Exile. That seems like a good five-letter WORDLE challenge, doesn’t it? But it’s meaning is not so benign: forced removal from one's country or home; deportation. Ovid called exile a “living death.”

The consequences of exile may include humiliation, home-sickness, grief, bitterness, loneliness, hopelessness, pining for the “good old days” — whether or not those days were actually “good”; in short, exile is the loss of identity. What added to the trauma for the Judean exiles to whom Jeremiah wrote, was feeling the loss of God’s presence, because God’s home was Jerusalem — also known as Zion — more specifically, the temple in Jerusalem, which the Babylonian army had utterly destroyed in 587 BCE.

Nebuchadnezzar demolished Jerusalem in retaliation for King Zedekiah’s attempted rebellion against him and an alliance with Egypt. Perhaps 10 to 20 percent of the Judean population was taken into exile in Babylon. This included the people of the royal court, the priests and elders, the wealthy and literate, the most accomplished artisans — in other words, the elite. Jeremiah’s earlier, astute, ignored warnings had come to fruition.

Without temple or land or Davidian King, these people were not only exiled from Judah, they felt exiled from God. For all intents and purposes, it was the end of their world.

Once taken beyond the Euphrates River, the captives were evidently dispersed to cities and towns throughout the area and given plots of land on which to make their livelihood. They who had once, perhaps, looked down on mere peasants, had become peasants themselves. 

Jeremiah wrote to them from what was left of Judah. He hadn’t been important enough to take to Babylon; he had been a jailed know-nothing, prophet without respect. Still, he wrote, telling the deportees to build houses and plant gardens, to marry and beget children, and to pray for the peace and welfare of Babylon, because they were going to be there for awhile. Those who had been deported would never see Jerusalem again. 

So, the prophet gave them concrete instructions. No matter what they felt, there were practical things the people could do. He doesn’t just tell them, “Don’t despair,” or “Have faith.” He tells them to build, plant, marry, have sex, raise your children to have families, do good for the peoples around you, pray for their prosperity. 

Okaaay. I’m good until that last bit. Pray for our captors? The ones who took our land and homes, the ones who destroyed everything we love? You mean like Indigenous peoples rounded up on reservations praying for the welfare of European conquerors? Africans praying for the people who bought and sold them? That kind of prayer? Don’t you think that’s a bit much? Except Jesus commanded much the same: love your enemies; pray for those who abuse you.

The best I can do with that — and I admit it’s not much — is to say that, just or unjust, we are all in this together. Lovable or despicable, in God’s realm no one prospers until all do. If you don’t like it, I’m afraid your argument is with God, not me.

Remarkably, the Judeans in Mesopotamia finally heeded Jeremiah. And they discovered that God had been exiled with them. Over the years, they flourished. Without the Jerusalem temple, they found a new way to be God’s people in community. Judaism became more a religion of everyday life, rather than of ritual sacrifice. Exile eventually deepened their sense of who they were and who God was. During this period, they became Jews in the fullest meaning of the word.

Physical exile, however, is not the only way people feel dislocated. Consider today’s passage from the gospel of Luke. According to the writer, this story takes place “in the region between Samaria and Galilee.” Since Samaria and Galilee share a common border, there is no such in-between region — at least not one that can be identified on a map. Perhaps Luke simply meant open country between a village on the Galilean side of the border and the next village on the Samaritan side of the border. But there are other kinds of in-between places, other sorts of “no man’s land,” other ways of being exiled.

Anyone quarantined from society due to illness (leprosy or COVID-19, for example) or ostracized for disfigurement or a developmental challenge; 

Anyone up against society’s definition of normal and proper; Anyone denied the feeling of belonging — Do they not experience banishment? Refugees and those in prison, people out of work and people in nursing homes, immigrants and asylum seekers, those suffering abuse and those recently bereaved, the newly deployed soldier and the returning veteran — these are among the many who, literally or metaphorically, can feel displaced — aliens in an unfamiliar world. These are people who may well feel as though they have lost both home and identity. 

