Sermon: "God of Green Shoots," December 8, 2019
“A shoot shall come out from the stock of Jesse,
and a branch shall grow out of his roots.
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.
On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples; the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious.”
A few years ago I was eating lunch at our Soup Kitchen. And a gentleman who I was sitting with shared his life story. One of the most important moments in his life, he told me, was in attending the Clayquot Sound logging protests in the early 1990’s.
In 1993 there were massive protests in Clayoquot Sound, which is near Tofino on the west coast of Vancouver Island. Thousands of protesters blocked logging roads every day to stop loggers from clear-cutting old growth trees. It was apparently one of the largest acts of civil disobedience in Canadian history. Right here in our Vancouver Island back yard (more or less).
One thing that struck me though, was how he said he got involved in the protests. It was all thanks to a segment he’d seen on the news. It was a segment on the clearcutting of the Amazon rainforest.
Clear-cut logging near Port Schmidt, Vancouver Island B.C.
On the screen, panning for miles and miles, was nothing but tree stumps. Stump after stump after stump, where once stood ancient growth trees. He went to the protests, he said, because it would be like dropping a bomb on all the life, trees and animals alike. Everything that had learned to live there for generations would be changed, destroyed, a desolation. “It’s not the kind of thing,” he said. “It’s not the kind of thing an ecosystem will ever bounce back from.”
Now, regardless of one’s stance on the merits of this kind of logging, there’s no doubt that clear-cutting wreaks havoc on the land, animals, and ecosystems where it’s done. where it’s done. This might be the reason why in today’s scripture passage Isaiah uses the image of a clear-cut forest to describe the desolation of his people.
Today’s scripture passage begins and ends with the same image. “A shoot,” says the first verse. “A shoot shall come out of the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots.” Then the last verse: “on that day,” it says. “On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples.” It begins and ends with the image of a tree stump. The “stump” of Jesse.
“Jesse” is the father of King David, the most famous king in the history of Isaiah’s people—Israel, and one of the ancestors of Jesus.
He’s symbolically important because he’s where the roots of Israel as a monarchy, as a country begin. Think of George Washington, or John A. Macdonald. By the time Isaiah speaks these words, though, Jesse’s been dead for at least five hundred years, and the country is in shambles.
The Assyrian army had invaded Israel. Assyria is one of history’s most brutal empires. Because when they invaded, they tore everything to the ground. Cities, but also human infrastructure, human society. They took their enemies’ leaders and other educated people and sent them to live in exile far away. The passage begins and ends with the same image a “stump,” the remnant of a tree that’s been chopped down, because his country had been clear-cut by the Assyrian empire. Chopped down to the roots, with the trunks shipped to the four corners of the world.
Imagine driving in from Nanaimo on the Old Island Highway, you pass the turn off to the Denman ferry and suddenly all those beautiful hills and forests levelled, chopped to the root, all the way into town. Imagine that and you’ll see what Isaiah’s getting at. He looks out on a country of graves, burned out homes, and torn-apart families. The royal house of Jesse that was once a tall, strong, ancient cedar hacked to the ground by the chainsaw of political power. Now, nothing but a desolation. A field of stumps. Just rows. One after the other, after the other.
Isaiah had witnessed a socio-political clear-cutting of a whole society. It’s about as hopeless an image as it gets. Nothing left of life but a stump.
[slide—stump]
Now, few if none of us here have ever experienced the kind of devastation, the kind of hopelessness Isaiah saw. The refugee family that we helped to immigrate here from Syria probably did. Their country bombed back to the stone age, uprooted and forced to live in a camp while they awaited a new fate in a new country. No doubt this image of Isaiah would resonate with them and others like them.
We may not know it exactly. But many of us know do know loss. Death is an obvious one, when someone like a parent or a spouse dies, leaving us directionless. A child dies, the one on whom our hope depends, leaving a barren present and future. There’s divorce. There’s disability. There’s cancer. Life as we knew it, mowed down. Then there are the times where we’re the ones doing the mowing ourselves. Swinging the axe of selfishness, greed, and immaturity at ourselves. And the people we love. And we’re left standing in a field of debris that was once the tall, healthy forest we called our life.
We may not know the kind of hopelessness Isaiah knows. But we do know loss. We know it’s like to have life as we know it hacked away at the roots. And, like my Clayquot-protesting friend said—it’s not the kind of thing you can ever bounce back from. If you’re a tree, or worse—a human being.
It’s hard to see any kind of future when your life’s been lopped off. It’s hard to see any kind of future…
…unless you’re able to see life a different way. Like Isaiah.
Isaiah’s what’s called in the Bible a prophet. Now, our popular understanding of prophecy is more or less predictors of the future. I like how the late great pastor and writer Eugene Peterson puts it:
“The most common misconception of prophets,” he says. “The most common misconception is that they are fortune-tellers with a crystal ball in which they see what will happen next year. We think it might be nice to have someone around to assist us in buying and selling the right stocks and bonds, choosing the proper political candidate, and betting on the right football team.” But that would be a misunderstanding. “A prophet,” he writes. “A prophet is a person who sees what God is doing and then tells us so we can get in on it.”[1] Prophets are able to hear the divine Word, to see God at work beneath the surface of things. So we can get caught up in that new life.
