Loving Joy
(based on Isaiah 11:1-10)
There are so many things to see in this text
that we hardly know where to begin.
A shoot growing from the stump of Jesse, a
branch growing from the roots, and in the end it shall bear fruit; the gifts of
the spirit. From this tiny shoot emerging
from a dead stump, the peaceable kingdom will emerge, one where predators and
their prey live side by side, and babies play unharmed near poisonous snakes. Woody Allen once gave his own interpretation
of this vision: “The wolf shall lie down with the lamb. But the lamb won’t get
much sleep!”
Just before this chapter, God declares
punishment on the people: “the tallest trees will be cut down and the lofty
will be brought low.” The trees, the people -- both will be clean cut off. And yet, another word comes from this very
same prophet in this morning’s text: “A shoot shall come out from the stump of
Jesse . . .”
The stump is dead. God had said it would be so. And yet, somehow, new life, a new start
emerges. Through hope of something new, comes
joy. And joy does not disappoint, it
brings with it something that the world needs more of. It brings with it; love.
It reminds me of an old song from the 60’s – What
the World Needs Now is Love Sweet Love by Jackie DeShannon. How many of you remember that song?
What the world needs now is love, sweet love
It's the only thing that there's just too
little of
What the world needs now is love, sweet love,
No not just for some but for everyone.
Lord, we don't need another mountain,
There are mountains and hillsides enough to
climb
There are oceans and rivers enough to cross,
Enough to last till the end of time.
What the world needs now is love, sweet love
It's the only thing that there's just too
little of
What the world needs now is love, sweet love,
No, not just for some but for everyone.
Lord, we don't need another meadow
There are cornfields and wheat fields enough to
grow
There are sunbeams and moonbeams enough to
shine
Oh listen, lord, if you want to know.
What the world needs now is love, sweet love
It's the only thing that there's just too
little of
What the world needs now is love, sweet love,
No, not just for some but for everyone.
No, not just for some, oh, but just for
everyone.
I remember years ago, going up to our hunting
camp in Lock Haven, PA. Out in the
woods, I found a tree that had fallen over many years ago. It was old and rotten, moss grew over the bark
that was holding on by shear will of the damp earth, the slightest touch would
send large chunks of it crumbling to the ground. Who knows what had happened to that old tree? Perhaps disease had attacked it and hollowed
out a good section of its core. Perhaps,
over time, too many wild animals had treasured its security, calling it home
and making too many holes and nests within its heart. Perhaps a large storm had come and knocked it
over. As I walked around the large trunk
of the tree, I came to where it once stood firmly planted in the ground. The stump was still intact. It was pocked with rotten sections, too and
jagged remains of the trunk stuck up here and there, but near the center of the
trunk, was a tiny green shoot growing out of it. A seed had taken root within the decomposing
nutrients of the rotting stump. There in
the midst of the forest one tiny new tree was forming.
Lord, we don’t need another mountain. We don’t need another cornfield or wheat field. We don’t need another ocean or rivers. We need love.
Just a little shoot of love, growing out of past. We need just a start of something, a tiny
piece of love for the world and its inhabitants growing from the struggle of
pain and sorrow.
Rev. Barbara Lundblad, Professor of Homiletics
at Union Theological Seminary in New York tells the story of a man on her
street that she’s known for years. She
says, “We often met in the morning at the newsstand. Then, his wife died -- forty-two years
together changed to loneliness. I
watched him walking, his head bowed, his shoulders drooping lower each day. His whole body seemed in mourning, cut off
from everyone.
I grew accustomed to saying, “Good morning”
without any response. Until a week ago. I saw him coming and before I could get any
words out, he tipped his hat, “Good morning, Reverend. Going for your paper?” He walked beside me, eager to talk. I could not know what brought the change that
seemed so sudden. Perhaps, for him, it
wasn't sudden at all, but painfully slow. Like a seedling pushing through rock toward
the sunlight. There must have been an explanation, yet he appeared to me, a
miracle.”
As she says, she doesn’t know what it was and
it wasn’t sudden. It was painfully slow,
but a tiny shoot of hope, a renewed sense of joy in the world around him even
in the face of his great loss, and out of that loss came love of life again.
There was another story on the internet
recently, it was told about a young woman by the name of Madeline Stuart who
had down syndrome. Like most children
with Down Syndrome, her young life was spent being made fun of, hearing the taunts,
and name-calling from her fellow classmates.
Her family rallied around her and made her feel loved. Out of that love, she was made to feel that she
had worth, that her life had meaning. In
2014, she attended a fashion show with her mother and said, “Mum, me model.” Her mom knew it would take a lot of work and
dedication. She told Madeline if she
wanted to commit to the journey, she would fully support her. Madeline lost over 70 lbs, began to take dance
lessons and her mom posted before and after shots of the incredible transformation.
In 2015 she got her first modelling job and
within a year has modelled at some of the globe’s biggest venues for models,
like New York Fashion Week. One year
later, she received the Model of the Year Award and is considered a Supermodel.
“A shoot shall come out from the stump of
Jesse…” Who could imagine anything growing as they sat on the stump of utter
despair? I’ve sat there myself, perhaps you have, too. You may be there now -- at that place where
hope is cut off, where loss and despair have deadened your heart.
God’s Advent word comes to sit with us. This word will not ask us to get up and dance.
The prophet’s vision is surprising, but
small. The nation would never rise
again. The shoot would not become a
mighty cedar. The shoot that was growing
would be different from what the people expected, for later in Isaiah chapter
53, he would explain this tiny shoot:
For he grew up before them like a young plant,
and like a root out of dry ground;
he had no form or majesty that we should look
at him,
nothing in his appearance that we should desire
him.
A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse…
fragile yet tenacious and stubborn. It
would grow like a plant out of dry ground. It would even push back the stone from the
rock-hard tomb out of love for you and me.
It would grow in the decomposing earth out of
the center of the rings of ages.
It will grow in the heart of a man cut off by
sorrow until one morning he can look up again.
It will grow in the hearts of people told over
and over again that they are nothing. The
plant will grow. It will break through
the places where the past becomes the future, where sorrow breaks forth into
joy, and where people who feel worthless are told that they are loved.
What if we believe this fragile sign is God’s
beginning? Perhaps then we will tend the
seedling in our hearts, the place where faith longs to break through the
hardness of our disbelief. God comes to
us in this Advent time and invites us to move beyond counting the rings of the
past. We may still want to sit on the
stump for a while, that’s okay because God will sit there with us. But God will also keep nudging us: “Look! Look
-- there on the stump – see that tiny green shoot. That is love.
Look around you and see the joy.”
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