An Indistinguishable Noise: A Reflection on Ezra 3

Ezra 3:12-13

But many of the priests and Levites and heads of fathers' houses, old men who had seen the first house, wept with a loud voice when they saw the foundation of this house being laid, though many shouted aloud for joy, 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 with a great shout, and the sound was heard far away.

An indistinguishable noise! With certainty, anyone present could conclude that a celebration was going on; given that the priests, fully dressed in their ceremonial regalia, gathered the entire city of Jerusalem to celebrate the laying of the Temple foundation. After seventy years of captivity, God’s people were finally allowed to return to their city, which for the same amount of time lied in ruins. The laying of the Temple foundation, therefore, carries more meaning than the mere accomplishment of a building project. Its laying meant that the people returning considered the privilege of worship to the one true God the central treasure of their story. The God who was present back then, through the laying of this foundation, was being called on to be present all over again. The captives have been set free: free to live, free to build their city and free to worship. However, the excitement that surfaced concerning the joys of now, mixed with the sobering reflection on the way things were then produced an indistinguishable noise that can best be described as nostalgia.

The black community knows something about nostalgia, at least the one that produced me. The church of my upbringing was the oldest black church in a virtually all-white city. The building that housed it was is about thirty-five years old, so everyone worshiping there could remember when the congregation worshipped at the old church: a two-story white wooden building that sat in the heart of the neighborhood. One could imagine a time when blacks in the city could wake up and walk to church on Sunday as they were greeted outside to the joyous singing of gospel hymns inside. Most of my Sunday school teachers and mentors never ceased to reminisce on the warm fellowship that abided among them in both a place and time that now belong to ages.

My last visit to the old church was to celebrate the anniversary of the congregation that presently worships there. This congregation was birthed out of our church, so the pastor and many of the founding members had their roots in the historic congregation that once worshipped there and could relate very personally to its fellowship. For them, occupying this space meant more than merely having the deed to a piece of property. It meant keeping this sacred historic space in the care of a community that once held it at their center. It meant holding precious the place where many, whose hair now grey and steps now slow, came to know Christ and found perpetual community and encouragement for a week that held much travail in its outlook. It meant holding sacred all the memories, people and milestones that now belong to the ages.

Just before the anniversary celebration came to an end, the time had come to open the floor for remarks and testimonies. As I listened to each remark, I noticed that a lot was said about the church’s past and little concerning its present. This bothered me. After all, we were there to celebrate the work God was doing now: a new congregation, a new vision, a new ministry. Here they were, in the heart of the city once again. Though the location and building were old, the opportunity was new and the field was ripe for a fresh work of ministry. So, it bothered me that people were only remarking about the church that used to worship there: the preachers that used to preach there, the choirs that used to sing there, the deacons that used to pray there.

After a while, all the reminiscing gave way to tears and laughter. Some would tell embarrassing stories and everybody would laugh (although the stories they told were stories that some spent decades trying to forget). Others would remark about loved ones passed on and would choke up as they spoke (they alone know whether their tears were of joy, mourning or regret). After a while, the noise testified to a different kind of sentiment. I could no longer call it joyous, and was not quite ready to call it despairing. It was indistinguishable.

The danger of the indistinguishable noise we call nostalgia lies in the purpose of its pause. It is the pause of Lot’s wife, who could not resist looking back at her beloved city as it was being burned to the ground at God’s command. It is a paralyzing pause that plays on every impulse in us that wishes to relive eras and moments that now belong to the ages, while causing us to intentionally neglect what God has called us to now.

Like the worshippers in Jerusalem who stood on a temple foundation, so stand we in communities that lie in rubble: HBCU’s are closing their doors, black school districts are dissolving, black boys are being targeted by toy cop vigilantes, the black family is under attack and black cities are going bankrupt while its churches meet every Sunday to give off an indistinguishable noise. This noise testifies to the reality that while we have much to celebrate in both our history and our future, a view in our past reveals points and places where our stewardship of God’s goodness was poorly carried out. Such reflection causes us to stand before God with guilt-laden praises and regret-filled adoration. It causes us to enter His presence with a kind of worship that lacks the necessary elements which distinguish weeping from witnessing.

If any hope lies in store for our community, the church must not let God’s call on us to a fresh work of transformation through the gospel be lost in our own nostalgia. Our preaching and worship cannot be an indistinguishable noise. Rather, it must remain a fresh gospel that transforms lives in this generation. Such lives will go into the world to rebuild our families and our communities, all for the glory of God.

 

 

Samuel J. Doyle is a teacher–preacher, and currently serves as the Youth Pastor at the East Saint Paul Baptist Church in Fort Worth, Texas.