Welcome/Call to Worship
Good morning! I’m Pastor Ashley Dargai.
As you can see, things are different today. We are online only this Sunday and Nicole, our worship minister, is out of town. We hope to resume in-person services next Sunday. As you prepare for worship at home, I encourage you to light a candle or turn on a lamp. Make sure you have some elements for communion for later in the service.
This morning, we will sing songs of worship, pray together, hear from scripture, as we move toward the pinnacle of our service: the table of our Lord, where we will take the bread and drink the cup in remembrance of our most Gracious Host, Jesus. The purpose of our time together each Sunday is to bring our hearts closer to the heart of God, so I invite you to participate as much or as little in our prepared liturgy as your spirit is willing during this abbreviated service.
A couple of announcements before we begin:
If you missed a Sunday and want to catch up on the worship series, you can listen to our church’s podcast wherever you get your podcasts.
The move into the building is set for this Friday, August 27th! We need volunteers to be at church on Thursday, August 26th around 3:00 pm to start identifying where items need to go. The moving company will then return on the 27th and move everything to the proper location.
September 11 is Azle’s Sting Fling. If you’d like to volunteer to help pass out water bottles at our church’s booth, please email Andrea at secretary@azlechristianchurch.org or let Nancy Robbins know.
September 18 is our Cabinet Retreat here at the church and on Zoom.
Mark your calendars for Wednesday, September 29 for our first Gospels and Groceries event. We’ll host a hymn sing outdoors and collect food for our Little Free Pantry.
Food Hub is this Saturday. There is a sign-up on your eblast to make sure it is fully staffed.
We continue our new series this morning: Homecoming: Stories of Return. Today, we’re returning with the Israelites to Jerusalem to rebuild.
Let’s pray to turn our hearts toward God for this hour.
Spirit of truth, open to us the scriptures, speaking your holy word through song, through the bread and cup, and through offering ourselves, and meet us here today in the living Christ. Amen.
Let us prepare our hearts for worship.
We Gather Together
Pastoral Prayer
The Lord be with you.
Concerns: Nancy Nold’s passing, those who are sick with COVID
Most Holy One, God of the past, God of the present, and God of the coming age, we give thanks for Your enduring love. We are here to hold You to Your promises of presence, of goodness, and of hope.
As we read scriptures this morning of refugees returning to their homeland loaded with blessings and commission to rebuild, we remember those in Afghanistan who have been made refugees without the blessings and commission. Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.
As we read scriptures of families returning to their rubbled homes, we remember those in Haiti, desperately searching through rubble for their loved ones in the wake of the earthquake and tropical storms. Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.
As we read scriptures of people returning to their beloved place of worship as a fragmented people, missing loved ones who have died, we remember the many people in the world, in the country, in this very community, who return to worship and school and work having lost loved ones to COVID, to disasters, and to the processes of life and death. Lord, have mercy. Christ have mercy.
We remember that all children are Yours, and we are all Your children, near and far, young and old. We belong to one another, and we belong to You.
O God, when we feel heavy with the world’s grief, we turn to You, the Creator and Sustainer of us all, the Keeper of all hours. We know that all shall be well, and yet, all is not well right now. We trust in resurrection, but we also reckon with the grip of death today. We believe Your reign is coming and is even here now, but we also live in a world where the rival kingdoms of destruction, greed, and abuse reign.
We re-commit ourselves this morning to being a movement for wholeness in a fragmented world, as our Disciples of Christ motto goes. Make it true, O Holy One. Help us make it true today, this moment.
And we entrust ourselves to the One in whose brokenness we find wholeness, our brother and redeemer Jesus, who taught us to pray…
Our Father, who art in heaven
Hallowed be Thy name
Thy Kingdom come
Thy will be done
On earth as it is in heaven
Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors
And lead us not into temptation
But deliver us from evil
For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever.
Amen.
