Have you ever seen a ghost
town? Maybe you’ve seen one on television if you haven’t seen one in real life.
Maybe you remember the song by Yusuf Islam, (aka in my time as Cat Stevens) “Ghost
Town.” The image is of shops that sit with boarded-up windows, dust and
tumbleweeds blow down the street, and things seem eerily still. Perhaps you’ve
seen it when small communities abandon their once thriving downtown areas.
Faded billboards promise happiness bought with medicine or lawnmowers or soft
drinks, streets are empty, and buildings are abandoned. These places died when
the motorways bypassed them, railroads forgot them, or politicians ignored
them. If you take a walk through such places, you have some idea of what
Jeremiah sees when he looks out over Israel: a wasteland.
Sometimes we see the
wasteland even in populated cities. Ghost neighbourhoods, sections of town full
of abandoned buildings, places where so called wealthy people pulled up stakes
and fled to the suburbs. People living their lives like zombies, sleepwalking
through their days with hollow eyes, working meaningless jobs so that they can
go home and stare at flickering images on a screen. Have you seen such a ghost
town? Do you live in one?
Often the response is that we
pine for the good old days. Maybe you’ve heard people talk about them, or
perhaps you remember? Porches or veranda’s where people would visit with neighbours
on Saturday afternoons. We didn’t lock our doors at night, because we lived in
safety. No one played soccer or had football practice on Sunday morning,
because people worshiped and spent time with family. We looked up to leaders in
those days. We trusted our mayors, our preachers, our Prime Ministers. Not like
these days, when some churches sit empty on Sunday, when people lock their
doors, their cars, and their hearts, when leaders care more about cutting their
own business deals than caring for their constituents.
These days it seems we hear
nothing but scandal, violence, and materialism. Cynics say we see the past
through rose-coloured glasses, but just as Israel longed for the age of David
and Solomon, we long for the good old days, for heroes and leaders. Something
has to change! As I suggested last week we need leaders that look for the good
of all and put that into action. I suggested they need to be someone who
listened and responded. Love and compassion needs to be their motivating
spirit.
Jeremiah says, “Squint.”
Exercise your eyes. Look past the motorways crawling with cars, the hollow eyes
of tired workers. Tune past the talking heads on television to see a new
kingdom. He gives us specifics: in these streets where you see only traffic and
crime, God sees a party processional. Where you see only a dead stump, a tree
chopped down prematurely, God sees a slender stalk twisting its way through the
aged bark. God sees a branch unfurling its leaves to the sun. The promise of an
entirely new tree growing out of the stump of the old one. The days are coming,
says the Lord. It’s just a matter of time. Can’t you see it?
Advent is the season of preparation
for Christmas. We often feel overwhelmed by hustle and bustle, advertising, and
the push to buy more stuff to show people we love them. We may feel cynical and
see the real and spiritual wasteland around us. But God calls us to look
forward and see a different reality—a kingdom of God that stretches its thin
stalk toward the sun. Occasionally, like weeds pushing through cracks in the
sidewalk, the kingdom breaks through and we see it clearly, without squinting.
There is a sense in which Jesus
has built the house with his own hands, that already he had begun to rule in “Ghost”
parts of the city with justice and righteousness. As Christians we pledge our
allegiance to a new kind of king, one who changes us from within and gives us a
new name. During Advent we announce to the world his coming rule, and we invite
the whole world to claim Jesus as its righteousness.
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