Please turn with me to the 24th chapter of Matthew, Verse 1-2. I’m
reading from my New Testament paraphrase.
"Then Jesus left the Temple, and was walking away when his disciples came up and mentioned the size and beauty of its buildings.
'You see all these?' replied Jesus. 'I tell you every stone will be thrown down, ‘til there is not a single rock left standing upon another.'"
Did you
realize that Jesus was not only the God-man, Messiah, Lord and Savior, but He
was also a Prophet? (Yes, He was). In the scripture I just read he prophesied
the destruction of Temple, and, by implication, the destruction of Jerusalem by
the Romans. It was at this time that the Jews began to disperse to the far-flung
corners of the earth; which has commonly been referred to as the Diaspora.
In 40 B.C., the Roman
senate appointed Herod, later known as Herod The Great, as the ruler of Judea.
Herod the Great ruled
Judea for the next 36 years, during which time he began many huge building
projects including the building of a new Temple in Jerusalem for the worship of
God. From the beginning of the Temple project in 19 B.C., it took 46 years to complete
the main building and another 36 years to finish the entire Temple complex.
This was a huge undertaking which required a tremendous amount of labor and
money. This new temple was said to be a larger and a more beautiful temple than
the one that Solomon built.
The historian Josephus
said that much of the exterior of the Temple was covered with gold that
reflected the fiery rays of the sun. Moreover, he said that, from a distance,
the Temple appeared like a mountain covered with snow. This was probably
because those parts that were not covered with gold were made of white stone.
From what is said in many
writings about Herod's Temple, it was indeed a magnificent structure of awesome
proportions. However, four years after its completion, it was totally destroyed
and wiped from the face of the earth.
My wife and
I just completed the most glorious vacation of our entire lives.
We have
traveled the highways and byways of Ireland, Northern Ireland and Scotland. We
have gazed in wonder at the snow-capped mountains, we have marveled at the
singular color of the lush grassy pastures; upon which sheep and cattle feed,
we have listened to the mournful sound of the bagpipes, and watched Scottish
and Irish dancers strut their stuff, we have sampled foods which baffle the
taste buds, we have interacted with the loveliest people to grace the planet,
we have walked the quaint lanes and admired the most colorful and interesting
of flora and fauna.
Dublin and
its massive cathedrals and ancient pubs. The stone ruins of a monastic village.
Forty shades of green. 19th century remnants of the “Famine Houses.”
Sea gulls and ocean waves. A Depression-era farm house. Dingle Bay. Massive
castles. The Massacre of the MacDonald Clan. The English Occupation of Ireland,
and the cruelty they exercised. The Potato Famine. The “Trouble” of Northern
Ireland. Sharing “Danny Boy” and “Amazing Grace” with our amazing group of
fellow travelers. The Titanic Museum. Drunken and aimless young adults. Street
Beggars. Waterford Crystal. A mythical, but very real island. Greyfriar’s
Bobby. Sheep shearing. Edinburgh’s pipers. Family roots.
One of the
most poignant, and almost magical moments which I experienced during our trip
to the Old Country occurred at a dinner theater in Dublin referred to as
“Taylor’s Three Rock.” During the course of the evening my daughter and I were
afforded some wonderful food, singing, dancing and comedy. However, one moment
stood out from all the rest.
Almost
without warning, a video appeared on the overhead screen which featured
numerous ancient photographs of 19th century men, women and
children, immigrants all, ships, mountains, rivers, ocean waves, the Statue of
Liberty, and Ellis Island, the proverbial (and literal) gateway to the golden
door which was and continues to be America.
But “what
got me,” what really grabbed me and would not let me go, what struck a
spine-tingling cord within me, and inspired my innate sensibilities was the
music which accompanied the video.
I’d never
heard the song before, but I can so identify with it. While most or all of my
immediate ancestors immigrated to the United States in the 17th, 18th
and 19th centuries, before there was an Ellis Island, they came
nonetheless; in most cases, leaving all they ever knew and held so dear.
Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, friends, homes and land.
And in most
cases, those who boarded those old triple-masted ships were left with mental
images of what was, and would never be again, and they never returned to the
lands from whence they sprang.
As the video
and its accompanying melody continued, tears sprang to my eyes, and,
subsequently, rolled down my cheeks.
Just as those Jews who were scattered to the four corners of the
earth in 70 A.D., each and every one of us are the products of a myriad of
people who immigrated, sometimes involuntarily, from countries such as England,
Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Germany, France and well, the list is too long to
recount.
While the Jews experienced what has been referred to as the Diaspora,
yours and my ancestors experienced their own personal diaspora, and they, for
the most part, never stepped foot on their native soil again.
I, as was my father before me, am an amateur genealogist, and I
love and care deeply for those who have gone on before; though all they left to
us were a few sundry bits of information, and fading celluloid photographs.
There was a time when they lived, and moved and breathed and loved. They were
here, and we were not. And we owe them our very existence, and our own ability
to live and breathe and move, as they did before us. And having dared fate,
braved the elements, and stared down fear, every man, woman and child among
them grasped their providential destinies, and endured ‘til the end.
