Isaiah 11:1-10 (and Romans 15:4-13 and Matthew 3:1-12)
Take
a look around this place, where we have gathered today. We are surrounded by
symbols. Our East Window is full of symbolism, including imagery from the Book
of Revelation and images representing our city and region. On the pulpit, we
have the symbols of the four evangelists: Matthew, the human: Mark, the lion;
Luke, the ox; and John, the eagle. In the Bede Chapel, a miner’s lamp, that
only ever goes out between Good Friday and Easter morning. Last week, we
baptised thirteen new believers, using oil and water and candle-light. Every
week, we bring and share bread and wine, asking that, by God’s Spirit, it would
be for us the body and blood of Christ.
All
around us, there are plants and animals and other objects: symbols that not
only represent something, but invite us to imagine or understand that thing in
a particular way. The lion and the unicorn on the tower, for example, make the claim
that the English are brave without equal and the Scottish are fiercely proud
and free. The people are embodied by their monarchs, and the coat-of-arms
proclaims the Union of the two nations in the person of one king.
Our
reading from Isaiah is also full of symbolism. Isaiah’s great symbol of the
people of Israel was a vine, a giant grapevine planted by God, that spread out
from the Tigris and Euphrates to the east to the Mediterranean Sea to the west,
embodied in the descendants of David and their rule from Jerusalem. This
particular symbol was so vivid that it became the national symbol of Israel, much as the oak tree is the symbol
of England. Jesus lived some 800 years after this vision was first proclaimed.
In his day, there was a great vine made of gold on the outside wall of the
temple, visible to all the pilgrims as they approached their goal. Jesus himself
used the symbol of the vineyard in several of his parables; and even described
himself as the true vine, and his disciples as the branches.
As
Isaiah’s use of the vine symbol unfolds, God, who planted the vineyard, is
depicted as breaking down its walls and returning it to wilderness. The vine is
cut down, and other trees grow great and tall, providing shelter for wildlife.
It is a symbolic way of speaking of God bringing judgement on the kings in
Jerusalem for their unfaithfulness, raising up another nation, whom God will
eventually also judge.
Isaiah
tells his story at a time when most of the territory once ruled from Jerusalem
has been lost. First, the kingdom had been divided, with a line of separatist-kings
establishing the northern kingdom of Israel, ruled from Samaria. Then, the
Assyrians had swallowed-up Israel, and threatened to capture Jerusalem and
swallow-up the southern kingdom of Judah. But, facing a new threat of their own
– the rising powerhouse of Babylon – the Assyrians withdrew.
Now
was a moment. A moment when history could go one way or another. And into this
moment, Isaiah calls on the people to imagine a fresh shoot growing out from
the cut-back vine-stock. A new king, in whom there is legitimising continuity
with the past but also a new departure: the spirit of the Lord will anoint this
king, and this king will revere God, and represent God’s reign on the earth.
This
king will be a judge, to arbitrate for the community, to enable the whole
community to flourish. In particular, his rule will be characterised by justice
for the most vulnerable – which will necessarily include judgement exercised
against the mighty. And here the symbolism changes from national plants to
national animals. Echoing David’s origins as a shepherd of his father’s flock,
this king will pass judgement on the surrounding predatory nations, the wolf,
leopard, lion, bear, and asp, who pose a danger to God’s people, represented as
lamb, kid, calf, and nursing child. And what might it look like, to imagine
ourselves as such defenceless, dependent creatures, under the care of such a
king?
More
symbolism: this king will put on righteousness and faithfulness like a belt, as
the things that hold everything together. Right relationship, defined by loving
God, and our neighbour – especially the widow, orphan, and alien – just as much
as ourselves. And faithfulness: enduring commitment to a community, whether it
is reciprocated or not.
Our
reading ended with the observation that such a place, such a kingdom, would be
glorious. But no such king was found. In our Gospel reading, John the
forerunner of Jesus proclaimed that Jesus would show the world what such a king
and such a judge would look like. And in our reading from Paul’s letter to the
Church in Rome, Paul takes up Isaiah’s prophecy, declaring it fulfilled in Jesus.
His key words are steadfastness and encouragement, welcome, hope, joy, and
peace.
What
might all this mean for us? We live in a world that is in as much turmoil as
the world Isaiah knew, with nations rising and falling, a complex web of wars
and proxy wars, populations displaced and others fearing that they might be
next. How are we to imagine ourselves in such a world as this?
Firstly,
we are invited to understand this vision as speaking before all else of Jesus.
We are invited to look on him, and see what true wisdom and understanding,
counsel and (subversive) mightiness look like; what a true knowledge of God is
like – which is an awesome thing.
Secondly,
the world that we help create and perpetuate by our words and actions is not to
be the world that is created and perpetuated by what we see and hear in the
media, or social media: outpourings of hate and fear. Instead, we are to attend
to those marginalised and demonised by the world – and we are to do so for the
long-term, whatever is going on around us.
You
see, we are called to become more like Jesus by embodying his message, in
intentional, habitual ways – as habitual as putting on a belt, or getting
dressed, each morning.
The
Minster has been described as a spiritual heart-beat for the city of Sunderland,
and a place of meeting, learning, belonging, and celebrating – these are simple
practices – for all her people, of
all faiths and none. In the Bible, the heart symbolises the will, or, our
ability to choose to do right or wrong. If we are a spiritual heart-beat for
the city, by our communal life we are to pose the questions: who are we willing
to meet with? who are we willing to learn with, and from? who is welcome to
belong here? and what will we celebrate? How we answer those questions is to be
radically different from how the world around us answers those questions.
For
me, the welcome that Mackems and Iranians share in this place is the clearest
example – though by no means the only example – of how we are answering those
questions at this moment in our history. And the wonderful thing about symbols
is the way in which they transcend language barriers, and embrace cultural
diversity.
Jesus
is in our midst, as a signal to the peoples. The nations shall enquire of him,
and his dwelling shall be glorious. Amen.
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