Children’s Moment
Anthem
Sermon
Ezra 1:1-4; 3:1-4, 10-13
In the first year of King Cyrus of Persia, in order that the word of the Lord by the mouth of Jeremiah might be accomplished, the Lord stirred up the spirit of King Cyrus of Persia so that he sent a herald throughout all his kingdom, and also in a written edict declared:
2 “Thus says King Cyrus of Persia: The Lord, the God of heaven, has given me all the kingdoms of the earth, and has charged me to build a Temple in Jerusalem, in Judah. 3 Any of those among you who are among God’s people—may their God be with them!—are now permitted to go up to Jerusalem in Judah, and rebuild the house of the Lord, the God of Israel—the God who is in Jerusalem; 4 and let all survivors, in whatever place they reside, be assisted by the people of their place with silver and gold, with goods and with animals, besides freewill offerings for the house of God in Jerusalem.”
3:1 When the seventh month came, and the Israelites were in the towns, the people gathered together in Jerusalem. 2 Then Jeshua son of Jozadak, with his fellow priests, and Zeru-bbabel son of Shealtiel with his kin set out to build the altar of the God of Israel, to offer burnt offerings on it, as prescribed in the law of Moses the man of God. 3 They set up the altar on its foundation, because they were in dread of the neighboring peoples, and they offered burnt offerings upon it to the Lord, morning and evening. 4 And they kept the festival of booths, as prescribed, and offered the daily burnt offerings by number according to the ordinance, as required for each day…
10 When the builders laid the foundation of the temple of the Lord, the priests in their vestments were stationed to praise the Lord with trumpets, and the Levites, the sons of Asaph, with cymbals, according to the directions of King David of Israel; 11 and they sang responsively, praising and giving thanks to the Lord,
“For the Most High is good, whose steadfast love endures forever toward Israel.”
And all the people responded with a great shout when they praised the Lord, because the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid. 12 But many of the priests and Levites and heads of families, old people who had seen the first house on its foundations, wept with a loud voice when they saw this house, though many shouted aloud for joy, 13 so that the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people’s weeping, for the people shouted so loudly that the sound was heard far away.
This is the word of God for the people of God. Thanks be to God.
Dear God,
It’s me again, Israel. I’ve been adjusting since the move, but since we arrived in Jerusalem almost a year ago, I figured I should write to you.
We are home safe, finally, though Babylon is technically the only home I’ve ever known. My grandparents left Jerusalem when they were just kids after watching their friends killed and their beloved city destroyed. They still get teary-eyed when they tell the story of the day the Temple fell. They say it was like the world went dark and the light of their hearts went cold. The poets wrote a lot about that time. My grandparents’ go-to lament begins, “How lonely sits the city that once was full of people.” They like to quote that line to me when I haven’t spent enough time with them.
And now, we’re back in the city of their heritage, of my heritage, I guess. But they are not as happy as I thought they would be.
You see, they go from tent to tent asking about friends they left behind, and they keep getting bad news. Grandfather has gone almost completely silent at dinner time. He walks the streets where he grew up, but it’s still mostly rubble. It’s like he has retreated far into the past in his mind and can’t find his way back.
Grandmother weeps in the kitchen every day. One moment, she’s cleaning up after our snacks, the next moment, she’s on her knees in tears.
Last week, the men in the city, the ones who returned, rebuilt the altar and threw a big party. They built it where the altar was in the Temple before it was destroyed all those years ago. I know they intend to rebuild the Temple eventually because I hear my grandfather whispering with the other old men in town about how “the Temple will never be as glorious as it was under Solomon.”
The priest, Jeshua, offered burnt offerings on it for the Festival of Booths. And it was fascinating because while many of the elders laughed in joy, others wept. It was hard to distinguish the sound between the two. This was my first time to observe the Festival of Booths in Jerusalem. And even though I had observed all of our holy days back in Babylon, quietly and without fanfare lest we be punished, it was different to do it in Jerusalem.
On one hand, so many people have memories of the real thing, or what those who were here before call the real thing. They remember the days-long parties and the elaborate ceremony of it all. They remember the feasting and the songs.
