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Lifting Up Strong Voices
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7 December 2008 Imagine master weaver, Iphigenia Mukantabana (Moo-kahn’-ta-ba-na) sitting on the ground with her neighbor, Epiphania Mukanyndwi (Moo-ka-nind’-we) in front of Iphigenia’s simple, dirt-floored home. They are business partners, expertly creating woven baskets for sale at Macy’s in the United States. Imagine later, sheltered in the shade of an open-sided shed, black and white goats observe Christiane Amanpour interviewing Iphigenia. Christiane and Iphigenia walk slowly through the forest nearby, stooping to pick up a few stones barely visible in the undergrowth. Iphigenia tosses the stones back and brushes the dust from her hands. Imagine still later, a table set for dinner. Epiphania and other neighbors gather around that table: the men in their suits with open-collared shirts, the women in brightly-colored skirts and blouses.[3] Hold on to those images. Now imagine thousands of years ago, about 600 years before Jesus. The Jewish people are in exile in Babylon, a city-state that grew to empire status, covering modern Iraq, Syria, Lebanon and Israel. Israel is conquered; its temple is in ruins, and its people have been deported to Babylon, forced to live in a foreign land in the midst of an alien faith. The aching psalm, “How can I sing the Lord’s psalm in a foreign land” comes from this period. Everything the Jews have known, the lives they have built for themselves, the temple in which they have worshiped...all is gone, utterly ripped away.[1] Within this gaping wound, Second Isaiah experiences a call from God to “comfort my people.” In speech now immortalized in the tenor solo of Handel’s Messiah, words of comfort and vision are spoken, beginning as gently as a mother to her child. “Comfort, comfort, my people....’ And then the startling proclamation: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord.” Not the way of the Babylonian ruler, whose herald provides the model for this speech, but the way of the Lord. Priest-turned-activist Tony Bartlett declares that the fifteen chapters of Second Isaiah (40-55) “can justly claim to be the single densest source of Jesus’ gospel in the Hebrew scriptures, ... the place where the distinctive traces of the radically new humanity preached by...Jesus first emerged.”[2] Prepare the way of the Lord...a proclamation that rings through virtually every gospel, continues with a vision of valleys lifted up, mountains and hills made low. In the places in our personal deserts, valleys of depression, mountains of debt and illness, hills of abuse and grief, Second Isaiah speaks to the heart of his people and tells them that the God of Israel is with them like a shepherd is with his flock. They are not abandoned, but shall see the strength and compassion of the Lord. Return now to your images of Iphegenia. Imagine now that it is Iphegenia who watches as Hutu neighbors with whom she’s lived her entire life destroy her home and brutally murder husband and five of her children with machetes and hoes and wooden clubs. Iphegenia, the master Tutsi weaver, who fled with other members of her family to the safety of a church. Iphegenia, whose friend’s husband joined the Hutu mob that decimated her family fourteen years ago. Iphegenia, picking up the stones that were once her home. Grief still etches Iphegenia’s face. By her own admission, she has found it difficult to forgive, but she is one of thousands who has rejected revenge and an endless wave of killings. Not that it happened quickly; she didn’t speak to Bizimana, the husband, or to his wife, her friend, for four years after the killings. Bizimana spent seven years in prison. After he was released, he went to a tribal gathering, where he publicly confessed and apologized to the families of his victims. It is here that Iphegenia’s healing began. The elders of the gathering heard grievances and decided on punishments. But even when all was said and done, and in spite of Bizimana’s confession and apology, Iphegenia still had to decide to open her heart and accept his pleas.[3] I pray that no one here will ever face the extreme horrors that mark Iphegenia’s life. But I also know that grief rough places come to each of us in some form. It is to those the prophet speaks, not just in words of comfort, but also in a clarion voice that proclaims God’s redeeming presence, bringing strength beyond the comfort, vision beyond the rough places. The closing scene in Christiane Amanpour’s report shows Iphegenia serving Sunday dinner to her neighbors as they gather around a common table in her home.[3] “I am a Christian,” Iphegenia says, “I pray a lot.” Iphegenia finds comfort and strength in the God of Second Isaiah, in the God of Jesus the Christ, in our God. Her faith is a strong voice that speaks even to us, living in a world that is both removed from hers and a world that shares a common table. Today we gather at this table, the table that binds us together in our common humanity, the table that binds us together in our shared faith. I saw the Lord’s table in Iphegenia’s home, just as we see it here. May the witness of Iphegenia give us courage and strength as we face our own rough places, and may our common Christian witness be one of peace. *** [1] The Whole People of God, Worship Leader Unit 3, biblical Background December 5, 1999, page 21. |