"Who is here among you that remembers this house in its former glory?“ Most of you, right?
Do you remember how things were, a couple of months into the rebuilding process, when the debris had been cleared away but the rebuilding hadn’t really begun yet. The shock of the fire and the adrenaline of deciding to rebuild had worn off. The ground was bare, everyone’s energy was going into fund-raising efforts, the endless bureaucratic nitpicking that goes into getting building permits and all the rest of the paperwork was taking its toll, and the foundations had yet to be laid for the new building. Do you remember all that?
If you do, you probably have a pretty fair start on understanding how the people of Jerusalem felt that fall. It was just after the feast of Tabernacles, the fall harvest festival, in the second year of King Darius. That’s 520 BC to those of you who don’t have the dates of the Persian Kings by heart. Mind you, it had been sixteen years since the Persian King Cyrus had let the exiles in Babylon go back to Jerusalem, and they still hadn’t finished rebuilding, but let’s be fair. Most of the exiles - especially the successful, prosperous, ones - had stayed back in Babylon. They were having to rebuild not only the temple, but a new economy and a new culture. City dwellers for the last fifty years, they were having to relearn farming in Judea’s never very fertile soil. The harvests had been poor, the infrastructure was nonexistent, and their new neighbors, especially the Samaritans, were hostile. So all they did in those years was to rebuild the altar and offer a few half-hearted sacrifices. And then during the two years after Cyrus’s death, the usual rebellions sprang up in the surrounding countries while the Persian nobles fought over the empty throne. When things settled down with Darius on top of the heap, the Samaritans thought maybe they could get Darius to renege on Cyrus’ promise to let the Jews rebuild. It didn’t work, but that was just one more roadblock the returned exiles had to deal with. They were not pumped for the task. In fact, it had taken direct orders from God, almost two months before, to get them started again.
So there they were, just after their annual Thanksgiving feast, such as it was, looking at the size of the task ahead of them. It was to take another five years before it was completed, and at this point probably all they had done was clear away the remains of the sixty-year-old ruin and start sorting out what could be re-used and what had to be carted away and dumped. Maybe they’d gotten as far as making a list of the materials they’d need. But one thing was for sure.
This was not the way it used to be.
I can hear ‘em, can’t you? “Tell us what it was like when you were young,” and the stories would begin. “You should have seen it in the old days,” the stories would begin. “The doors were covered with gold, the walls were of cedar, all the temple furnishings were silver and gold and ivory and bronze.” Every festival day the temple would be filled with people all dressed in their finest; people all over the world knew of the splendor of Jerusalem.” And perhaps the old men and women would begin to weep, and throw ashes on their heads as a sign of mourning for what was gone. And the young people would be quiet, and look at their efforts, and know they could never equal - much less surpass - the beloved memories.
So there they are, emotionally if not literally in sackcloth and ashes, looking despondently on how bad everything was and thinking nostalgically about how good everything used to be and absolutely certain that no matter what they do it will never measure up to the past.
Is there any wonder I thought about poor Cinderella? I’ll bet all she wanted was to have things back the way they used to be, you know, the way they had been before her father married that scheming - er, witch - with the two greedy daughters. But of course, she knew it wouldn’t happen. So she wept, and scrubbed the pots, and dreamed dreams.
Our church actually is in a whole lot better shape than Jerusalem’s temple was back in those days. First of all, the church is built! It may not be as big as the old one, and we may not have stained glass yet, but I only hear the occasional faint sigh for the old one. We’ve really done well at letting go of the past and looking forward to the future.
And there’s another difference, too. Haggai had to talk to his people about more than getting the temple built. At the beginning of the book God has him criticize the people for putting more into building their homes than the temple, and calls them to account for not putting God first and trusting him to take care of their needs. And later on, at the end of chapter 2, he takes them to task for forgetting the importance of purity. He reminds them of two very important principles: First, that God does not accept gifts from impure hands, and second, that God will bless those who are careful to obey him. Of course we can always benefit from being reminded of these truths.
But I think the message for us today is a different one.
It’s one that applies both to this particular congregation and to the Christian church in the West as a whole. All of what we used to call Christendom is, in fact, in exactly the place Haggai and his people were. The task ahead was to build a new and different church on the foundations of the old, surrounded by hostile influences and burdened with memories of a more secure and prosperous time. And there are three possible ways to respond to this new reality.
The first response is to assimilate. Many people argue that in today’s hostile environment we have to keep our heads down and avoid giving offense. You’ve know how the mainstream media talks about conservative Christians - that is, those of us who believe the Bible is authoritative and that traditional morality is not out of style and that Jesus Christ is the only way to reconciliation to God. At best we’re considered irrelevant, and at worst we’re considered actual threats to the public peace. And so of course it’s safer to stay quiet. But you already know what I think of that response, so I won’t spend any more time on it.
The second response is to try to remake things just the way they used to be. We remember programs and events and structures that were meaningful for us, that meant “Christian” to us, and wonder how we can make it be that way again. That applies equally to programs within the church, to the church’s role in society, and to our culture itself. It’s not going to happen, though. Businesses are still going to be open on Sundays, public schools will still exclude religion to one degree or another, churches will continue to lose preferred status with zoning and tax regulations, and so on. We do live in a different world, and it is going to get more different, and more difficult, not less. It is we who will have to change. Jesus Christ will not change, nor the message of the Gospel. But we will have to try new things, reach out in new ways, and probably discard some old ways. But if we cling to Jesus Christ, and look to him for our guidance and inspiration, then we will wind up where God is calling us to go.
And that’s the essence of the third response, which is to move forward in faith into a new reality, a new church, one very different from the old one but even more glorious. Let’s look again at verse 4 of our text:
'"...take courage, all you people of the land," says the LORD; "work, for I am with you, says the LORD of hosts... My Spirit abides among you; fear not." For thus says the LORD of hosts: "Once again, in a little while, I will shake the heavens and the earth and the sea and the dry land; and I will shake all nations, so that the treasures of all nations shall come in, and I will fill this house with splendor," says the LORD of hosts. "The silver is mine, and the gold is mine," says the LORD of hosts. "The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former," says the LORD of hosts; and in this place I will give prosperity," says the LORD of hosts."'
Do you suppose Cinderella ever dreamed of a Prince? I suspect that all she dared raise her eyes to dream of was clean clothes and good food. And maybe a little kindness. To belong, once again. And I expect sometimes she got pretty tired, and pretty discouraged, and wondered if maybe she was a fool to dream at all.
Waiting is hard, especially when you don’t know how long it will be, or just exactly what you’re waiting for. It was over twenty years after the exiles returned before the second temple was completed. And it was never what they hoped it would be, never what Haggai seemed to have promised. It was almost another five hundred before Herod the Great started on the first century equivalent of the Crystal Cathedral. And that one only lasted seventy years.
The new temple, it seemed, wasn’t to be built of stones, but of people, a new people. Who would have dreamed?
What do we dream of? Do we dream big? Or do we just ask for enough to keep on going as we always have? What do we want God to do for us? What do we want God to do with us? The only limits we have are our own, because God’s providence has no limits.
'“The silver is mine, and the gold is mine,” says the LORD of hosts. "The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former," says the LORD of hosts; "and in this place I will give prosperity," says the LORD of hosts.'
Let’s start dreaming again, and let’s ask God to help us dream big and believe in the future he has for us. Because even though we are small, we are large in hope, and rich in the unshakable promises of our God. Our Prince has already come, and he will come again. Once he came in humility, poverty, and obscurity. But the next time he will come in triumph and glory, and all nations will see clearly at last, and bring their tribute to Jesus Christ the Lord.
