This is what the Lord says – He Who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters, Who drew out the chariots and horses, the army and reinforcements together, and they lay there, never to rise again, extinguished, snuffed out like a wick: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland. The wild animals honour me, the jackals and the owls, because I provide water in the desert and streams in the wasteland, to give drink to My people, My chosen, the people I formed for Myself that they may proclaim My praise.” (Isaiah 43:16-21)

 = = = = = = = = = =

     I have a colleague who I understand sometimes chooses the passage we read from Isaiah as the basis for her wedding services. I’ve known that for a while, although I’ve never really thought much about the choice, except to reflect that it seemed to me to be an odd choice for such an occasion. I usually stick with the old reliables at weddings – “love is patient, love is kind” from 1 Corinthians 13, or “what God has joined together let man not separate” from Genesis 2. Perhaps I’m too tradition-bound, and so when this reading from Isaiah appeared in the lectionary for this week, I found myself reflecting upon my colleague’s choice, and why she would make that choice. Couples who are about to get married have usually waited for a while before they get married, and their families have usually waited for a while for them to do it. Then, when the day comes, a group of people gather together – the couple, their family and friends, the minister, the organist – all the people whose presence will make the day a meaningful one, who have come together from every stage and corner of the couple’s life, some of whom are a big part of their past, and people wait and watch expectantly and participate in the service as we celebrate this daring new thing the couple are doing. Some people today think marriage is somewhat anti-climactic because so many couples live together (sometimes for a long time) before they get married, but the reality is (as I always tell couples in that situation) that as much as some want to argue  that the proverbial “piece of paper” doesn’t make a difference, in fact it does. That “piece of paper” represents a commitment – and once you’ve made the commitment it’s not easy or comfortable to get out of it. Anyone who’s ever gone through the end of a marriage can probably testify to that. I think those who argue that a”piece of paper” doesn’t make a difference are really saying that they just don’t want to deal with the commitment and potential inconvenience the “piece of paper” represents – because that “piece of paper” does make a difference. It changes things. It is, in fact, quite a thing to suddenly realize that you’ve stepped into a future that’s unknown and that you’re suddenly walking on a path that you haven’t yet walked. Entering marriage is, in a way, like entering a wilderness – it’s a beautiful one to be sure, but it’s a wilderness all the same in the sense that there’s nothing safe, tame or predictable about this new journey. Having thought about all that, I now have a better understanding of my colleague’s choice. There is something meaningful in sharing with a newly married couple these words: “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”

     Even outside the context of marriage, though, the passage is still a curious one. “Do not remember the former things”? That’s not what our counselors and psychologists tell us. They have a word for someone who refuses to deal with the past: the word is “denial,” and it’s not a quality you especially want. People in denial are like ostriches who stick their heads in the sand, or a person who pretends that everything is fine, normal, when an enormous elephant is sitting in the middle of the living room. “Do not remember the former things”? That’s not what our teachers tell us. Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it is what I remember my history professors saying, and often a simple look at the newspaper is enough to convince me of that truth. “Do not remember the former things”? That’s not what our religious leaders tell us. Those of us who try to live as people of faith have traditions and stories, and scriptures that we practice and read over and over again. It’s not our business to forget tradition. We try to remember it and to honour it - honestly and faithfully. “Do not remember the former things”? How are we supposed to read that when it seems so contradictory to everything we’ve been taught and everything we do?

     There is the obvious, of course: for a newly married couple, Isaiah’s words about “doing a new thing” hit the nail on the head. For newlyweds, there are a lot of new things: new spouse, new families, new names and a variety of other new things. But those new things settle down to routine things, and soon enough the newlyweds are just “old-marrieds”; or the new city you’ve moved to becomes familiar; or the new job is now just your job. As a minister I’ve often thought that it’s important when I move to a new church to note the point at which I stop being called the “new” minister and just become the minister – ho hum! Time passes and we adjust. New things don’t last, and it’s often the past we hold on to for some sense of security. If so, then how could God do a new thing that would make us forget the former things?

     And yet, as much as we celebrate the past, and as desperately as we sometimes try to hold on to it, through Isaiah God’s promise to Israel - and God’s promise to us - is that each day we travel this beautiful wilderness of life, God will in fact do a new thing. God will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert, so that we can drink the water we need and give praise to God. When you think about it, this is a strange promise God makes. God promises not to subdue the wilderness, but only to make a way through it. God promises not to take away the desert (or to take us out of it), but only to find some water in it. God promises not to tame the wild animals (or to prevent us from acting like wild animals sometimes) but only to make the “new thing” so wonderful that even the wild animals (and us) will stop and see it - and praise God for it.

     If you’re waiting for me to tell you what “God’s New Thing” will be today – or tomorrow or the next day – then I have to disappoint you. I don’t know what new thing God will offer to us. That, after all, is up to God. What I can tell you is simply this - that God will do a new thing – maybe through us, maybe to us, maybe for us. However it happens, no matter how wonderful things may seem to us today, God will do a new thing; no matter how terrible things may seem to us today, God will do a new thing; no matter how boringly mundane things may seem to us today, God will do a new thing. It isn’t clear what that will be – there’s no promise to fix everything or to make everything better or to create more hours in the day or to make sure that we never have to struggle or fight for what we believe in or to heal every disease or to say “yes” to every prayer. There’s none of that. There’s only the promise to make a way for us in the wilderness, to create a river for us in the desert - if we look for it, and if we have the eyes to see it. “I am doing a new thing,” says God. Personally, I can’t wait to see what it’s going to be!