People in Diaspora (MTKA)

Jeremiah 29:1, 4-14

These are the words of the letter that the prophet Jeremiah sent from Jerusalem to the remaining elders among the exiles, and to the priests, the prophets, and all the people, whom Nebuchadnezzar had taken into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon. Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. For thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Do not let the prophets and the diviners who are among you deceive you, and do not listen to the dreams that they dream, for it is a lie that they are prophesying to you in my name; I did not send them, says the Lord.

For thus says the Lord: Only when Babylon’s seventy years are completed will I visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you. When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the Lord, and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and all the places where I have driven you, says the Lord, and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile.

Luke 4:16-21

When Jesus came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.’ And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to say to them, ‘Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.’

I played golf with a group of retired gentlemen this past Monday. My normal golfing partner couldn’t make it—something about sore shoulders while canoeing against a stiff wind in the Boundary Waters over the weekend. Rather than canceling the tee-time, I decided to play pick-up golf with whomever the golf course paired me. As you might imagine, it’s often an adventure getting to know new playing partners. And in turn, it’s usually a bit of a surprise for them when they find out I’m a Lutheran pastor. Suddenly they’re wondering what colorful words may have tumbled out of their mouths after wayward shots. My normal response is to shrug and say: “Hey, I’m a golfer. I’ve heard them all before.”

I found out that one particular playing partner on Monday was named Boris. He was of Ukrainian origin. Naturally I took an interest. While he has some distant relatives there in the present, what he really wanted to talk about was his past. During World War II his parents were imprisoned in Poland in a Nazi concentration camp. His mother spent her days sewing uniforms for Nazi soldiers. His father was put to work refurbishing empty shell casings. They didn’t know each during the war, but when American troops liberated the camp, they met and they fell in love. They got married while still living in the camp. Suddenly they had a choice to make: either to return to Ukraine and start life over again, or to get on a ship and sail to an unknown land—the United States of America.

They weren’t sure what to do, and they had very little time to make a decision. They chose to come to America, landing in the Washington, D.C. area. They arrived in early July. The noisy fireworks reminded them of the war and scared them half-to-death. After a stay in temporary housing, they had another choice to make: to move to Seattle, Washington or Minneapolis, Minneapolis. That choice was harder. They hadn’t heard of either location. So, they flipped a coin. The coin came up Minneapolis. Before leaving Washington, D.C., they were required to sign a paper: “We agree to be law-abiding citizens, and to work for the betterment of the community to which we are going.”

Those events happened 70 years ago. That’s a long time. Boris’ parents carved out a life for themselves in the Twin Cities area. Yes, they were law-abiding citizens. Yes, they contributed to the betterment of the community. They learned English. They went on to have four children. They practiced their Ukrainian Orthodox faith. I asked Boris if they ever talked about returning to their homeland. As best he could remember, they talked about it every so often, especially in the early years. But as time passed, those thoughts passed too. This was home now. They belonged here.

One way to describe the migration out of Europe after World War II is a diaspora, a dispersion, a scattering of persons. The refugees didn’t all come to the United States, of course, but many did. The Statue of Liberty welcomed them: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”

The word diaspora was originally used to described the scattering of Jewish people beyond Israel. It started when the Assyrian Empire conquered the 10 northern tribes of Israel in 721 B.C. Those tribes were taken into captivity. The vast majority never returned home. At the time of Jeremiah, the southern tribe of Judah was still in existence. It was hanging on by a thread. Babylon was now the dominant world power. In 587 B.C. the armies of King Nebuchadnezzar invaded Judah. They conquered Jerusalem and destroyed their temple. Many of the people—all except the poorest of the land—were marched into exile. They were scattered. They had to be anxious: “Will we end up like those in the north, or will we find our way back home again?” Much like Boris’ parents, they wondered: “What will become of us? How does one go on after a devastating disaster?”

The prophet Jeremiah spoke to their concerns. He ended up staying in Judah with the poorest of the poor. His prophetic work now involved writing letters to the exiles in Babylon. He helped them pick up the pieces of their lives and start over again. He suggested a range of activities, with a return to some normalcy: build houses, plant gardens, celebrate weddings. These actions served as a powerful testimony to resilience. They will have homes again, enough food to eat, weddings as an expression of hope for the future. Even if you and I have never faced such desperation, we can imagine a daily struggle between moving forward and wanting to give up.

Jeremiah won’t let them give up. He paints a picture involving children and children’s children. He’s suggesting the exiles better plan on being there for the long haul. And even if there’s no form for them to sign promising good citizenship, it probably makes sense to work toward that end. He writes: “Strive for the well-being of your newly adopted city. Pray to God for it, for in its welfare, you will find your welfare.” Considering the turbulent climate of the day, no doubt some of those prayers were incredibly hard to pray. After all, he was asking them to pray for their enemies—the ones who had invaded their land and destroyed all that was precious to them.

Jeremiah’s letter is sometimes viewed as a warning to immigrants, an acquiesce to the dominant culture: “Live in peace and quiet. Squelch any thoughts of resistance. Avoid bringing attention to yourselves.” When understood in such a way, exiles may feel as little more than a piece of propaganda serving the interests of the empire. We know, however, that immigrants are not always treated fairly. They struggle to survive, let along thrive in the towns and cities in which they find themselves. Truth be told, we wouldn’t have a July 4 to celebrate if immigrants to America hadn’t raised their voices and stood up against the interests of the empire.

Jeremiah encourages the exiles to return to their religious life, even though they’re far away from their homeland. Ordinary activities—building homes, planting gardens, getting married, having children—are bolstered by God’s continued involvement in the far-away land of Babylon. The Covenant people no longer had a temple, it’s true, but they did build synagogues, their version of local congregations. Jeremiah assures them: “If you go looking for God, you will find God. And even more so, God will find you. And you will have moments of strength and hope that you haven’t had in a long time.”

There’s one final theme in Jeremiah’s letter. It stems from an ongoing feud going on between Jeremiah and Hananiah, each claiming to speak for God. This issue hits close to home, perhaps in any age. There have always been prophets who claim to have an inside track to God.

In his letter to the exiles, Jeremiah issues a warning: “There are prophets and diviners who may tell you simply what you want to hear. They predict you’ll be able to pack up and head home in less than a year.” Jeremiah adamantly disagrees: “God has not sent them! They are lying! They’re only telling you what feels good. Please hear me: God’s people will be in Babylon for a very long time—upwards of 70 years. That’s why I’m telling you to accept this situation for what it is. Put down roots. Make a life for yourselves. Trust that God is never far away.” Jeremiah concludes his letter with a word of assurance: “Surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.”   

Friends, few of us can directly relate to the situation of Boris’ parents in a Ukrainian concentration camp in Poland. Nor can we relate to the utter devastation of the Jewish exiles in Babylon. But maybe we’ve encountered a situation in our own lives that could not be changed. No matter how much we may have wanted things to be different, we could not make it so. 

The question then is how can we, amidst such difficult circumstances, live the best life possible? How can we find daily practices that are meaningful and faithful? And perhaps most important of all, how can we keep trusting God’s promise to us: “Surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” 

Friends, this a promise we need to take to heart, both this day and far into the future. Amen.