But I carry with me the memory of how we’ve done it in the interim time, the only time I’ve known. The observance of holy days and the Torah, in Babylon, was how I came to know You, God. If it wasn’t how my grandfather did it, does it still count?
I wish my dad was here to give me some help figuring this out. He was killed by the Babylonians two years ago, before Great King Cyrus came to power and had mercy on us all. I bet he would have loved to see Grandmother and Grandfather in Jerusalem. He grew up hearing even more stories than me.
But I know his upbringing was difficult, too. I mean, all the changes in my grandparents’ lives really did a number on them. I remember dad telling us they used to scream in their sleep when he was little. They went days without talking. Sometimes grandfather would disappear for an evening and return home drunk, singing songs in Hebrew as grandmother tried to hush him so he wouldn’t wake the kids.
I wonder what dad would say about this return. What would he have to say about his parents’ mixed emotions and the surprising bitterness of some of the elders? What would he say about the resentment of the neighboring peoples that we’re back?
What would he say about how the people who have returned treat the ones who stayed here all along? Sure, those who stayed don’t have two shekels to rub together, but they at least weren’t under the thumb of the Babylonians all those years. Of course, they couldn’t rebuild for fear of retribution, but they stayed. That has to count for something. But that doesn’t seem to register with the people who are bent on forcing their way of life back in to Jerusalem.
I bet dad would embrace his long-lost people and trade stories of time past. I bet they’d whisper late into the night about the trauma their parents endured and pray that this next phase of life was different for us.
I bet he’d sneak me home some sweets like old times. I miss him. It’s hard to be here by myself, God. I know I have family here, but I sometimes feel so alone in everything that is going on. It feels like I’m the one buried under the rubble, the weight of the world on my chest, making it hard to breathe, even harder to sleep. So much change. So much to process. And the people I want to talk to most are either gone or lost in their own grief.
And of course, mother. I don’t remember her, obviously, since she died giving birth to me. But everyone tells me she was beautiful and spirited. That her eyes twinkled in the candlelight celebrations.
Whenever I was scared at night, dad used to tell me about her. And he would quote things she would say when she was pregnant with me. Lots of those things were Psalms about Your goodness of course as she was a devout Jewish woman, but there were a couple of irreverent proverbs I probably shouldn’t include in this letter to You, God.
But my favorite was what she would say to dad when he would start spiraling in his weariness working as a captive and worrying about his parents and wondering if his generation’s job was to help the elders move on from Jerusalem or keep hoping they’d return one day. She’d stroke his beard and say, “Oh, love. Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly now, love mercy now, walk humbly now. We are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are we free to abandon it.”
It’s hard to return as a fragmented people. Our loved ones are missing the great reunion. Some are still on their way, but will everyone make it? Will everyone even want to return? This is not what I thought it would be. Like it could be beautiful, and I hope it will be. I can just picture us reading the Torah together in awe once we’re all back in the Temple. All of us holding our breath in wonder and gratefulness, just glad to be together, even if things are not the same as they were. We could make it to that moment, I’m sure of it.
And even though this return is so different than I thought it would be when we first heard King Cyrus was going to let us come back, I’m glad to be with my grandparents.
You know, even though her weeping make me uncomfortable sometimes, I hope I can grieve like my grandmother when the time comes for her to return to You. I have always appreciated her honesty. She takes our religious call to lament seriously. She told me one day as she was wiping her eyes that she wasn’t mourning, she was praying. They just look the same. And I like that. Maybe I should pray a little more.
And even though he is not himself right now, I hope I can have the courage to return like grandfather. I’m sure he wishes he could return to a Jerusalem in its former glory, bubbling up with the life he remembers, the good ol’ days. But I admire how even with all of his dashed hopes and painful memories, he still returns. He keeps showing up to the site of his grief and meeting it like a companion. Maybe I can be brave like that one day.
And dad. Even though he’s not here, he had a way of making our small dinner table seem so big. There was no shortage of guests and visitors who became friends—even the people who grandfather would look at sideways at the beginning of the evening would eventually win him over. I bet dad would do that here, too.
