This morning, Pastor Janice, in her last sermon to us, spoke regarding what it must feel like to be exiled.
‘Exile – expel or bar (someone) from their native country, typically for political reasons.’ Dictionary
‘So all Israel was enrolled by genealogies; and behold, they are written in the Book of the Kings of Israel. And Judah was carried away into exile to Babylon for their unfaithfulness.’ I Chronicles 9:1
‘By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.’
‘We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.’
‘For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion.’ Psalm 137: 1-3
How does it feel to be a stranger…an exile…in your own land?
A couple of years ago I read a blog, written by one of my friends from the United Kingdom, where she had been admonished to ‘go back where she came from’…but she came from the UK? Her perceived ethnicity had caused a prejudiced person to assume that she did not belong in their country of origin.
The United States is comprised of people from every country on the face of the Earth. The geological facts are that in a few years, Anglo Saxons will be a minority in this country.
When, some, exclaim the clarion call to make America great again…they mean that they desire white people to be in the ascendancy and people of color to be subservient to them.
Upon ancestral examination these people would discover that their forefathers and foremothers were immigrants…and exiles…from their lands of origin.
President Trump’s ancestors are of Germanic origin.
Countless multitudes flee hunger and deprivation and genocide…in the hope that the beacon of freedom and safe haven still shines in the land of the free and the home of the brave.
‘Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lighting, and her name
MOTHER OF EXILES. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
‘Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!’ cries she
With silent lips. ‘Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!’
The New Colossus Emma Lazarus Inscribed on the Statue of Liberty
‘Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute.’ Proverbs 31:8 NIV
Pastor Janice…spoke for those who have no voice…we shall miss her…