Nancy E. Petty
Pullen Memorial Baptist Church
October 14, 2007 – Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost
Texts: Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7
Luke 17:11-19
El próximo año en Cuba
Every year on New Year’s Day Cuban’s, who have been exiled from their homeland, make a toast: El próximo año en Cuba!—“Next year in Cuba.” Many of these Cubans, exiled since 1959 when Fidel Castro’s rule of power began, still have the dream of returning to their homeland. Living now in a foreign land for over four decades, their new year’s toast still speaks to their longing to return to life in the country of their birth. Their new year’s toast invites the question: How does one live in exile? Much like the Cubans living in exile, I am reminded of the refugees I met in the Republic of Georgia earlier this year. Since 1992 they have been living as political exiles in a ruined Soviet military base near the city of Tbilisi after their homes were seized by Russian military. Fifteen years later, if you ask them what they hope for their answer will reflect one hope—to return to their homes with their families. Their story and the life they are now living, also, begs the question: How does one live in exile? The reality of our world today is that untold numbers of people all over the globe are living in exile: Sudanese children; Palestinian women; Native Americans; Israeli men; women, children, men—young and old—from Iran, Iraq, New Orleans, Cambodia, Latin America; and the list goes on and on. For sure, their stories invite us to ponder the question: How does one live in exile?
Exile is no easy matter. The Bible does not view it positively and, even in our text this morning, anticipates an end to exile and the return home. Yet, the process of deporting and displacing conquered and subjugated peoples was not a rarity in the ancient Near East. Dominating imperial forces seem regularly to have relocated leading citizens of a conquered community into alien political environments while leaving in residence “lesser” peoples who were unlikely to resist or rebel against domination. Both practically and concretely, in the biblical narrative, the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 meant the total loss of a known world of public institutions. The temple was razed, the city walls were dismantled, and the Davidic monarchy came to an end. The destruction meant the termination of Judah’s political identity and the public, political loss was immense. And yet, while the time of exile for the Israelites was a time of public and political loss it was more than that—it was a time of theological dislocation. Without doubt, the time of exile tested Israel’s faith to the utmost.
As the exile is interpreted in Hebrew scripture, two central themes are articulated. First, the crisis is a sign of God’s abandonment of Jerusalem and rejection of Israel, and an absence of God’s presence to God’s people. Second, that abandonment, rejection, and absence is, for the most part, understood as God’s judgment upon a wayward and stubborn community. Theologically, the exile, as presented in Hebrew scripture, is the death of everything that gave identity to the life of Israel. Along with the sense of loss and the acknowledgment of guilt, the most remarkable fact about Israel’s “exile” is that it came to be for Israel a primary time of theological renewal. From the bottom of loss and guilt arose in Israel a series of new, imaginative prophetic and poetic voices who took the loss with deep seriousness and who dared to reinterpret old faith traditions and turn their community toward hope and a future. That Israel made it through their period of exile was not something that transpired automatically, but only with much heart-searching and after profound readjustment.
Both of our scripture texts today, Jeremiah’s words to the remaining exiles in Babylon and Luke’s story of the ten lepers, raise the question: How does one live in exile? Before I get to that question, it is important to ask another question. What is your place, our places of exile? For sure, it is easy to identify those in our world living in political exile: refugees, political prisoners, and society’s outcasts. But it’s a lot harder to identify how those of us sitting in these pews this morning may be living in exile. And yet, I would venture to guess that most of us sitting here this morning are living in some type of exile. For some of us our story of exile is one of being disowned by our families because of who we love. For others of us, maybe our foreign land is living with a family secret. Maybe exile for some of us is being stuck in a passionless and unfulfilling job. Or maybe it is an addiction we live with daily, or a feeling of inadequacy, or a way of thinking that has us believing that our worth is dependent on how we look or what kind of house we live or worship in or how much we earn. For most of us here today, these are our places of exile. Most of us do not live with a disease that makes us untouchable but yet we know the pain of alienation from home and family. Most of us have not had to flee our homeland to know the isolation that comes with living in a strange and foreign land. To some degree, we are all exiles. This truth is one of the basic tenets of our faith. We are to live in this world but we are not to be of this world. Or as Teilhard de Chardin said, “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” So, I ask again: How does one live in exile?
