Isaiah 25:1-10a
Background Scripture: Daniel 6:10-28
The first time I went to San Francisco wasn’t for sourdough or chocolate. It was to honor the memory of victims of the Holocaust, specifically gay men. Dr. Susan Eischeid, a professor who specializes in music of the Holocaust, raised money to commission a symphonic work as one of the few memorials to these men. The “Sonate für Oboe und Klavier mit Männerchor, Opus 55” was written by Stefan Heucke, a gay German composer. The final movement was a slow, haunting lament. The men’s chorus sang the names of those who wore the pink triangle. They sang so softly. I couldn’t have turned away if I had tried.
Homosexuality was illegal in Nazi Germany. Gays were considered a threat to racial purity, so they were sentenced to the horrors of concentration camps. After the war, homosexuality was still illegal in liberated Germany and would be for decades. Therefore, pink triangle prisoners went from the camps to prison to finish their sentences. Once they were released, many chose to shroud their time in the camps and prison in silence. If people found out their history, life as they knew it would be shattered.
That evening in San Francisco, the voices of those long silenced were given space. The program was poignant and disturbing, but there was something else: I became a witness.
Gina Roitman read her poem “Der Hundertfünfundsieziger (The 175er),” named after the law code for the crime of homosexuality. Speaking as a pink triangle prisoner, she said:
For acceptance
I swallowed my story, stone by stone,
erased myself for your comfort, disappeared,
my pink triangle buried in a deep dresser drawer
…I cannot speak until you see me.
So much of the past has been lost because “history is written by the victors” — and victors, those with power, have prejudices. By saying the names of those who wore the pink triangle, we rejected the easy, often-presented narrative. We honored those pushed to the margins of history.
A song of future hopes
In the 8th century, massive empires competed for dominance, caring little for the people harmed by their ambitions. Israel’s land had strategic value. Therefore, the Hebrew people were no strangers to raging armies that left rubble in their wake. The Assyrian Empire was powerful and hungry. Unlike other nations at the time, Assyria’s King Tiglath-Pileser III raised a standing army. This well-trained fighting force was devastating to their enemies.
In Isaiah 24, the prophet foretells the ultimate destruction of earth and its people. When God rises in judgment, even the sun and moon are humbled. To a people who have been at war or in fear of war for generations, the notion of God holding the enemy accountable is ineffably powerful. Delivered as a nation, today’s reading shows Israel’s worshipful response. Isaiah has told them that God is still in control. However unstoppable the Assyrians seemed, God is able to stop them because God cares about Judah. God cares about those in distress.
When the Hebrew people left Egypt, they had to depend on God for the food and water that enabled them to survive. Now, in this victory, God is setting a table again. Isaiah foretells a future where the endless war is over, where God swallows up the shroud of death and wipes away every tear. In this moment, the meal is more extravagant than any of us could imagine. However, there is a catch: this feast is for all people, including the Assyrians. It is an image of God’s ultimate care for all nations. In the future, God will bring justice and unity.
After war or a prolonged period of abuse, we can be tempted to revel in thoughts of vengeance or to forget the innocent caught in the crosshairs of hate. We convince ourselves that the ideal world is one where we are in charge, and everything is according to our needs and desires. That’s not where God is leading us, though. When Daniel was in the lion’s den, he didn’t survive by massacring his foe. He was thrown in with the lions and waited for God. Even King Darius, who had sentenced him to the pit, acknowledged the indomitable God who delivers and rescues. Daniel, the background reading for today, shows us that there is a way to stop making war on one another that comes down to each of us. War ends when we see the humanity in all who have been harmed, when we work for the good of all, and when we commit to radical trust in God.
The Isaiah passage ends with a judgment on Moab – once again celebrating an enemy’s comeuppance. We see our own humanity reflected all too clearly as the possibility of perfect peace is overshadowed by our desire for vengeance. We say we want peace, but we still want to watch our enemies suffer. We say we care about the downtrodden until they’re people that make us uncomfortable. We want to feast on the mountain with God, but we want to keep erasing those we don’t like.
Nazis thought that gay men were subhuman, so they sent them to their deaths. But even when gay men were freed, German society at the time wouldn’t make room for them at the table. Surely a lot of Judahites didn’t want Assyria or Babylon or Moab to experience God’s loving kindness. Isaiah 25 is the song of our highest hopes, and it reminds us of the work we still need to do. To sing along, we should remember that the song is calling us to see and be seen in peace, joy, and abundance. Who is our enemy?
Questions for discussion
- What would you need to do to sit at a table with those who have harmed you and those you have harmed?
- What does it mean to witness to suffering while we wait for God’s salvation? How can we translate this into action?
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