Lion’s Roar

A Sermon preached at Southminster Presbyterian Church in Boise, Idaho

Aug 1, 2010

Hosea 11:1-11

When Israel was a child, I loved him,
and out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them,
the more they went from me;
they kept sacrificing to the Baals,
and offering incense to idols.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.
I was to them like those
who lift infants to their cheeks.
I bent down to them and fed them.

They shall return to the land of Egypt,
and Assyria shall be their king,
because they have refused to return to me.
The sword rages in their cities,
it consumes their oracle-priests,
and devours because of their schemes.
My people are bent on turning away from me.
To the Most High they call,
but he does not raise them up at all.

How can I give you up, Ephraim?
How can I hand you over, O Israel?
How can I make you like Admah?
How can I treat you like Zeboiim?
My heart recoils within me;
my compassion grows warm and tender.
I will not execute my fierce anger;
I will not again destroy Ephraim;
for I am God and no mortal,
the Holy One in your midst,
and I will not come in wrath.

They shall go after the LORD,
who roars like a lion;
when he roars,
his children shall come trembling from the west.
They shall come trembling like birds from Egypt,
and like doves from the land of Assyria;
and I will return them to their homes, says the LORD.

The Book of Hosea is a good illustration of why we should take the Bible seriously, but not take it literally. Because Hosea is filled with all kinds of metaphor and imagery. In the beginning of the book, God gives Hosea an odd instruction: “When the LORD first spoke through Hosea, the LORD said to Hosea, “Go, take for yourself a wife of whoredom and have children of whoredom, for the land commits great whoredom by forsaking the LORD.”

The idea that Israel, by following false Gods, was behaving as a spouse who doesn’t just cheat on their spouse, but does so for supposed gain as a prostitute. But the imagery is strong, none the less. Because nobody wants to be in a relationship with someone who intentionally hurts them. And, for Hosea, that is exactly how it felt for God to be in the covenantal relationship with the fickle and unfaithful Israelites.

By the time Hosea is writing, in the 8th century BCE, the Northern Kingdom is about to fall to Assyria. Hosea sees a direct connection between this failure of the Nation and the behavior of the King and the people. Worshipping other Gods, seeking alliances and making compromises with other nations, rather than trusting in God. For Hosea, these actions are proof of Israel’s infidelity and their tendency to prostitute themselves to their neighbors.

But by the time we get to chapter 11, which we read this morning, we have some additional imagery. In this chapter, God takes on the role of parent.

When Israel was a child, I loved him,
and out of Egypt I called my son.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.
I was to them like those
who lift infants to their cheeks.
I bent down to them and fed them.

Whether or not we are parents, we have seen parents doing exactly what God did for Israel. Holding out arms and encouraging a toddler to take their first steps, all the while ready to catch them before they fall. Kissing boo-boos and putting Hello Kitty band aids on invisible wounds. Giving hugs and lots of affection because it is just what parents do. And it is how children grow up to be secure and confident in themselves. Knowing that they are loved.

Being followers of Christ is no guarantee of the easy life, or the tame life. But it is the rewarding life. And today Hosea calls us to remember that life to which we have been called. To listen for the roar of God’s voice calling us home. Because God will continue to roar until all of God’s children are safely home. May it be so. Amen.

But the truth is that we don’t consciously remember our own childhoods, at least not the early parts.   I have pictures from my first Christmas, just a few days after my parents adopted me. But I don’t remember that Christmas. But in the photo, I can see my mother looking at me, not leaving my face to smile for the camera. In this image, I remember that I am loved.

I have pictures from the day I was baptized. I also don’t remember that day. But I see the people in my life who gathered to welcome me into the Faith. My parents, grandparents. My sister. Our next door neighbors, who stood in as my godparents. Visible signs of the communion of saints. I don’t remember that day, but through this picture, I can remember my baptism and I can remember the people who love me and who brought me up in the faith.

That is what Hosea gives us in this chapter—Israel’s family album. So that we can look through it and remember how much God loves us.

We’ve heard the story of Israel before. The Old Testament tells us again and again of God’s love for Israel and of Israel’s tendency to walk away from that love. Again. And again. And again.