Both Jeremiah and the story of the ten lepers help us with this question. In his pastoral letter to those living in exile Jeremiah says, “Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and husbands and have sons and daughters; have your sons and daughters marry; multiply there, and do not decrease. 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.” In other words, Jeremiah is saying, don’t stop living, even and especially when you find yourself in a foreign land. On the surface, everything you know and love and cherish—everything familiar to you—may be gone. But if everything is gone, then, anything is possible so keep on living. Jeremiah counsels us to shift our thinking, no longer asking why something happened, but asking how we will respond, what we intend to do now that it happened. He reminds us that the possibilities for life—home, productivity, and family—are to be found even in exile. But he doesn’t stop there. Strangest of all, he says seek the welfare of your captors for in their welfare you will find your welfare. I don’t know about you but for me these are hard words to hear. I don’t like them from Jeremiah any more than I like them from Jesus when he invites me to love my enemies and pray for those who persecute me. And yet, they seem to be significant words for those of us who seek a life of faith. I will confess that I don’t know how to tell you to do this. Maybe the most honest way to begin is by acknowledging to God our reluctance to care for those who cause us pain and hurt and then maybe from there we can find our way to a fuller prayer.
Jeremiah’s advice on how to live in exile is to keep living—to keep responding to the possibility of life wherever we find ourselves. It would be easy to misinterpret Jeremiah’s words; to think that he is encouraging us to settle in exile. I don’t think that is his point any more than I think our “places of exile” are God’s judgment or punishment on us. Jeremiah’s words convey a greater truth than any one particular exile experience. His words remind us of our divine blessing—that of life and wholeness and well-being. He reminds us that, regardless of the exiles we may experience, if we live trusting in God’s ultimate love and care for us we will find hope and peace. It is not easy living from that place. But I have found that the more I practice living in God’s love and care, regardless of my circumstances, the more hope and peace I experience.
As for the story of the ten lepers, we don’t know from Luke how long the lepers had been living in exile. What we do know about persons who had leprosy is that by law they were required to live “outside the camp” and cry out “Unclean, unclean” whenever anyone approached. We also know that if a leper were fortunate enough to recover, a priest had to certify that the person was clean before he or she could return to the community. In Luke’s narrative, Jesus instructs the lepers to, “Go and show themselves to the priests.” Then in the very next verse, Luke writes: “And as they went, they were made clean.” No matter how long our times of exile may last, it is always our hope that such time will end and we will return home where we can find healing and wholeness. But Luke reminds us that living through exile is not about reaching a destination that frees us from exile. It is not about finding someone else to pronounce us clean or free. Finding healing and wholeness is about staying on the journey—“as they went, they were made clean.” We survive our places of exile by living through them and experiencing them—not trying to avoid them or go around them or resist them. “As they went, they were made clean.” As we go, we are made clean. Our healing happens all along the way—not in the end when we finally return home. So how does one live in exile? By being aware that regardless of where our journey takes us we are being healed as we go—even when we find ourselves living in exile.
The power of the image of exile is deeply linked to concrete historical reality; at the same time, however, exile is a theological symbol that has developed in powerful and demanding ways far beyond the history of time. While the term for us is rooted historically and theologically in the destruction of Jerusalem, the reality of “exile” remains a powerful image as we increasingly notice the huge and growing number of exiles—displaced persons, marginalized persons, refugees—in the contemporary world. In the exile, our spiritual mothers and fathers found it possible to affirm that God is a God who gathers exiles home. Much like our Cuban sisters and brothers, the Israelites remained a community of hope that believed and trusted that God would restore them to the safety and well-being of their place in Jerusalem and Judah. And so it is, with that same hope and trust, I say: El próximo año en Cuba!
In your place of exile may you feel God’s original blessing of life. As you journey through your place of exile may you find healing and wholeness. And as you return home, remember the example of the tenth leper: “Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him.”