Faith and the Future

Isaiah 44:1-8
Pentecost
June 8, 2025
William G. Carter

But now hear, O Jacob my servant, Israel whom I have chosen!
Thus says the Lord who made you, who formed you in the womb and will help you:
       Do not fear, O Jacob my servant, Jeshurun whom I have chosen.
For I will pour water on the thirsty land and streams on the dry ground;
I will pour my spirit upon your descendants and my blessing on your offspring.

       They shall spring up like a green tamarisk, like willows by flowing streams.
This one will say, “I am the Lord’s”; another will be called by the name of Jacob;
       yet another will write on the hand, “The Lord’s,” and adopt the name of Israel.

Thus says the Lord, the King of Israel, and his Redeemer, the Lord of hosts:
       I am the first, and I am the last; besides me there is no god.
Who is like me? Let them proclaim it; let them declare and set it forth before me.
       Who has announced from of old the things to come? Let them tell us^[c] what is yet to be.
Do not fear or be afraid; have I not told you from of old and declared it? You are my witnesses!

       Is there any god besides me? There is no other rock; I know not one.

 

Let me tell you a story.

The first time I tackled this poem from Isaiah was 35 years ago this week. It was my last summer in my first church. I was feeling God’s nudge to move into another church. This church had caught my eye.

Meanwhile, this church was looking at me. A member of the search committee came to visit and hear me preach. His name was Steuart. He brought his wife, whose name was Sandra. No doubt she was curious. But there was something else going on. They appeared with their daughter Alicen. She was living in that area, so the cover story, in case anybody asked, was that they were visiting her – and taking her to a random church.

I suspected that if my candidacy didn’t work out, at least they could say to her, “Here’s a church near your home where you could connect.” I had the sense she had been taking a lot of Sundays off, as many recent college graduates are prone to do. And her father hinted as much to me in the parking lot. We would really like to get her into a church.”

And I stood to preach from Isaiah 44, “I will pour my spirit upon your descendants and my blessing on your offspring.” When I read the text, Steuart sat up straight in his pew. Sandra looked over at him. Alicen leaned over to see what got their attention.

Well, my candidacy did work out. About six weeks later, I was invited to come up here. As for Alicen, I don’t think she ever returned to that church. But she did end up trying First Presbyterian Church of Allentown. Then she met Steve, they got married, they had a little girl, and she became a leader of that congregation. They elected her to the Session, and I believe she was on a search committee for one of the pastors down there.

Her dad said to me, more than once, “I think it was your sermon.” I said, “Nah, it wasn’t my sermon. And it wasn’t the fact that you brought her and the whole family to worship every week, although that helped. No, it’s the promise in the text from Isaiah – I will pour my spirit upon your descendants.” And that’s what God did.

Now, Isaiah wasn’t aiming that prophecy at one family, although in that family, Alicen has one sister who’s a deacon, another sister who has been an elder and clerk of session, and a brother who has trained to be a lay preacher. To quote a character from Star Wars, “The Force is strong in that one.” 

In fact, the prophet Isaiah wasn’t aiming that prophecy at anybody we know. He was writing to people who had lost everything in a major political upheaval. They lost their temple, they lost their clergy, they lost their Bibles, they lost the ties that bound them together. The economy was in a shambles. Their best and brightest were abducted. The Babylonian army smashed into the city and abducted their best, brightest, and youngest. And the people believed everything they had known was ending.

When you lose your traditions and your institutions, it feels like you’ve lost your life. When you lose your children, it feels like you’ve lost your future. The people of Judah had lost both. To them, God says through the prophet, “I will pour my spirit upon your descendants and my blessing on your offspring.”

Now, that’s a remarkable promise. It means there are going to be kids. And they will be full of God’s Spirit and anointed with God’s blessing. They might not be elders, deacons, clerks of session, and Bible preachers – but who is to say they won’t? Faith will go on. The Good News will be proclaimed. The Gospel will be lived. And how do we know this? Because God is providing God’s own future. This is the work of God’s Spirit, the Holy Spirit, the Pentecost Spirit.

 Some of you know we are planning a church pilgrimage to Ireland. We will leave the week after Easter next year and visit the Emerald Isle. To get ready, I’ve been reading Thomas Cahill’s classic book, How the Irish Saved Civilization. The title is typically Irish, high on blarney, low on humility, but Cahill makes a convincing case. When the Roman Empire unraveled in the fifth century, Europe went dark. Violence increased. Chaos ensued. And it stayed that way a lot longer than the Babylonian Exile.