But while Hosea does hit Israel over the head with reminders of her infidelity, he wants to do more. He wants them to REMEMBER.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.
I was to them like those
who lift infants to their cheeks.
I bent down to them and fed them.

Hosea wants Israel to look back at their collective memories and to remember who they are and whose they are. He wants them to remember how much they are loved and cared for. He wants them to remember their covenant relationship with the God who has delivered them from slavery in Egypt.

This part of the text reminded me of the Prodigal Son text in Luke’s gospel. He takes his inheritance from his father, while his father is not yet dead, and then he squanders his inheritance on, how shall we say, bad choices. He wakes up one morning, homeless, hungry, and wishing he had even the food to eat that he was feeding someone’s pigs. And the text says, “when he came to himself”. When he remembered who he was and whose he was, he realized he could go home again. He remembered the love of his father whose heart he had broken. And he went home. He remembered and repented and had his relationship with his family restored.

This is what Hosea offers in the 11th chapter.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.

But then there’s the whole Assyrian invasion problem. The behavior of God’s people leads them into some dangerous situations, like invasion, destruction, and exile at the hands of the Assyrians. Our behavior, and the behavior of others, does that to us as well. We end up far away from home, starving in a pigsty like the prodigal son. We end up in exile in Assyria, or alcohol, or homelessness, or whatever it may look like for each of us.

And the text tells us that God can’t just leave us there.

How can I give you up, Ephraim?
How can I hand you over, O Israel?
My heart recoils within me;
my compassion grows warm and tender.
I will not execute my fierce anger;
I will not again destroy Ephraim;

As we navigate this earthly life, things are going to happen to us that cause us pain and sadness. And those things cause God pain and sadness too. “My heart recoils within me. my compassion grows warm and tender”.
And this is where we realize that God’s love for us is different than our human relationships—even the best human relationships. Because God, who calls us, again and again, to return to God, has the right to be angry with us when we don’t repent. God has every right to leave us to our own destruction and the messes we make.

But God doesn’t do that.
I will not execute my fierce anger;
I will not again destroy Ephraim;
for I am God and no mortal,
the Holy One in your midst,
and I will not come in wrath.

God chooses not to exercise God’s fierce anger and Hosea reminds us why: because God is God and no mortal—the Holy One in your midst.

Friends, God’s voice will roar and call us and, quite frankly, scare the pants off of us at times. Yet, like Israel, we are called to remember God’s claim on our lives. We are called to remember exactly who we are and whose we are. Like Israel, we are called to remember and to have faith in the gifts God has given us.

This is Good News! God NEVER gives up on us. Even after we have given up on ourselves and given up on others, God remains on our side. For God is God and no mortal, the Holy One in our midst.

This is Good News, for sure. But it is not necessarily easy news. God is not all sweetness, light, and cute little puppies. Hosea describes the return of the people to God like this:

They shall go after the LORD,
who roars like a lion;
when he roars,
his children shall come trembling from the west.
They shall come trembling like birds from Egypt,
and like doves from the land of Assyria;
and I will return them to their homes, says the LORD.
I can’t help but think of CS Lewis when I read this last section from Hosea. In the Chronicle of Narnia books, Aslan is the Christ-like lion who helps and guides the characters through their journeys in Narnia. But the characters in the books take care to remind people that “Aslan is not a tame lion.” I don’t know how much time you have spent in the presence of a lion, personally, but it isn’t something that sounds comfortable, safe, or even vaguely relaxing.

God’s call to us is like that. God roars like a lion and when God roars, we shall come trembling from wherever it is we have been scattered.

The difficult truth in this passage is that God’s voice is not the comfortable one in our lives. The sweet and pleasant voice in our lives might be the one Israel heard, telling us to rely on Egypt, or to rely on any power but God’s. Yet God’s voice of steadfast love roars at us.

Or it might be the quiet voice that tells us that we are just fine on our own, that we are better looking out only for ourselves, causing us to forsake each other, our community, and the Kingdom work that God has in store for us. Yet God’s voice of justice and compassion roars at us to love each other, to care for those less fortunate, to reach out in love.

The comfortable voice might be the one that tells us we can keep quiet when people are victims of prejudice, hate, and bigotry. Yet God’s voice roars at us to stand with the oppressed, the outcast, and to hear the voices of those long silenced.