H. Michael Brewer
Crescent Springs Presbyterian
14 December 2003
THE GATHERING
Zephaniah 3:14-20
For many years, the Christmas party at my grandmother’s house was a fixed part of the season, as unchanging and certain as the coming of Christmas
itself. The three-foot artificial tree was brought out from some closeted corner. Carefully wrapped in a sheet and stored away since last Christmas, the tree
emerged from its swaddling cloths fully decorated and ready to plug in.
The end tables sported poinsettias and holiday bowls filled with cashews, peanuts, chips and dip. Eggnog and boiled custard waited in the fridge. Dinner
consisted of oyster stew, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and sundry desserts. Oddly, my grandmother complained every year that no one ate any fruitcake, but
she always served it anyway.
The gifts were predictable. I could count on Hardy Boys books and Avon cologne in bottles shaped like boots or antique cars. In fact, almost everything
about the party was predictable. That was part of the fun. The same food. The same jokes. The same outlandish holiday clothes.
The guest list expanded a bit. Wives came into the family and then great-grandchildren. But everyone was there. That was the point, and that was the real
joy of the thing for my grandmother. Everyone was there. Nobody bowing out, nobody missing, nobody absent unless waylaid by virus or flu. This went on
for forty years or so. Finding a date got tougher and tougher, and then one Christmas it just didn’t work anymore. The reasons were manifold: busier
schedules, more calendars to juggle, one brother living in Tennessee, and my grandmother’s move into a too-small apartment.
There’s no need to feel sorry for my grandmother. We all make it a point to stop by sometime during the season for cashews and eggnog. We say that this
year’s tree is the prettiest ever (even though it is identical to last year’s tree), and we still don’t eat the fruitcake. It’s nice enough, but something has been
lost. There were years when getting to the party was a burden, and years when people didn’t get along well, and years when we quietly told each other that it
was time to wrap up this custom once and for all. But now that it’s gone, I miss it.
There’s nothing exceptional about my grandmother, nothing to make her stand out from the crowd, but my grandmother and God have at least one thing in
common. They both love a family get-together. My grandmother knows—and God would agree—that there’s something warm and wonderful about gathering
everybody under the same roof, even if it’s noisy and messy, or maybe because it’s noisy and messy.
Although the biblical prophets differ from one another in almost every conceivable way, one recurring hope for the future turns up with surprising regularity.
We catch this same hope in the teachings of Jesus, and even in the apocalyptic visions of Revelation.
I’m talking about the homecoming.
The great gathering from east and west.
The big party.
God’s own family reunion.
Gazing into a future illuminated by hope, the prophet Zephaniah speaks God’s word to God’s people. Thus says the Lord, “On that day I will gather you
together and bring you home again.” Eugene Peterson’s version of this passage warms the heart:
Raise the rafters, Israel! Daughter Jerusalem, be happy! Celebrate! The accumulated sorrows of your exile will dissipate. I, your God, will get rid of them for
you. You’ve carried those burdens long enough. On Judgment Day I'll bring you back home—a great family gathering! You'll see it with your own eyes—all
those painful partings turned into reunions! God's promise!
Even more remarkable than the happy homecoming planned for you and me, is God’s joyful anticipation of that day. Zephaniah says, “God will rejoice
over you with great gladness. God will exult over you by singing a happy song.” If you stop to think about it, the Bible says a lot about human happiness,
but passages like this are rare, passages that talk about God’s happiness.
What makes God happy? Having the whole family together in one great big house of many rooms. Gathering the scattered. Leading the lost and wayward
home. Getting all the children around the table for noise and corny jokes and heart-healing laughter. God loves this! God can hardly wait for the party to
begin. The very thought of bringing us all together makes God feel just like a kid at Christmas. I can’t think of any other passage in the Bible where God sings
for joy. What puts the song on God’s lips? What sets the smile on God’s face? The big party—the day we all make it home.
One of my favorite secular Christmas songs has a poignant line: “Through the years we all will be together if the Fates allow. Until then we’ll have to
muddle through somehow.” Life often feels like we’re muddling through, doesn’t it? We muddle through the holidays even though they’re not quite as bright
as the ones we remember. We muddle through family times in spite of the tensions and the disappointments. We muddle through this holy season of love
missing the loved ones who won’t be with us this year.
As blessed and beautiful as life is, you may sometimes feel that nothing in this world is entirely satisfying. Take that as a sure sign that you were not made
for this world. We are just passing through, after all. The heart’s true homecoming still lies before us. Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow. The
holiest moments of hearth and family here and now are a foretaste of the homecoming God has planned.
And it is God’s plan. We’re not relying on the Fates to bring us together. We’re counting on God, and God will do this. Jesus has delivered the invitation
to the reunion and Jesus will show us how to get there. Even now, I imagine God is bustling around, filling the bowls with cashews, setting the table and
watching the clock.
This is going to be good, friends. And I wonder what song God will sing when we all get there? I hope it’s something I know. I think I’ll be in the mood to
sing along.
Soli Deo Gloria!