My 3x great Grandfather Isham McDonald, born in what is now
Northern Ireland of Scottish parents, who left it all behind, including his
dear papa and mama, sailed into a port in South Carolina, and served in the
fledgling Continental Army throughout the American Revolution. He later made
his way into northern Georgia where he owned a gold mine in Dahlonega, and
finally traveled down into southern Georgia and bore several children; one of
which is my 2x great grandfather, William, my namesake. I was privileged to
plan and conduct a gravemarking ceremony for Isham ten years ago. During the
ceremony a new V.A. headstone was installed, speeches were made, bagpipers
piped, a bugler played Taps, and six or eight members of the Sons of the
American Revolution participated in Revoluntionary-era Army uniforms.
My 9x great Grandfather Daniel Mackhoe, of Edinburgh, a Jacobite;
one of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s men. Old Dan fought at the Battle of Dunbar, and
having been taken prisoner by the British, he and 5,000 of his compatriots were
led on a forced march to a distant stockade; during which time two thousand of
these brave men died.
Ultimately, my ancient Grandfather was involuntary consigned to
the ship, “John and Sara,” changed his name to ‘Cone’ and adopted, and was
adopted by the most bless-ed country which ever graced this planet.
My 3x great Grandmother Mary Elizabeth Stewart, born on the Isle
of Skye, Scotland in the 17th century, who as a young lass dared
journey to a place she knew little or nothing about, and which lay across four thousand
miles of turbulent ocean. Never to return to the island of her birth, nor to
friends and family whom she held so dear. And on those rough-hewn wooden docks,
she left a hundred kisses on their cheeks. She later married a descendant of
the ancestor to whom I just referred.
Let’s look
at a scripture in Isaiah. Chapter 11,
Verses 11-12.
Verses 11-12.
"In
that day the Lord will reach out his hand a second time to reclaim the remnant
that is left of his people from Assyria, from Lower Egypt, from Upper Egypt,
from Cush, from Elam, from Babylonia, from Hamath and from the islands of the
sea. He will raise a banner for the nations and gather the exiles of Israel; he
will assemble the scattered people of Judah from the four quarters of the earth."
Isaiah 11:11-12
In the
previous scripture, Isaiah prophesied the return of the dispersed House of
Israel to their former land. Whereas, Jesus prophesied the destruction of the
Temple, and by implication the dispersal of the Jews to the nations of the earth.
Interestingly
enough, at least to my wife and me, she and I were conceived in 1948; the year
in which Israel once again became a state.
I brought up
the “Celtic Woman” version of, “Isle of Hope. Isle of Tears” today, and without
notice tears sprang to my eyes, and I could not contain the sobs which rose in
my throat! My wife was standing nearby and uttered an “ahhhh,” and bent down to
hug me. And before she was close enough to extend her sympathetic arms, my
little pooch drew near, and gazed at me like she’d lost her dearest friend. She
just knew I was experiencing one of the most singular moments of my life.
While we
were in Ireland, and Northern Ireland and Scotland my mind was taken up with my
known and unknown grandfathers and grandmothers, as it never was before.
I left a
tribute to each of them in the form of a simple note on the face of a dollar
bill; which recounted their names and lives, and whatever else to which I was
privy; along with my name and relationship to them.
And with
this, I secreted the bill beneath a desk, or bureau, or bedstead in the room to
which we were assigned, and in the applicable country with which my forefathers
were most and best acquainted.
I am
concluding with the 36th chapter of Ezekiel, Verses 11&24
"And I
will multiply upon you man and beast; and they shall increase and bring fruit:
and I will settle you after your old estates, and will do better unto you than
at your beginnings: and ye shall know that I am the LORD... For I will take you
from among the heathen, and gather you out of all countries, and will bring you
into your own land."
Whereas, I
left a piece of my heart, and a paltry bit of cash in those far-flung countries,
my dear grandfathers and grandmothers surrendered all their heart, when they
left all they held dear behind, and the losses they sustained cannot be
calculated.
You may find
it odd, but my soul longs for the countries of my grandparents’ birth. The
beauty was nothing less than startling, and I experienced such an ethereal
connection to my ancestors there; though they have been dust for centuries, and
have long since gone on to their reward.
Whereas, my
ancestors never returned to the peoples and homes and lands they knew and loved
so well, I, like the descendants of the Jews who fled ancient Israel, have
returned in their place. And like those whom I love, but never knew, and with
whom I have such a vital connection, I, like them, am unlikely to return.
Nonetheless,
I have been impacted beyond description or degree, and will always cherish and
hold sacred the opportunity to see with my eyes the mountains, and lakes and
rivers and forests which they saw before me, to walk the same patch of earth
which they walked before me, and to thrill to experiences which I have
consigned to rich and vivid memories, and as long as I live and move and
breathe, no one can take them from me.
Sermon. "Returning in Their Place," 2018. William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending
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