The spirit of the Lord shall
rest on him,
the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the
spirit of counsel and might,
the spirit of knowledge and the fear of
the Lord.
His delight shall be in the
fear of the Lord.
He shall not judge by what
his eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear;
but with righteousness he shall judge the
poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth;
he shall strike the earth
with the rod of his mouth,
and
with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked.
Righteousness shall be the
belt around his waist, and faithfulness the belt around his loins.
The wolf shall live with the
lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid,
the calf and the lion and the fatling
together, and a little child shall lead them.
The cow and the bear shall
graze, their young shall lie down together;
and the lion shall eat straw like the
ox.
The nursing child shall play
over the hole of the asp,
and the weaned child shall put its hand on
the adder’s den.
They will not hurt or destroy
on all my holy mountain;
for the earth will be full of the knowledge
of the Lord as
the waters cover the sea.
This
summer, the opening line of Isaiah’s familiar poem took on a whole new meaning
for me. Just over a year ago, we had five locust trees cut down in our front yard.
This mini forest reached tall into the sky. Locust wood is dense, which means the
roots that crept above ground broke two lawnmower blades. After noticing some significant
branches no longer bore leaves, and after picking up broken branches after windstorms,
the judgement was pronounced: those trees had to go.
Phone calls were made. Bids were received. We balanced best price with scope of work, and the arborist was booked. Within a short period of time, the trees were cut to the ground and the wood was hauled away. Topsoil was spread and grass was planted. An over-ground area of the property was now improved. Late this spring, after extra funds had been saved, we called a man with a stump grinder and he took what was left down to the ground.
Mission accomplished, or so I thought. One day in mid-summer, I was on my way out to the mailbox and noticed a sprig of new life growing where all had been cut off. It had popped up in the middle of what was left from the largest of the five stumps. I was shocked at the audacity of new life, bursting forth where it wasn’t expected, much less wanted.
I thought the tree was gone. When the wind would blow, it would creak and groan. One branch broke off and almost took out the power line. When the weather turned cold, that tree would shiver and shudder so hard that all the leaves would drop everywhere. My mother-in-law called it “a dirty tree.” So we took down to the ground. A few months later, new life happened. Resurrection happened. The old, dead stump was given a future.
What a metaphor for the generosity of God!
Old Isaiah promised, “A shoot
shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his
roots.” When it looked like all was finished, God did something new. Not only
is God the original Creator, but God is also the re-Creator. When life as we
knew it was cut off, something new is given.
The prophet puts these words
into the air at a very dark time in his country’s history. The Assyrian Empire
had invaded and ravaged the land. There was widespread destruction. The virus
of despair was contagious. Isaiah saw all that was wrong with the world. In
other passages, he details what happens when goodness is twisted out of shape
by human selfishness. He knew what violence is committed when people rebel
against God and God’s ways.
In short, his land looked
like a forest reduced to a field of stumps. His people’s future was chopped
down to the ground. There was nothing left. Nothing at all. And then God said, “Look
again, Isaiah.” He saw a small green sprout beginning to grow in the middle of
one of those stumps.
“A shoot shall come out from
the stump of Jesse.” Who was Jesse? Jesse was the father of King David, the
greatest king they could remember. But David and his lineage were gone. Cut
down. Largely forgotten. Until God says, “Look again, Isaiah.” There is a new
branch growing out of those underground roots.
This is one of the great Messiah
passages of scripture. The prophet describes the Anointed One, the Coming One
who was filled with the Spirit of the Lord. He would make everything right! So
naturally, everybody looked for a national leader – a new king – a politician.
The scholar John Hayes tells
us that the “shoot coming out of the stump” was widely believed to be King
Ahaz, also known by his given name, Jeroahaz II. He assumed the throne of Judah
at age twenty and ruled for sixteen years. All the nation’s hopes were pinned
on him. The people hoped for a true reign of peace, prosperity that actually
did trickle down to the poor, and a new beginning for the entire nation. That’s
what they wanted.
Guess what? That wasn’t what
happened. Ahaz was a disaster. There was no Holy Spirit in him, especially if
you read the accounts of Second Kings. Ahaz was a despicable chap, prone to
pagan practices, and stealing money from the temple treasury to buy off the emperor
of Assyria. Not the sort of behavior to get you good marks when they write down
your story in the Bible.
So Isaiah’s vision remained inscribed in the scroll. It remained there for seven hundred years until Jesus appeared. Some perceived the Spirit of God rested on him in astonishing ways. Wherever he went, whatever he did, life was renewed with vitality. People wondered if this could be the new kind of king, the One different from all the other kings we have ever known. We could trace his line back to Jesse. In him, God created something new where life had been reduced to stumps.
