Zechariah early in his prophecy calls it the day of small things. He describes the people as prisoners in a waterless pit. Not drowning, but dry, stuck, going nowhere.
Their hope of a new era had turned to disappointment. And they were right to hope that things would be better under the Persians. And many things were better.
They had been freed from Babylonian rule. Good policy matters. Good leadership matters. But eventually every administration disappoints. Every leader eventually reveals his limits.
Often leaders reveal their lack of character. And so we celebrate the wins, but we live with an uneasiness, knowing that what we really hope for can't be delivered from the capital city or a new administration.
The next king or the next political party will promise greatness, but ultimately will fail to deliver what we ultimately need.
And that's where Zechariah's words are so helpful to us this morning, who both celebrate but perhaps have some unease of what the future may hold.
Notice what God calls these stuck, uneasy, disappointed people. He calls them prisoners of hope.
Not prisoners of despair, or prisoners of failure, or prisoners of their circumstances, but prisoners of hope.
What a fascinating phrase.
Prisoners, yes. They looked at reality around them and saw that not all was as they would have desired.
They were hemmed in. They were limited. They were under the authority of a foreign power.
And yet the waterless pit did not define them, for they retained hope.
Hope in a promise that God would finally deliver fully and completely.
They were prisoners, and yet prisoners of hope.
I think that tension is well illustrated by the reality of Americans today, who live in light of the promise those founders made of a nation where all men are equal.
Where we have rights that were given to us by our Creator.
That we seek the freedom to pursue life, liberty, and happiness.
And yet at the same time recognizing that because we're a nation made up of saints and sinners, we don't always live up to that ideal.
And yet we continue to hope. We continue to work towards that ideal.
And that hope has continued to pull the nation forward all of these years.
That's what prisoners of hope do.
They don't deny the reality. They don't get defensive when someone says, hey, the food's not so great in this place.
But they also don't give into cynicism and despair.
And they don't give up. They continue to hope in the promise that's been entrusted to them.
Zechariah's prisoners of hope aren't waiting for a better government.
They're waiting for a king.
Now that sounds odd.
After we celebrate 250 years breaking away from the rule of a king.
But of course the king spoken of in Zechariah is no King George, is he?
Listen to how Zechariah describes him.
He's righteous.
He's not simply not as bad as the last guy.
He's truly good and just.
He brings salvation with him.
He doesn't simply promise rescue and deliverance.
He actually delivers as he comes.
It's part of who he is.
And yet he's humble.
Mounted on a donkey.
An animal used for travel and work.
Not a mighty war horse.
In fact, he cuts off the war horses, the chariots, and the battle bows.
The instruments of rule and power in this life.
For his weapon and his power is his word.
His word says he shall speak peace to the nations.
And when he speaks it, it is accomplished.
His rule is not limited to one geographic location to one nation,
but it extends over the whole earth.
This king is different from any earthly king we've ever known.
The battle he fights is not against you to conquer you, but to free you.
The battlefield wasn't a harbor in Boston or a field in Virginia,
but a cross just outside Jerusalem.
The heavenly king fought for us 2,000 years ago
and gave us something no person and no nation could ever secure for us.
He's giving us lasting peace and rest.
The one who rode a donkey into Jerusalem,
with a crowd who spread their cloaks on the ground, shouted,
Hosanna, save us!
And he did.
Just not in the way they expected.
Not with a sword, but with his own body.
In his own blood.
Which brings us to verse 11, the most important verse in this text.
We're told, because of the blood of the covenant with you,
I will set your prisoners free from the waterless pit.
The blood of the covenant.
Our king comes with a covenant secured in his own blood.
His victory does not depend upon our vote, upon winning the majority,
upon passing legislation.
It depends on the covenant that he has secured in his own blood.
The peace from Christ was bought with no less warfare and strife
than what earthly peace is won with.
This peace was won by a war waged on sin, death, and the devil.
This peace was won through his death and resurrection.
And his empty tomb remains as the guarantee that as we gather here in freedom,
we have the ultimate celebration of his victory.
Yesterday was for our nation. Today is for our salvation.
Today we celebrate freedom that we have from sin, death, and the devil
because Christ, the long-promised king, who came and did what we could not do,
and welcomes us in to his rest and peace.
And so the text from Zechariah ends,
Return to your stronghold, O prisoner of hope.
That word return implies that God's people have been looking for security somewhere else.
That perhaps their eyes had drifted.
Perhaps they had hoped for a new administration, a new government, a new nation
who would be even better than the Persians.
And they had remained in their waterless pit.
It's worth considering.
Where is our stronghold?
Where do we look to make us safe and secure and free, to fix what's broken?
Where is our stronghold? Where is our hope?
You know it's not found in a particular leader, a particular party, a particular outcome.
Those aren't strongholds. Those are, at best, useful instruments.
At worst, they're waterless pits that keep us from faith in the true king.
Our stronghold is the one who rode a donkey into Jerusalem and was crowned with thorns.
Who spoke peace and secured that peace with his own blood.
And God promises to those who return to the stronghold,
Today I declare I will restore to you double.
Double.
Not just what you lost.
Not just what you're disappointed in.
But double.
Whatever has left you dry in a waterless pit,
God says, I'm not done.
I'm coming again. My king will return.
And all that you have suffered, all that you have lost will be repaid to you double.
It will be better than you can ever imagine.
Because this promise rests on the blood of a covenant secured by Christ.
And so we celebrate, and we ought to celebrate, 250 years of freedom in this country.
It's worth celebrating.
This grand American experiment has been an extraordinary gift to the people of this nation and, honestly, to the world.
The ideals encoded in those founding documents, human dignity, God-given rights, liberty worth fighting for,
have made the world genuinely better.
We ought to celebrate that and give thanks.
Can we keep it for another 250 years?
I don't know.
Under the providence of God, nations rise and nations fall.
I do sense that if we do make it another 250 years,
it will be in part because Lutherans have lived what they believe, or what they say they believe.
For it is the Lutherans who have the best understanding of what makes up a man, that he can be both saint and sinner.
That he can write grand words in the Declaration and, at the same time, treat his neighbors as an enemy.
That we're a nation of saints and sinners and that we ought not be surprised when the men and women and leaders of this world disappoint.
It's because Lutherans understand what it means to be a creedal people.
It was G.K. Chesterton who, 150 years ago from England, observed that America is the only creedal nation in the world.
Not united by ethnicity or geography or birth, but by creed.
By this confession that all men are created equal.
It's Lutherans that understand living in the tension of the now and the not yet.
Of the promise given and yet the reality of our day still marred by sin.
It's Lutherans that understand that our king reigns over the whole earth.
And regardless of who's in the White House, God continues to work.
God continues to bring about history to his conclusion.
And so, brothers and sisters, I don't know if we'll make it another 250 years,
but I know the call and the vision is clear.
To return to our stronghold.
To trust in the one true king.
Even as we participate as faithful citizens in this world,
without trusting in the instruments of this world to satisfy our true need or true longings in our true hope.
The king who speaks peace to nations is the king who speaks rest to you today.
He says, come to me, all who are heavy burdened and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
And so we do that today.
We come with whatever unease we have, and we know that there is rest eternal in the one true king.
We pray.
Father, teach us to live as prisoners of hope.
Those who are bound by sin in this world, and yet those who have received a promise.
A promise of life, abundant life, both here and forever.
Father, make us good citizens that bless our nation, that enjoy the fruit that you have produced here,
and yet who do not make it an idol, and yet continue to return to our stronghold, the true king.
To him be the glory. Amen.