You don’t need me to tell you what a hopeless, bitter, chaotic feeling that is, do you?

Because, if we are honest, I think many, if not most of us, have experienced a time of living in exile, of feeling like an outsider. Have you ever said or thought, “No one understands!” “Am I crazy for feeling like this?” “I’m living in the wrong time or wrong place or in the wrong family.” “God has abandoned me.” “There is no God.” “What do I have to live for?”

I pray you are not living in such a place right now. But if so, I promise you there is hope. It generally comes in the form of others who have also experienced exile — maybe the same kind of displacement and despondency as yours, maybe not, but they know enough to say, “No matter what, we belong together.” No matter what tangle of emotions you are feeling, no matter how different you look, no matter what you have done or what has been done to you, you belong. You are one of us.

Essentially, that is what Jesus said to the ten lepers between Galilee and Samaria. “Go and show yourselves to the priests,” those religious men who had the power to exclude and include. But the healing of these ten was as much about their re-integration into community as it was about being cured of their illness. Jesus affirmed to them that they belonged, before the priests ever saw them and declared them worthy to come home again.

Yet only the Samaritan returned to Jesus to express his gratitude. Perhaps the new sense of belonging was doubly profound for him. The other nine had always had each other for support, as precarious as that was. The Samaritan was utterly alone. Now, not only could he rejoin his countrymen, but Jesus had recognized him as an equal. Although a foreigner — and a generally despised one at that — he was just as welcome in the household of faith as the nine Jews.

That is the power Christ’s Spirit gives to us, to this congregation — the power to welcome everyone into a circle of belonging. No matter who we are, or how keenly we may feel our own imperfections — and there isn’t one of us that doesn’t have a few! — no matter how far from home we feel, or how alienated from God — we belong here. This church may not be our final destination, but we can come in, make ourselves at home at least for now, grow strong. We are in good company.

And, in exile or not, right this moment, there are things we can do, no matter how off-kilter we might feel.

The Rev. Steve Garnaas-Holmes put it like this, as if Jeremiah were speaking God’s word to us:

Seek the welfare of the place where you are,

even if you feel exiled from your hopes, your values.

The city where you are needs you.

Who else will carry my love among them?

The country where you live

needs your witness, your justice, your love.

You who can afford not to flee, even though you suffer,

be there to welcome others who are fleeing because they must.

Even in horrible times, even in sick places,

my beloved people need the love you bear to them.

There, in your witness, in your love, is my grace.

There, in their welfare, is your welfare.

Do you know, all the most important people in scripture lived in one kind of exile or another? From Adam and Eve to Abraham, from Moses and all the prophets to Esther, from Job to Jonah to Jesus, Mary and Joseph, from Peter, Paul, and Mary Magdalene to John of the book of Revelation. They all experienced in their own lives what it means to be in exile. 

I believe that exile is where God dwells. It’s a difficult place that requires courage and companions in order to survive. And yet, it’s also where we finally begin to glimpse what grace means. It’s where we discover our neighbors. It’s where we come home to ourselves. Paradoxically, exile is often when we discover with whom we really belong.

Maybe you don’t feel as though you are living in exile at the moment. Still, if we truly want to spend time with Jesus, it’s incumbent upon us to go where he lives among the world’s outcasts. Maybe that’s through donations to our church’s Neighbors in Need (yes, there’s still time to do that). Maybe it’s offering food and time and prayer to people in distress. Maybe it’s asking to be an ally in seeking justice for people scorned for their ethnicity or gender identity or poverty or immigration status. 

Where will God send us? Who needs us to provide a home? A place of belonging? Can we embrace someone even if we don’t like him or her? What if it requires going into exile? 

Well, what if it leads to finding ourselves belonging to a whole, huge company living in the realm of God? Then God be with us all. Amen.