Worship Guide

Printed Sermon

In the 19th century, Palestine, formerly the land of Israel, was a neglected backwater of the Ottoman Empire. But devout Jews began moving back to the land, either to die in Jerusalem and be buried on the Mount of Olives, or to live in one of Judaism’s four holy cities and study Torah and Talmud, dependent upon charity from overseas. But two rabbis had a bold vision, a new hope. They didn’t want to simply die, or pore over religious books. They wanted to live, to live in the land and off the land. They wanted to farm the land again. And so in 1878 they founded the first modern agricultural settlement. They picked a significant name for their new venture: Petah Tikva, Doorway of Hope. This is a name drawn from Scripture, a name associated with restoration and new beginnings.

Through the prophet Hosea, the Lord described how he would woo his unfaithful, forgetful people back to himself:

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her,

and bring her into the wilderness,

and speak tenderly to her.

And there I will give her her vineyards

and make the Valley of Achor a door of hope.

And there she shall answer as in the days of her youth,

as at the time when she came out of the land of Egypt…”

And then words which I often use in premarital counseling and weddings:

“And I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the Lord.” (Hos 2:14-15, 19-20 ESV)

“I will…make the Valley of Achor a door of hope.” A Door of Hope, Petah Tikva. That’s the name they chose for their new settlement. They had a hope beyond dying. They had a hope of living.

The Valley of Achor is the Valley of Trouble, just outside Jericho. It’s the place where Achan brought trouble on Israel. After the Fall of Jericho he took what belonged to the Lord, forgetting the Lord’s warning that this would bring trouble upon Israel. He was dazzled by glittery, shiny things. In the ruins of Jericho he saw a beautiful cloak, some silver, and a bar of gold. He coveted them and took. This always reminds me of Eustace in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, who likewise was dazzled by the shiny, glittery things in the dragon’s lair, and brought deep trouble upon himself. Joshua said to Achan, “Why did you bring trouble on us? The Lord brings trouble on you today” (Josh 7:25). Achan was stoned and the place was called the Valley of Achor, the Valley of Trouble.

Many centuries later God, through Hosea, promised Israel that he would put her troubles well and truly in the past, and open a door to hope. Notice that the promise of hope includes a recovery of memory: “she shall answer as in the days of her youth, as at the time when she came out of the land of Egypt.” Restored Israel will remember that she is the people whom God redeemed from harsh servitude in Egypt. And the promise of hope is based not on Israel’s character but on God’s character: his righteousness and justice, his steadfast love and mercy, his faithfulness. The result will be a change in Israel: she will know the Lord.

Nearly 150 years ago Petah Tikva was a doorway of hope for the Jews. It became known as Em HaMoshavot, Mother of the Moshavs, Mother of all subsequent collective farms. Just four years later in 1882 Russian Jews arrived and started a second agricultural settlement. They were fleeing the pogroms, the deadly anti-Jewish violence depicted in Fiddler on the Roof. They were fleeing trouble. Out of such anti-semitism was born Zionism, the movement to re-establish a Jewish state in the land. Its song was Hatikvah, The Hope. This hope was realized in the establishment of the state of Israel, and Hatikvah is now the national anthem.

Memory and hope are intertwined: “memories shape hopes and hopes influence memories.”1 We live our lives between memory and hope.

The Roman god Janus was the god of transit