And yet there was a flicker of light as the Irish monasteries kept praying. The monks protected the scriptures, even illuminating the manuscripts to teach the Gospel to the illiterate. Their acts of charity modeled the love of Christ. Faith was nurtured in intentional communities. And the light continued for hundreds of years until it could ignite once again. And was it the monks? Or was it the Holy Spirit working through those monks, quietly reaching into future generations?

When we speak of the Holy Spirit, we speak of something or Someone we cannot see. Yet there is a Force, a Presence, a Wisdom that will not be reduced or dismissed. God keeps going on, even if the rest of us rise and fall.

I was thinking of this two weeks ago. It was Memorial Day, and we took our place down one block on the corner. Here came the VFW, the Mayor, the Village Council, the fire trucks, and more fire trucks. Then a tanker or two, and more fire trucks. Then the baseball team, the now-champion girls lacrosse team, the Cub Scouts, the Boy Scouts, the twirlers, the marching band, and a few others I cannot remember. There were lots of kids.

I was about to ask myself the question that I ask every year: “Who are these kids and why don’t they come to our church?” Then I realized in that parade, I didn’t see one single float for anybody’s Vacation Bible School. Often, we’ve seen three or four floats, kids on a hay wagon or a spaceship or Noah’s Ark. But not this year – because the kids in this town are busy doing a lot of other things. We are one of the few churches that can still pull off a Vacation Bible School.

And there are plenty of kids. There are over 3,400 kids in the six schools of the Abington Heights school district. That’s a lot of kids.

So, I thank God for the kids we know. For the ones we see. For the ones who drag their parents here. For the kids, whose faith is being nurtured by their grandparents. And I think God for those who keep the flame of faith alive when we live in a time with so many other distractions. But most of all, I thank God – just thank God – for the promise that the Holy Spirit will come through us or in spite of us to animate faith and energize the hearts and minds of those who come after us.

Isaiah could imagine that faith will ignite in a variety of ways. He could hear one person say, “I am the Lord’s.” He could hear another say, “My name is Jacob.” Still another would inscribe on the back of their hand, “The Lord’s.” Yet another would adopt the name of Israel; it wasn’t their name, but they will make it their own.

This is how the Spirit works. One way or another, we figure out there is a claim on our lives. We belong to God, who came before everything else. We will finally deal with God, who comes after all is said and done. “I am first and I am last,” says the Lord. In between beginning and end, we live, move, think, speak, and serve.

And sometimes we discover how busy the Holy Spirit continues to be.

Four weeks ago, I returned to Princeton Theological Seminary for my fortieth reunion. It was a wonderful gathering, but clearly my graduating class has lost some of its sparkle. Of the 197 graduates in my class, only about a dozen showed up. I knew church work was tough, but I didn’t think it was that tough. Other than that, I saw some friends, heard some good presentations, and had a few wonderful worship services. Yet I wondered what kind of future lies ahead of God’s church.

I did run into a good friend. Martin is the music director at the chapel. Spotted him and said, “Martin, it’s great to see you!” “Bill!” he exclaimed, and we shared a big reunion hug. Then he looked me in the eye and said, “Now, I have to tell you Taylor is doing so well.” 

Taylor? The same Taylor whom I baptized in Clarks Summit? The same Taylor who was in confirmation class with my daughter? Taylor, who asked all the tough questions in youth group, could be a pain in the neck? Taylor, who disappeared off to college, dropped by a couple of times to say hello, then disappeared again? Do you mean Taylor, who asked me to write a recommendation letter for the seminary, then said plans were changing? Taylor is here, at the seminary, somewhere? Martin said, “Yep, and doing well!”

Well, I was dazzled. Couldn’t quite process all of that. So, I needed a coffee. I headed over to the coffee tent, waded through the old duffers from the class of 1825, grabbed my coffee, took a sip, and gazed off into space.

 Then, fifteen feet away, I saw Taylor selling seminary sweatshirts at the swag table. “Hey you,” I said, “it looks like that baptism took hold.” And Taylor lagughed and said, “You never know. God found me. Here I am.” Then Taylor said, “Hey everybody, this is Rev. He baptized me.” That radiant young adult was shining with joy. It was effusive.

 Oh, you never know. With the Spirit of God, we never know. What we do know is that God, the First and Last, takes responsibility for God’s own future, which is our future, too. God can find any of us. Maybe God is reaching out for you. Maybe there is something for which you have been prepared – and now it’s time to step up. Maybe you have been deferring a life-giving decision, tossing up excuses – and now it’s time to put your foot where your heart is. Maybe you are tired of running in circles – and now it’s time to simply stand still long enough to say, “I am the Lord’s. God found me too.”

 This is the work of the Holy Spirit, the same Spirit who breathed life into the ancient church, the same Spirit who brings people alive in Christ in every continuing generation. God is First. God is Last. And God is Now.

 So, don’t be afraid.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.