July 31 sermon

Text: Isaiah 55:1-5
Preached July 31 and August 3 at First


Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

Some of my family is here today. Every year at this time, my parents come up from Iowa to my grandmother’s in Spring Valley, and we go to the Olmsted County Fair in Rochester. This year was no exception, and that’s where we spent yesterday afternoon.

It brought back memories of a couple years ago, when things didn’t go quite as smoothly as they did yesterday. While I was in Spring Valley that year, my car broke down on me. I got to the edge of town, on my way to Rochester, and pulled off the road just in time for my car to quit completely. Apparently I needed a new fuel pump—so much for my “reliable” little car that never let me down.

I was doing my clinical pastoral education that summer, working as a hospital chaplain, with very little flexibility for time off. And now I was stuck in Spring Valley. My parents and my grandma bent over backwards to help to me deal with the unexpected repair.

My grandma voluntarily stranded herself at home for a couple days by loaning me her car. My dad made two trips between Spring Valley and St. Paul to get me to work and to get my car back to me. That’s eight hours of driving and a longer stay in Minnesota. My mom was at a conference elsewhere, but she offered moral support from afar.

And, even though I was a legitimate grown-up and financially independent, they paid for the repair for me. It was all very helpful and generous, and I felt really cared for and grateful.

But I was also a little conflicted, because I don’t like being dependent. I don’t like not being able to handle everything on my own. I don’t want to be vulnerable. I want to be in control of my own life. It was humbling to receive such kindness, even from my family.

I think most of us like to take care of ourselves, and I bet we sometimes manage to convince ourselves that we can do a pretty decent job of it. When things are going well, we might even start to think God must be impressed with us. Surely God favors those who have it all together, right? Doesn’t God help those who help themselves?

The ancient Israelites thought they had everything together. They thought they were in good with God and didn’t need to worry too much about him. God certainly noticed their wandering attention. He asks through the prophet Isaiah, “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?”

The people had turned their backs on God and put their trust in idols, which can never sustain or satisfy us. And, lest we think ourselves vastly superior to those idolatrous Israelites, we might ask ourselves how much trust we put in money or stability or reputation.

Even our sense of independence can get in the way of right relationship with God. It can curve us in upon ourselves, turning our self-sufficiency into to self-centeredness. It can make us competitive, so that we assume someone else must lose if we’re going to win. It can make us merciless, so that we look upon those who suffer with condemnation instead of compassion.

No matter how convinced we are that we have it all together, every now and then, something happens that reminds us just how vulnerable we are. It could be something like my car repair—relatively minor in the grand scheme of things.

It could be an illness that makes us dependent on others for help. When I got appendicitis, two of my friends drove me to the emergency room and sat with me for six hours until my surgery, while other friends and family took care of me in many other ways as I recovered. I know some of you have much more dramatic experiences of support and care during times of illness.

It could be financial. We all like to be self-sufficient, but just one medical problem or job loss can send even a stable, middle-class family into financial crisis.

Maybe it’s education. You decide you need to update your skills, so you enroll in some training only to discover you’re in way over your head and you’ll never catch up without some serious, personalized help.

If we’re honest, we realize that we aren’t as self-sufficient as we like to think. The people of Israel came to the same cold, hard realization when their promised land was conquered and they were dragged off to Babylon as captives. They found themselves with no land, no freedom, and no future.

What does God have to say to his people in circumstances like these? What does God say to us as we sit in exile, face-to-face with the reality of our own weakness? What does God say when we discover that we cannot keep it together enough to earn God’s favor?

God says this: “Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.”

God does not demand that we clean up our act. God does not tell us to go away, pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, and come back when we’re no longer helpless and hopeless. Instead, God issues an invitation.

No one can keep it together all the time. No one can pay for God’s grace. No one can earn God’s favor. Lucky for us, God gives it freely. This invitation is not just for people of good social standing, or people who can pay, or people who have no weaknesses.

The invitation to this banquet of God’s presence is for anyone and everyone who hungers and thirsts. We tend to put all sorts of conditions on God’s grace, but God offers this invitation on his own terms. And, like my dear family who helped me with my car, God’s terms are generous and easy. Don’t even think about trying to pay, God says, just come and eat freely.

This invitation God offers is to a life of abundance. “Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.” Wine is often understood in the scriptures as a sign of God’s blessing. And milk is closely associated with the promised holy land, the land “flowing with milk and honey.”

God says a little later, “Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; listen, so that you may live.” This banquet is not just about the bare necessities of existence. It is about the sheer delight of life in God. We listen carefully so that we may live in the joy of God’s presence.

So, if abundant life is associated with inclining our ear and listening to God, there must be a word spoken to nourish us. You are what you eat, as they say, and God feeds us with the finest of foods. By God’s word we are transformed into his people.

We heard already the word of God’s forgiveness, restoring us to right relationship with him. We will soon hold that forgiveness in our hands—the bodily presence of our Savior in the bread and wine. In scripture, in proclamation, and in the holy meal, we receive over and over again the great promise that, in Jesus Christ, we are made new, and nothing in all creation can separate us from God’s love.

When we are reminded in the most painful ways that we cannot manage everything on our own, God’s love and forgiveness and compassion are for us. When our lives are out of control and crumbling around us, our Christ is present with us in the midst of the pain. When we are faced with the harsh reality of our own vulnerability, God invites us once again to the banquet of his grace.

This abundant life is possible because of God’s faithfulness: “I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David.” Through Isaiah, God reminds the people of his faithfulness, which they may have been questioning. God had promised to establish David’s family as rulers of God’s people forever, and now the people have been conquered. What, then, had become of God’s promise?

God tells them what had become of it—it is being expanded to include all of God’s people. “I will make with you an everlasting covenant.” Suddenly, the people are reminded that this steadfast, sure love of God is not just for David, but is for all of Israel.

And the God who made this covenant is the same God who later fed a multitude with only two fish and five loaves of bread, because he had compassion on them. This God is the same God who continues to provide for us even now, inviting us to his table where he gives us nothing less than himself! This is the God who offers us a life of abundance and delight in his presence.

Along with this invitation comes a call to witness. The abundant life God offers is not just for our sake, but for the sake of everyone around us. God says, “See, you shall call nations that you do not know, and nations that do not know you shall run to you, because of the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, for he has glorified you.”

When God called Abraham and promised to “make of [him] a great nation,” it was so that in Abraham “all the families of the earth” would be blessed. When God called David to rule God’s people, God made him “a witness to the peoples, a leader and commander for the peoples.” The peoples here extend far beyond Israel.

And now, as God invites us to the banquet of his grace, he calls us to show forth the delight of his abundant life so that all people may be drawn to his love and may partake of the banquet, freely given.

I can’t repay my family for helping me with my car. I can’t repay my friends for supporting me through appendicitis. You probably can’t repay the folks who have supported and upheld you through the trials of your life. But we can all pass along that kindness by extending the same care to others.

Just so, we cannot pay for God’s grace, nor can we earn his favor. But we can show compassion for those who are all too aware of their weakness. We can remind them that we are all vulnerable and dependent, and God loves us anyway. And we can invite them to the banquet of abundant grace that God sets forth for us, so that all may share in the delight of life in God. Amen.