How Long, O Lord? Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4 - Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost

Thunderstorm v2 by Pe_Wu.  Creative commons image on flickr

¹The oracle that the prophet Habakkuk saw.

 ²O Lord, how long shall I cry for help,
  and you will not listen?
 Or cry to you “Violence!”
  and you will not save?
 ³Why do you make me see wrongdoing
  and look at trouble?
 Destruction and violence are before me;
  strife and contention arise.
 ⁴So the law becomes slack
  and justice never prevails.
 The wicked surround the righteous—
  therefore judgment comes forth perverted.

 ^2:1I will stand at my watchpost,
  and station myself on the rampart;
 I will keep watch to see what he will say to me,
  and what he will answer concerning my complaint.
 ²Then the Lord answered me and said:
 Write the vision;
  make it plain on tablets,
  so that a runner may read it.
 ³For there is still a vision for the appointed time;
  it speaks of the end, and does not lie.
 If it seems to tarry, wait for it;
  it will surely come, it will not delay.
 ⁴Look at the proud!
  Their spirit is not right in them,
  but the righteous live by their faith.

Do sad hymns have a place in the church?

Most of us would probably answer “yes” to that question, though in practice the answer is almost always “no.”

Church and worship should be all about rejoicing, praising, and thanking God.  Singing sad songs is like slapping Jesus in the face…  Who wants to be sad in church when there’s so much to be sad about in life?  Shouldn’t this be a happy place?

Looking at the hymnals of the last century, you’d think this was true—because it wasn’t until 2006 when our present hymnal was published that a Lutheran Hymnal contained a collection of songs of lament.  There’s only ten of them—and I can’t recall a single occasion where we’ve sang any but one of them in worship.[1] 

But what are we supposed to do when it hurts so bad that you can’t rejoice, and you can’t praise?

The Old Testament prophet Habakkuk could only do one thing—and that was to lament…

Helplessly, he watched God’s holy nation descend into utter chaos.  The rich exploited the poor with absolute impunity.  Bloodthirsty Babylon, the most powerful nation in the world, was closing in on tiny Israel—all the while God’s people turned to their idols for deliverance. All Habakkuk could do was to cry out to God—because he wasn’t seeing God doing anything. 

All he could say was “how long, O Lord?”

There is nothing more terrifying for the Christian than the silence and the absence of God.

I don’t know about you, but the things going on in the world—and in this community—aren’t exactly filling me with praise…

I see the leaders of giant corporations like Mylan Labs and Wells Fargo stealing the lives and livelihoods their customers and employees—and being rewarded with eight- and nine-figure bonuses for doing it.

I see riots in the cities and racial animosities growing out of control…  I see mass shootings and terrorist attacks becoming almost as frequent as the rain…  I see

I see politicians making more of an effort to destroy their rivals than actually sitting down with them; cooperating and compromising. 

I look at our hometown here—full of good, hard-working people—but there’s nowhere for good people to work hard and earn a living wage. 

I look at our prayer list—knowing that behind each name, there are families and children who are crying out desperately for God’s healing touch.

All you can do is cry, “how long, O Lord; how long?”

We need God to listen. We need God to speak.  We need God to act. 

It’s not a sin to need God—and lament is one of the ways God draws near, when you need God most…

God answers Habakkuk’s lament with a vision called faith, so that you can see beyond the evils to the God who is in the midst of it all; in the world God loves.  God gives a vision called faith, to raise you up off the ground and move you ahead into all that God is doing for the healing and the reconciliation of the world. 

This is a vision that is embodied in the meal we will share around our Lord’s table—where all can come and feast on the bread of life, no matter who you are or what you’ve done.  Here, we are reconciled to each other and to God.  Here, no one who hungers gets turned away. Here, all differences of race, gender, and social class disappear into a mutual belonging.  Here, we live in anticipation of a glorious future God is breathing to life in this world of death.

But as you bring your laments, you must bring your ears—and listen to the laments of others.  This is one of the simplest and most powerful ways you can heal someone who’s hurting. But listening is not enough.  You must make yourself vulnerable to their pain. You need to give graciously—because there is no reconciliation without sacrifice.  There is no progress without compromise.  There is no healing without grace.  That’s on you—not the other… 

I say that because color-blindness isn’t going to cure racism in this country.  Government handouts and economic stimuli are not going to eradicate poverty.  There will always be sicknesses that modern medicine can’t cure.  Self-help books and clichés are not going to bring people out of darkness and despair.  Worship bands and elaborate programs are not going to win people to Jesus. 

Everyone has a cross to bear.  That is why Jesus calls out to you, to bring your cross to his cross.  There, he gives you his body and blood, and draws you into the future that we all wait for in hope.  Until that day comes, he sends you out where God’s children cry in pain, to live into God’s vision of the promised future.

This is Jesus’ vision for you today.  If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay.

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[1] That would be “Just a Closer Walk with Thee,” if you’re wondering…