New Year, New Fear?

Is it too late to wish you a happy new year?  I’m sure there must be some convention here to follow; a piece of good etiquette that says something along the lines of “new year’s wishes may be conferred upon others up until midday on the Feast of Epiphany, unless there was resting snow on New Year’s Day, in which case – in exceptional circumstances – you may continue to wish someone a happy new year until the first bells of Evensong on the following Sunday”.

If that etiquette exists, I must confess my ignorance as to not knowing it, and so I’d like to take this opportunity this morning to wish you a happy new year. May it be kind to you.

I think we could do with a kind year, don’t you? The past two years have been hard and cruel. They’ve changed us. None of us are the same people we were this time in 2019; our lives have become smaller and more insular. We’ve lost colleagues, friends and loved ones. Covid has changed our plans and rewritten our rules and – even if we have managed to swerve the disease itself – its mere presence in our society will have a lasting impact on our personality and our identity for years to come.

It’s completely understandable then, if you’re treating this coming year with trepidation. I remember in January 2021, the virulence at which society as a whole said a hearty ‘good riddance’ to 2020, but not so this year; we’re more wary of 2022 than we were of 2021, almost as if it’s some kind of potential Dr Who villain – keep looking it in the eye, don’t blink, and 2022 cannot sneak up on us!

Our Old Testament reading today speaks to a people burdened by fear and crushed by the circumstances of life. Does that sound familiar? I really don’t think the similarities can be overemphasised. The Israelites were enslaved and afraid… and so are we. Not enslaved by the Babylonians, this is true; but we are at the mercy of a virus that has dictated where we can go, who we can see, and how we can love. It threatens us with unpredicted mutations and has no qualms about reminding us of the times we were literally imprisoned within our own homes.

So, to the people of Israel, and to you today, God speaks through the poet:

Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by your name, you are mine.

This whole poem is a poem of comfort. We think of the Old Testament prophets often as prophets of doom, foretelling death and destruction, but – as I said in my Advent sermon on the prophets – Biblical prophecy is not about telling the future; it’s about telling forth a message from, or about, God. And God’s message to the people of Israel, and to you, is one of comfort; do not fear.

But why? Why should we not fear for the future? Covid has changed our identity, it has rewritten our lives, it owns us now, doesn’t it?

No, says God. Covid has not changed who you are; I named you and I called you. You do not belong to Covid. You are mine.

Despite all appearances, the people of Israel were not owned the Babylonians. They belonged to God.

We have not been owned by Covid. We belong to God.

But there is no denying the situation in which we find ourselves. Covid may not own us, but it surrounds us. It’s overwhelming us, isn’t it? Our lives are consumed by it.

The poet goes on:

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;

When you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

And the flames will not consume you…

Do not fear; for I am with you.

You may be surrounded, you may be in its midst, but Covid will not overwhelm. It will not consume. Do not fear; God is with you. With you in your troubles, with you in the flood and with you in the flames.

Trials and tragedies happen, and they will continue to happen, but God has promised to be alongside you when they do.

But why? Why would God be there for me? Sure, I can see that he might for others, but me?

Why? Replies God through the prophet, why you?

Because you are precious in my sight,

and honoured, and I love you.

That’s why.

You belong to God. And God is with you in whatever circumstances you find yourself in. Because you are precious, honoured and loved by God. So, do not be afraid.

Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by your name, you are mine.

But sometimes, we need a sign, don’t we? A sign to remind us and to rekindle the comfort promised by God.

Well, today, we heard in our Gospel reading something that points towards that sign. Today is the festival of the baptism of Christ; the foundation for our own baptism, in which we are named, in which we are called into God’s family and claimed for his own, in which we mark the beginning of a journey where God will be by our side – in whatever circumstances in which we find ourselves – for the rest of our lives.

In our baptism of water and of the fire of the Holy Spirit, we are confirmed as precious and honoured and loved by God.

Does any of this sound familiar? It is the comfort of Isaiah’s poem. And the sign is there, right by the door you walk through each time you enter or exit this building – the baptismal font; a sign of your redemption, your calling and the comforting promise of God amidst the flood and the fire.

Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by your name, you are mine.

Amen