We’d share a small loaf of bread and the last of the wine brought from Babylon, and somehow, we’d all get our fill. We’d tell the tales of our ancestors who wandered the wilderness and worshiped under the stars in temporary tents, and recount their daily manna as evidence of Your abundant goodness, and somehow, grandfather would link that ancient time to this present moment. He’d pinch the time together and we’d all realize the table we’re all gathered around is a lot longer than it was when we set out the plates. Help me remember that tonight, God, as grandfather eats silently and grandmother wipes her tears away. This moment is not all there is to our story.
And mom would keep us accountable to the work. What was it Jeremiah said when everyone was carried off to Babylon? “A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted.”
Mother Rachel weeps for those who were carried off, for those who stayed, for those who are no more. She is our universal mother as she was the mother of Jacob. And then Jeremiah told us that God said, the reward for the work of each other, is that we would one day return. And here we are. Vindication for Mother Rachel’s tears.
Still more tears to be shed, I know. But it’s a good reminder to keep working for wholeness, for healing, for the return of all that is good.
Mother Rachel, mom, would want us to continue the work of each other—the long, long line of who God calls children. I imagine mom would push us out the door each morning with a smile, shouting, “You don’t have to do it all. Just be faithful today!”
Well, God. We’re here. We’re back, finally. Some of us are back for the first time. I think we’ll figure things out. We’ve made it this long as Your people, after all.
The future will not be the past, but what is the same throughout all ages is Your presence. That we know from the many stories of our people.
Sorry it took so long for me to write.
Sincerely,
Israel
“Come Share the Lord”
Table Meditation
When Jesus sat at the table with his disciples for that last meal, he told them to eat in remembrance of him. He could have asked them to something impressive or mystical—like climb a mountain, fast for forty days, or make a pilgrimage to a faraway land—but instead, he picks the most ordinary of acts to be present with his people: eating. He says that bread is his body and the wine is his blood. Average and abundant, bread and wine.
And if all the cathedrals on earth were gone, all of the most beautiful religious art disappeared, and all of the world’s most valuable treasures texts thrown out, Christians could and would still worship together around the table. To have church, all we need is Word and Sacrament.
Christ is our bread and gives us bread. He is the gift and the giver. And Christ is present in every meal we eat, no matter if we’re munching on wafers that taste like styrofoam or warm, freshly baked bread. Each meal points us to the source of our eternal nourishment—Christ.
Words of Institution:
It is with this hope that we tell the story each week that on the night he was betrayed, Jesus broke the bread and said, “This is my body, broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”
And then he took the cup also and said, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Drink it in remembrance of me.
For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” All are welcome at the Table of Christ.
Join in me prayer.
Most Gracious Host, we give thanks that in the sacrament given to us to remember You, we get to be human. We get to eat and drink—necessary biological impulses responsible for sustaining life. We don’t have to push the limits of our humanity or defy gravity, but rather we get to be who You made us to be. Humans, beloved and invited by You. Bless this bread and cup today as we share in it apart. May it bring us closer to one another if even for a moment. In Christ’s name we pray, amen.
Sharing Our Resources
We are grateful for the continued generosity of this church.
I invite you to give to Azle Christian Church to resource our various ministries whether it’s to help community members in times of crisis and need or to help fund our youth program or to contribute to the various ways we gather together as a church community.
You can give financially by mailing your offering to the church, giving online on our website or finding us on Venmo.
Invitation
If you’d like to become a member of this cozy faith community, or if you’d like to become a disciple of Jesus, please talk to me or Pastor Katie after service.
Benediction
Before we sing the Doxology together this morning, let’s receive our benediction this morning.
May the peace of Christ go with you
Wherever he may send you
May he guide you through the wilderness
And protect you the storm
May he bring you home rejoicing
At the wonders he has shown you
May he bring you home rejoicing
Once again into our doors.
Amen.