When I was growing up, my grandparent’s house could be read like

scripture. In between the golf memorabilia and the many shrines to the Georgia
Bulldogs, you could find bits of the Bible all throughout the house. A psalm hung
in a bedroom. An inspirational passage sewn into a pillow. There were homespun
proverbs in the kitchen; one pointedly hung beside the phone: “A closed mouth
gathers no foot.” The biblical prophecy, however, was tucked away in a guest
bathroom. I can still see it, that little framed work of needlepoint, hanging by the
mirror: “If you don’t feel close to God, guess who moved?”

In the time of the prophet Hosea, the God of Abraham and Moses did not
feel very close at all. The Jewish people had split into two kingdoms, Israel to the
north and Judah to the south. By the 8th century BC, when Hosea was on the scene,
the northern kingdom had totally given over to the worship of false gods, following
the lead of King Ahab and his wife, Jezebel. Having forsaken God’s strict
commandment that thy shall not have any gods before Him and forgotten God’s
covenantal law with His people, the Israelites were very far from God indeed.
Where was God to be found? Not in the streets and markets, where graven images
of Ba’al dominated one’s view. The Lord’s temple, devoid of graven images, had
grown dilapidated from lack of offerings. The people lacked faith that the unseen
God of Abraham could deliver on his assurances of provision, forgiveness, and
preservation and instead turned to the gilded gods right in front of them. Without
God’s covenantal Law, injustice and violence dominated society. It was into this
bleak landscape that the prophet Hosea proclaimed the Word of the Lord: “If you
don’t feel close to God, guess who moved?”.

But Hosea did not use needlepoint to urge his countrymen to repent and
return to the Lord; instead, he married a woman of ill-repute, a known adulterer, to
dramatically proclaim the unfaithfulness of Israel to her God and the faithfulness
of God to His people. Hosea’s marital metaphor, though just a metaphor with all
the limitations of a metaphor, calls us to first remember that love is fidelity and
true worship is faithfulness. There cannot be one without the other. Understanding
love as fulfilling a commitment is not sexy, but it’s true. God desires us in our
entirety and expects us to offer our entire selves in response. In a world of
agnosticism, pluralism, and “spiritual but not religious”, Hosea’s call to complete
commitment can feel counter-cultural, even offensive. But just as marriage
demands devotion to one and one only, so too does God demand the entirety of our
faith and fidelity.

Second, Hosea’s metaphor reminds us that small compromises lead to big

disasters. In a marriage, even the smallest of indiscretions, those little moments
easily self-justified as innocent or innocuous, can cause lasting damage to a
relationship. An emotional affair can be just as deadly as a sexual affair. Idolatry
works the same way. The Israelites didn’t suddenly wake up one day and abandon
the Lord in favor of Ba’al. I can hear King Ahab ask, “What’s wrong with asking
both the Lord and Ba’al for help? Why not double my odds of getting my prayer
answered?” From there, the floodgates open. “Why not build an altar to Ba’al?
Why do I even sacrifice to Elohim anyways? What has he done for me lately?”
Idolatry, like marital infidelity, is a slow burn waiting for the right time to catch
fire.

And when idolatry does catch fire, it burns the house down. Hosea’s
metaphor reminds us that love hurts. When we commit our lives to another person,
we put our vulnerable inner self at risk, entrusting our whole being to their hands.
Our spouse is free to shape us, build us, or tear us down. The one we love can
bring us joy or great sadness. But we mortals are not alone in our vulnerability.
Even our impassible God feels sorrow, anger, and longing in response to our
infidelity. He weeps for what has been lost, he rages at the betrayal, and yearns for
a return to what was. He suffers because he has more than just a vague feeling for
humanity; he has a particular love for us as individuals. And it is out of that
particular love that God’s word of hope emerges. There is hope after the hurt.
Before time itself, God made a promise to love us as his elect, a promise unable to
be broken even by our continual infidelity. God has promised to shoulder the
suffering of our sins, so that we might one day be finally reconciled to Him. As the
psalmist sings, “Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace
will kiss each other.” Even in his sorrow and anger, God still proclaims, “Those
called “Not My People” will be called “Children of the living God.”

As Christians, the fulfilment of that hope is in God’s particular love made

incarnate, the person of Jesus Christ. We come to know and experience the
unshakable fidelity of God towards us through the particulars of Jesus’ life death
and resurrection. However, as Paul testifies in Colossians, the advent of Christ has
not cured humanity of its idolatry problem. While altars to Ba’al and Moloch had
disappeared by his time, Paul sees new dangers threatening to seduce the early
Church away from worshiping the one true God. Philosophy offers salvation
through intellect. Tradition can make idols even out of the holy of holies. Vague
belief in the stars or the power of the universe distracts from the intimacy of God’s
relationship with His creation. Paul is quick to remind us that salvation does not
come through our intellect, or our human traditions, or through the universe
generally. We have been saved specifically by the divine person of Jesus Christ,
buried in his baptism, and raised with him by the power of God. The specificity of
our salvation, its dependency on one person, and our worship of one and only one
God, the God of a single tribe in one dusty corner of the entire cosmos, is one of
the most challenging aspects of our faith but also the very source of our hope and
our prayer.

“Lord, teach us to pray!” As Jesus demonstrates to his disciples, prayer

flows out of the intimate and devoted relationship we have in our Heavenly Father.
Jesus does not begin with an address to the stars or to the great energy of the
universe, or to all the gods, but to the one true God, the Lord. We ask not because
there’s a chance someone hears us, but because we know God is listening and cares
about what is on our hearts. By Jesus’ example, we pray for those things God has
assured us: provision for our daily needs, forgiveness for our sins, and preservation
from evil. Jesus doesn’t tell us to ask for power, or wealth, or fertility, or fame; we
don’t pray for what Ba’al and Moloch promise. We ask that God’s will be done,
trusting that we will receive what we have been promised.

This morning, God is calling you to move closer to him, through repentance
and reconciliation. Take time to examine your hearts, let the Holy Spirit illumine
the small compromises you have made that have led you away from fidelity to
God. Where do you feel far from God? What caused you to move away? And
when your sin is laid bare before you, rest assured that there is still hope, even
“Not my People” will be called “Children of the living God.” Lean into the
particularity of God’s love for you and trust in the forgiveness bought for you on
the cross. Pray, confident that God’s will be done. For the kingdom, the power, and
the glory are God’s, now and forever.