Homecomings are usually times of celebration, and sometimes the anticipation matches the reality. Sometimes not. I had been stationed in Japan for two years, and I don't think there was hardly a day that went by that I didn't yearn to be home, near Cleveland. As if to emphasize my homesickness, every morning the Japanese caretaker at the chapel where I worked would greet me with a cheery, Ohayou. Ohayou means "good morning." I mean, you can't make this stuff up.

Finally the great day came of my homecoming arrived. I walked through the front door, and discovered the Ohio home I left was not the one to which I returned. Same house. Different home. One major disconnect: there were three sisters when I left for Japan; when I returned, all three sisters wer married. When I deployed in '65, our home had four automatic dishwashers. When I returned in '67, there was only me. But on a deeper and more serious level - home wasn't the same, because after two years, circumstances had changed and of course, I wasn't the same. My homecoming, while gratifying, didn't match the anticipation. My guess is that many of you have had the experience.

In our first reading this morning from Isaiah, we encounter a people who have experienced a truly momentous homecoming. Fifty years earlier, the Babylonians had conquered the Jewish people ... Jerusalem fell, and great was the fall of it. The people were carted off to captivity in a foreign land. Scholars tell us that while life was not necessarily unbearable for the captives, still the word "captive" says it all. They yearn for freedom, and a return to Zion, a homecoming to Jerusalem. Your heart almost breaks in this lament from Psalm 137, written by an unknown poet in response to the taunting of his captors: "By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion. There on the willows we hung our harps, for ... our tormentors demanded songs of joy; they said, "Sing us one of the songs of Zion!" How can we sing the songs of the LORD while in a foreign land?"

But finally, eventually, hallelujah! Hallelujah literally means, "Hooray for God," and the captives are released and their long journey back to Jerusalem gets under way. And what do they find upon their return? Anticipation does not meet reality. What they encounter is Destruction. Desolation. It is a 9/11 world to which they return ... and for you and me, even seven years beyond, the image of a 9/11 world needs no explanation.

The walls of Jerusalem, so central to the security of any ancient middle east city, the walls have been torn down. But the greater desolation is this: the Temple - the Temple - had been destroyed. The very symbol of God's presence and the security that God's presence brought with it - gone. Not stone is left upon stone. In the aftermath of our own 9/11 the cry went out, "O God, where are you?" Thus this is the context of the haunting words of Isaiah, "O that you would tear open the heavens and come down...." This is no polite, "Come Lord, be our guest...." Far from it. God is absent, as far as Isaiah is concerned. "... tear open the heavens and come down!" Almost as if he is shaking his fist at God? God understands.

To Isaiah's credit, he does not say to the Almighty, "We are your chosen people and you failed us." Rather, he recognizes that the fault of this national, and personal, catastrophe should be laid at the feet of the people themselves. "We the people are your children O God; and we the people have failed you." The actual words of Isaiah are, "... we have all become like one who is unclean and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth."

Isaiah would have the people of Jerusalem look inward, not upward, and recognize that much of their misfortune can be laid on their own doorstep ... their own lack of goodness; their own failure to live as God's people. As individuals ... and as a nation. This is a common thread weaving the writings of the Hebrew prophets, and we hear an echo of that in our Prayer of the Day, "Stir up your power Lord Christ, and come. By your merciful protection awaken us to the threatening dangers of our own sins...."

As Christians beginning a new Church year - making our way toward Christmas - we hear in the words of the prophets the very sounds of Advent. The sounds of Advent have everything to do with justice and mercy. Care for the widow and orphans. Food for the hungry and shelter for the homeless. The issues of Israel 2,500 years ago remain concerns for us this very day. Turning swords into plowshares; caring for the poor and most needy among us.

The poor and the needy among us. I was astounded by the pictures in our local papers. Long lines of people snaking toward the food pantries around the county. Hunger in Westchester? Poverty in Putnam? This is reality ... and in a way that seems to be foregin to the people of Jerusalem, the people of Westchester/Putnam responded with donations of time and food. These are the marvelous ingredients of Thanksgiving in America. The gift of time and food for the hungry among us. The need, of course, is not seasonal ... and our response must not be seasonal.

The sounds of Advent include the call for social and economic justice. The sounds of Advent inovlve the call from our God: "my children, be the people I have created you to be. You who were born - and then reborn - through the waters of Baptism.

Our text for this morning begins with a gloomy Isaiah deep in despair for the nation. Our text concludes, however, with the rhetoric of faith and hope. In the midst of a 9/11 Jerusalem comes Isaiah's whisper of hope and an acknowledgment of dependence, "Yet, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand."

I quoted those words just last Sunday at a memorial service for Barbara. "Yet, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand." In my homily I shared the story of the time I spent on a hill overlooking Galilee, digging into the dirt of antiquity. One morning I heard the familiar sound of trowel against pottery and I uncovered a beautiful vase - perhaps a perfume container - created some 2,200 years ago. The decorative colors were still vibrant; the glaze as clear as the day it was created. The archeologist came over and examined my find. He picked up the tiny handle and appeared to be looking for something - and he found it. He pointed to a smudge on the inside top. "Tim, that's the thumbprint - that's the unique signature - of the potter. If a potter has pride in his work, this is how he will sign it." My point last Sunday was that each piece of pottery is crafted individually. Each piece is as unique as was Barbara. She was created from clay; and in Baptism, her life was indelibly marked by the Potter. She lived as if she believed it - and she did.

I hope you all had a good Thanksgiving. For some of you it was a homecoming, and I pray it lived up to your anticipation. My Thanksgiving was perfect, and it gets even better this morning as I Baptize Jadyn Alexis. And how about this? The name Jadyn means, "thanksgiving." As a part of the liturgy, with my thumb I'll trace on Jadyn's forehead, the image of a cross. What does this represent? It means that Jadyn is a marked young lady. Jadyn will go through life with - not the thumbprint of her Grandpa - but rather, the very signature of her God. That signature, that cross, is an ironclad promise that Jadyn, who is Baptized in Christ Jesus ... will one day share his resurrection; and that means an eventual homecoming which will not disappoint!

One final observation: Advent is a four Sunday journey toward Christmas. Isaiah cries out from the 9/11 of his own despair, "O that you would tear open the heavens and come down...." and that yearning will continue as our theme in worship until we sing together, "Joy to the world, the Lord has come." The Lord has come. How neat it is to begin our Advent journey with baby Jadyn in our midst ... knowing we end with baby Jesus in a manger. In terms of her Baptism this day, the loving relationship between Jadyn and Jesus begins. Jadyn meets Jesus. In terms of our journey toward Christmas, Jadyn and Jesus become the bookends of Advent.