression and slavery. Oppression and slavery in a foreign land under foreign rulers. The Exodus story, of course, changes all of that, and in dramatic fashion. Never mind the miracles; literal freedom from slavery changed everything. Their geographical location. Their day-to-day activities. Their relationships with their bosses at work. Their relationship with work itself. All notions of what the future may hold were now in question. Sure, perhaps there was “rest” from their slave masters... but…now what?
Restore us, Lord God Almighty...
It is perhaps here that King David reflects on the faithfulness of God. God promised hope and redemption in the past, and he delivered. God’s people continued to see his face shine on them. Perhaps in remembering significant acts of God’s truth and word, David is able to think about the next chapter of his life, no matter how strange and different it might have been from anything he had experienced before.
After two years of never leaving the house, moving out of the only home he had ever known was probably a pretty big deal to my son. Sure, my wife and I had our concerns and worries. Who would wake him up for class in the morning? Who would take care of his laundry? Who would make sure he had food to eat every day? (Ok, yes, we have coddled our children for all of their lives) Will he be able to make lifelong friends? Will he find a faithcommunity? Will he find love and belonging?
It was perhaps in these moments that my parents’ subtle questions and actions reminded me of God’s undying faithfulness. God was faithful to them half a century ago. God was faithful to me and my own journey. And he will continue to be faithful for generations to come.
None of us have lived through a global pandemic. Surely not the present-day leaders, nor your pastor (or whatever spiritual guide you turn to). After two years of lockdown, if we are honest with ourselves, the future is not certain. What will church really look like? What will our jobs actually look like? Will we have the same relationships day-to-day? Will we have the same relationship with our loved ones? What would that even look like? And yet, as uncertain as looking forward may be, we all have our Exodus stories, don’t we? Maybe not in our own personal histories. But at the very least one, two, or maybe even three generations ago. As we look back to our God, should we not be confident that he will restore our future?
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