Wednesday, May 25, 2022
“A cry was heard in
Ramah— weeping and great mourning. Rachel weeps for her children, refusing to
be comforted, for they are dead.” (Matthew 2: 18, New Living Translation)
Innocent children are dead. It
never stops. People would rather defend the right of an 18-year-old to go to
the local gun store and buy assault rifles and body armor rather than protect
our children.
What is wrong with 18-year-old
males? Normally (?), 18-year-old males
are thinking about the opposite sex, sports and fancy cars. But in less than a
few weeks, two 18-year-old, white males have gone on a killing rampage. Where did
all that hate and rage come from in someone so relatively young?
These 19 precious children are
my own grandchildren’s age. I feel my own sense of rage and despair over their
loss. How do I explain this terrible event to my grandchildren when I can’t
explain it to myself? How do I explain a broken world which allows this to
happen as frequently as it does? And let
us not forget the innocent children who have been killed or maimed in the
Ukraine. King Herod who initiated the “slaughter of innocents “after Jesus’ birth
has nothing on our own acts of brutality, violence and murder.
Let us weep with Rachel. Let us
wail. Let us not be comforted.
No spiritual bromides. No
well-worn theological clichés. No biblical nuggets of wisdom. No sermonic
pep-talks. Not today.
If you are wondering where is
God in all this slaughtering of innocents or how could a loving God allow this
to happen, I have no easy, simple answers. In fact, I am asking the same questions
myself. And today, that is okay – let’s not whitewash this event with cheap
theology. I, too, would like God to make his Presence plainly known in all this
pain and suffering. We need a radical intervention, a fundamental intrusion, a deep-seated
cleansing. Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus.
Matthew used the above scripture
text to address the slaughter of innocents under Herod’s regime. It is found in
Jeremiah 31, verse 15. Jeremiah was a prophet during the terrible events of
Jewish exile to Babylon. It was catastrophic.
It was insufferable. It was numbing. It was a lost and forlorn time. There was
weeping and wailing and grief and suffering. And I am sure that the Jewish
people wondered where God was and why he was allowing this all to happen.
But as I read the whole chapter,
it surprised me that these words arose out of a song of hope and anticipation. Going
against the grain of the times, Jeremiah speaks about the time when God will bring
his people back to Jerusalem and the Promised Land. Despite the overwhelming spirit
of godforsakeness and abandonment, Jeremiah dares to speak on behalf of God who promises
“grace in the wilderness.” (Jeremiah 31:2)
God makes a promise: “I will
turn their mourning into joy. I will
comfort them and exchange their sorrow for rejoicing. The priests will enjoy
abundance, and my people will feast on my good gifts. I, the Lord, have
spoken!” (Jer. 31: 13 -14, NLT)
The words were probably met with great
skepticism, doubt, mocking and reservation. God never felt so remote, so
seemingly indifferent, so unloving.
But despite the weeping and wailing,
Jeremiah persists to be a voice crying in the wilderness: “’There is hope for your
future,’ says the Lord. ‘Your children will come again to their own land.’”
(Jer. 31:17)
Perhaps, that seems like thin
gruel, today. And that's just fine for today.
But, come tomorrow, it is a sign of grace in the wilderness.
Dale
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