Isaiah 35:1-10
December 15, 2019
In the house where I grew up, we
didn’t have what you might call an “open floor plan,” but the kitchen, the
dining room, the front entry, the living room and the den ran in a straight
line through a series of wide, open doorways. The only room that had a door
that closed from the rest of the house was the kitchen, and that was a swinging
door. The year that I was nine, I had just grown tall enough that I could jump
up and smack the top of the door frame in this row of doorways.
When I was growing up, our main
family celebration of Christmas was on Christmas Eve. My parents were devout
church goers, but our church didn’t do Christmas Eve services. My dad was
German, but he fully embraced my mother’s Swedish heritage, so on Christmas Eve
we had a very Swedish Christmas with a big meal and the exchange of presents
from one another. Christmas morning Santa Claus came, and we opened our
stockings and had a special breakfast, then ate a lot of delicious leftovers
the rest of the day.
Back to this Christmas when I was
nine. It was Christmas Eve day, and I was nine, which meant I was
excited. It was Christmas Eve! My parents were in the kitchen cooking wonderful
food. There were presents under the tree. Our stockings were hung by the
chimney with care. I was just so excited. And if you’ve ever known an excited
nine-year-old, or if you’ve ever been an excited nine-year-old, you know that
energy just courses through that little body.
That’s what was happening to me. I
was so excited for Christmas and I had all this restless energy just busting a
move inside me, I had to do something. So, I ran that long line of doorways
from the kitchen to the den, jumping up and touching the doorframe as I went.
Then I ran back the other way, from the den to the kitchen, doing the same
thing. It was run, jump, SMACK! Run, jump, SMACK! Run, jump, SMACK! Run, jump,
SMACK!
For. An. Hour.
My parents were not drinkers. They
weren’t teetotalers, but they weren’t drinkers. But upon reflecting on this
memory, I can’t help but wonder if a little cooking sherry wasn’t being passed
around the kitchen that day. I mean, come on. My parents loved me and they
could be pretty patient, but I had to have been driving everybody a little nuts
with my leaping for joy.
That is what I was doing; I was
leaping for joy. I was so filled with excitement and Christmas and joy, that I
could not help but leap … and leap … and leap.
The joy got me later that evening
though, because when we finally sat down at the table to enjoy this wonderful
meal my parents made, and my dad bowed to pray, I cried out, “Hold it!” and ran
to the bathroom with a nosebleed. Sometimes leaping for joy does that to a
person.
Joy is apparent in these words from
Isaiah. Joy is evident and visceral and bubbling up and over.
“The wilderness and the dry land
shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall
blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing.”
“Then the eyes of the blind shall be
opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a
deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break
forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall
become a pool, and the thirst ground springs of water;”
The joy is not for humans alone. The
vision first begins with words of creation’s joyful response. The desert, which
most often can be dry, brown and seemingly lifeless, will burst forth with
gladness. Even the land will rejoice and blossom. Even the desert will rejoice
with joy and singing.
I read this week about the super
bloom in the California desert. The super bloom is a bursting forth of brightly
colored poppies and wildflowers in the desert which is normally brown and
seemingly lifeless. A super bloom happens when seeds that lay dormant for a
long time, receive enough rain to germinate and bloom. And when they do bloom,
the colors can be seen from space. Google “super bloom” after the service, and
you will be astonished at this incredible abundance of color in the California
desert. I suspect that pictures do not do the colors justice.
These words of Isaiah seem to
describe a super bloom, don’t they? The desert and the wilderness and the dry
land which had no color, no flowers, nothing, suddenly burst forth with
blossoms and color. The land itself rejoices. Where there were no flowers,
there suddenly are flowers. Where there was no water, suddenly there are
streams and pools and springs of water in a normally thirsty land.
And let’s not forget the human
response of joy. Just as creation experiences a reversal from lifeless to life,
from dry to gloriously wet, from colorless to super bloom, humans and our
expectations are turned upside down as well.
Those with weak hands will be
strengthened. The remnant stiffness from my broken wrist many years ago will no
longer bother me or be an issue.
Feeble knees will be made firm. No
more cracking and creaking when you try to stand up. No more problems with worn
out knees and joints that refuse to cooperate.
And those of us with fearful hearts
– maybe this is more of us than we care to admit – Isaiah tells us to “be strong
and do not fear!” Here is our God.
Then there are these words to people
we might think of as physically challenged, maybe they can be taken literally
as words of hope and reversal. If you have hearing problems they will be no
more, or if you have seeing issues, they will also be no more. Yet, perhaps we
can also take them another way. For those of us who do see and hear and walk in
what we think of as “normal,” perhaps we need to hear these words as a reminder
that what we think of as a problem, might actually be an advantage, a blessing,
a unique and powerful way of being in the world. This week I also read a story
about a church who was holding a worship service for a homeless population in
their city.
They took church to the homeless and
held a worship service in the midst of a noisy street in Atlanta. While the
worship leader was trying to be heard above the din of the traffic, one
homeless man who could neither hear nor speak wanted to be acknowledged. He
kept waving and pointing to himself, so they beckoned to him to come forward. He
stood in their circle and began to sign a hymn. The writer described it as like
watching a beautiful dance. The noise that frustrated everyone else was no
problem to this man. He heard beautiful music they could not hear. His literal
deafness did not impede his joy.
What is really powerful about this
joyful vision of Isaiah is that it follows verses about destruction. While the
earth may rejoice in these verses before us, the verses that come before them speak
of creation that is not rejoicing, not even close. Scholars believe that these
words were placed here out of order. They should come later, after chapter 40,
which is believed to be Second or Deutero Isaiah. But for some reason, they are
here; a few chapters too early.
Perhaps it was an error of some
scribe. Or perhaps this is exactly where these verses are supposed to be: an
interruption, a disruption of joy. They are found here, not by mistake, but
because joy, God’s joy, God’s everlasting joy, breaks into our world where we
least expect it.
It is so easy to forget that. Take a
quick look at the world around us, and joy seems to be in short supply. I
follow a lot of clergy and church pages on Facebook, and so many of my
colleagues are asking for prayers because of sad events in their churches or
their communities. But even without a traumatic event, this time of year can just
be hard for folks. Advertising tells us this is a time when everyone is merry.
Families gather and children sing and everybody is fa, la, la, la, la-ing it
all over the place. But the truth is that many of us, including myself, are
grieving. Or we’re just sad, or worried or stressed and scared. Let’s face it,
depression and anxiety don’t take a vacation just because it is Advent and
Christmas. In our passage from Matthew’s gospel, John is in prison. He won’t
survive it. Where is the joy in that?
But that is the thing about joy. It
isn’t the same thing as happiness. Happiness is fleeting. We were never
guaranteed happiness. But joy, that’s something different. We are called to
rejoice. We are called to an everlasting joy. Not because the world is perfect
or without sadness or pain or sorrow or grief, but because God breaks into our
world, into our pain, into our sadness and brokenness. God disrupts our daily
lives. God becomes like us. God becomes like us. That’s what we’re waiting for.
That’s what we’re preparing for. Joy will not be delayed. Joy will not wait for
the “right” moment or time. Joy bursts in when and where we least it.
Even the desert and the wilderness and the
lifeless places will bloom and blossom with riotous color. Springs and pools of
water will flow where there was no water. And through it all, God will make a
way, a holy way, a highway of safety, where all can travel in hope and peace
and where everlasting joy is as abundant as the flowers in the desert.
Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!”
Amen.