Russian Icon of the tree of Jesse, 19th century
So on the surface, Isaiah sees the field of wooden remains formerly known as the lush forest of citizens and cities of Israel. It’s bleak deforestation. But the vision continues.
Out of the corner of the eye there’s this little sliver of green. And as he gets closer he realizes it’s this tiny little branch stretching out of the stump of Jesse, the burned out trunk of the royal house. For anyone else it wouldn’t be a big deal. It’s like finding one fish alive in lake choked by algae. Who cares? But Isaiah’s a prophet. He’s able to see what God is doing.
And so suddenly, the Spirit of God, it says, falls on this tiny little branch. And the branch grows outward, sticking out wooden limbs… arms, legs a head. And before you know it this little twig is a full grow man. A new king, it says. With wisdom and knowledge to rule. The thoughtfulness to execute judgment. The poor and the meek of the earth who were trampled on by Assyria are restored to life, given good, shelter, and hope. Out of his mouth he issues royal proclamations that strike down the perpetrators of violence. And he wears righteousness and faithfulness around his waist like a belt. This guy is the ideal ancient king. He rules justly, he gives the poor their due, and punishes the predators of human society.
Scholars think that Isaiah may have received this vision in response to the birth of King Hezekiah’s son. A new born baby that signalled a hopeful new beginning for the royal house. That never materialized. But later Jewish and Christian interpreters came to see Isaiah’s vision fulfilled in the birth of Jesus. And you can see why.
Edward Hicks, “The Peaceable Kingdom,” 1834 American
Isaiah sees this new king sprout out of a rotten old trunk, and then this former tree-man suddenly starts reversing the whole process of deforestation. The forest of Israel sprouts again with new people, deer are hopping about, eagles soar and squirrel scurry around. The forest is revitalized, but it goes even further. There’s this parade of creatures just getting along. Wolves lie down with lambs, leopards and sheep, calves and lions. Then a little child at the front of the parade. Cows and bears eat grass together, a lion takes a bite out of the ox’s trough of hay. A baby wanders over a snakes den, puts her hand in… and nothing happens. No teeth, or no poison, we’re not sure. But everything and everyone is finally safe and okay. No one will ever hurt or destroy on my hold mountain, says the Lord. For the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord. As the waters cover the see. And everyone will be gathered into one in this heavenly light.
Justice is established. Human lives and society are healed. Creation itself is made over, harmonious, new. Isaiah’s people, whose lives had been hacked down, have been replanted. All from this one little person. A baby in a manger. This one little shoot. Out of an old dead stump. Joy to the world, the Lord is come… let heaven and nature sing!
On the surface is a desolation. All hope is lost. Lives cut down to the nub. But Isaiah sees under the surface. He sees what God is doing. And really, what Isaiah sees is how God works in the world.
We look for the work of God in the sudden, the immediate. The flashiness of the miraculous, signs, and wonders. Or the things of beauty. It’s easy to see God in a lush, flourishing forest of a life. But the miracle is that God is at work in the places of desolation, death and destruction. Isaiah says that God’s work is more subtle. Growing, working, slowly rooting in. Like life emerging billions of years after a big band. And this is the incredible claim of Christmas. Christmas, the birth of Christ, says that the way that God works in the work is not through dazzling displays of might, strength, or cunning. But comes in under the radar.
God at work is in a refugee family stuck in limbo for years finally given a home and a new start by people they’ve never met.
In friends who help a victim of childhood abuse grow into adulthood able to help her trust and love again.
In the man who finally walks into the doors of a church, discovering joy and purpose after wandering his whole life in hollow consumeristic despair.
Like a woman giving birth in the backwoods of Galilee. Like a baby, crying in a manger. Like the cries of a nobody from nowhere nailed to a severed tree to heal a world of disappointment, heartache, and loss. God’s work is green shoots in a clear-cutting world. All signs of a love, a future. An eternal hope.
And so whatever your pain, whatever your loss. Whatever the source of your soul’s deforestation… death, loss, fear, broken relationships, or all of the above. The good news of this season is that the God of green shoots is already at work in our world. Even your life. It may not look like it on first inspection. But if you look closely enough you’ll see a New Creation is already at work.
May you be given the prophetic eyes to see these things, knowing they are signs of God’s hidden power. The power of Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace, to reconcile and make new. A power that that may not look much like power at all. But can never be stopped, and a hope that can never be severed by the steam-shovel we call life.
Amen.
[1] Eugene Peterson, “The Root of Jesse,” in As Kingfishers Catch Fire: A Conversation on the Ways of God Formed by the Words of God (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 2017), 3.