This is what we have seen in Jesus. This is what we still hope for. The promised redeemer of Judah will restore and rebalance broken relationships. There will no longer be a wall between the weak and the strong. There will no longer be a gulf between the poor and the rich. There will no longer be a chain between predator and victim. The Messiah will break down everything that divides us. He will destroy everything that hurts us. He will give everything he has – including his life - to establish a New Creation.
Sometimes we see the signs of what God is making possible: the wolf and the lamb, together. The weak and the strong, together. The predator and the victim, together. And at the center of it all, a little child shall lead them.
A little child. This past Thursday marked the one-year anniversary of a successful liver transplant in Pittsburgh. The organ recipient was a little boy named Rowan, nicknamed Baby Rowboat. His dad is a Presbyterian minister, a classmate of mine, a fellow old duffer. When Rowan was born a couple of years ago, he had some medical challenges including a liver that didn’t function well. His parents worried about losing him before a transplant could happen.
But then God opened a door. The family flew from Dallas to Pittsburgh, stayed for a few months in a Ronald McDonald house while little Baby Rowboat had successful surgery. The surgery and recovery didn’t all happen in a straight line, and rarely does. They are all grateful for every day, week, and now a year that they have enjoy together.
The miracle was what has happened in my friend Todd, his father. “I knew all about love,” he says, “but my heart has been broken open even wider. I watch that little guy toddle around the house. He gathers all the garbage cans in the house and empties them into one, and we crack up laughing. He’s an old soul in a toddler’s body, quick with a hug, sympathetic when his brother skins his knee. In his innocence, he shows us how to live and love.” Indeed, a little child shall lead them, especially when it looked like life might be lost.
I mull over what Isaiah’s vision would be for a covid-19 lockdown. Are there ways when relationships can be built when we must keep safe distances? Can we reach out beyond what separates us to have our own hearts opened? Is it possible for wolf and lamb to dwell together?
I was pondering this over yesterday morning’s coffee when there was a ruckus on the front porch. I put on my mask, opened the front door, and there was a friend delivering three large boxes on the porch. “That one’s heavy,” he pointed. “What do we have here?”
He was dropping off seven hundred fifty pairs of brand-new socks. His nephew owns a started a manufacturing company that donates a pair of socks for every pair sold. To date, forty million pairs have been given to charity, and 750 were on my front porch. It seems my very generous wife offered to help distribute them to families in need, homeless shelters, and anybody else whose feet might be cold.
I asked, “Do we know any of the people receiving these socks?” She said, “Of course not. That’s why we are helping to distribute the socks.” It’s all about building relationships: cow and bear, lion and ox, all living side by side. The Messiah makes this kind of new life possible.
And then I was wondering what else Isaiah could see: The nursing child shall play over the hole of the snake, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den. Sounds terrifying. What does that mean?
My sister tipped me off to a
story from our little hometown that made The New York Times and Good Morning
America. Just seventy miles north of us, forty-one inches of snow fell from the
sky in a single day. The governor closed the roads, but Kevin Kresen was fifteen
miles from home. It was about midnight and the winter storm was fiercely pounding
around him. Kevin’s engine squealed, a serpentine belt slid off, and he lost
his power steering. The car veered to the right and toppled into in a ditch.
Kevin was trapped as the snow
continued to drop at four inches an hour. A snowplow did not see him and piled
more snow on top. He dialed 911, but the calls kept dropping and the snow kept
falling. He dialed again, started to give a message, and the call dropped
again. Emergency personnel went searching but couldn’t find him.
Ten hours later, Officer Jason Cawley from the State Police tried to narrow down the search area. He climbed through snowbanks, plodded through drifts. Investigating what looked like a rack of mailboxes, he discovered the windshield of Kevin’s car. A passerby stopped to help him dig, and they were able to lift Kevin out of the window. Rather than wait for an ambulance, Officer Cawley immediately took the man to the hospital. Another ninety minutes would have been fatal, but Mr. Kresen is going to make it.[1]
So what kind of world is it
when someone saves the life of a stranger? It’s the kind of world the Messiah wishes
to renew, a world where all are precious, and none are lost. Even in the face
of real danger, each person is regarded as a treasure to be sought and rescued.
In this, the prophet’s dream is fulfilled. Nobody is hurt or destroyed on all
God’s holy mountain.
Friends, this is more than
pretty poetry. It is a vision of what the coming of the Messiah makes possible.
It is the sign that light is stronger than darkness and love is stronger than
death.
As we approach the last few
days before Christmas, let’s consider what each of us might do to live in the
light of Isaiah’s vision. This is a difficult and demanding season for so many.
Families are separated and sequestered. Traditions are disrupted. A lot of us
are feeling blue.
But as tough of things are,
this is never the end, not with the goodness of a God of life. What seems like
the end is only the beginning. The Messiah is already among us, hidden from the
world, but known by those who love him. And in his love, they love one another.
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