"Prophets and Poems of Joy"
The staying power of God's poetry.
Sermon Preached by
The Reverend Dr. Andrew Stirling
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Text: Isaiah 61:1-11
I was waiting for a ride outside a rather poor, old church, just off the major road through the heart of Santiago, Chile, called the Alameda, when suddenly I heard a most beautiful and joyous noise. I walked around the corner to find the source, and there, behind a wire fence in the midst of a poor area, were hundreds of children in a playground, singing and chanting rhymes and playing games.
The sight took me back for a moment to my childhood days of playing out in the schoolyard - except these children were hopping and skipping and jumping, while I, on the other hand, could barely get my feet two inches off the ground! I listened to the joyful, youthful rhythm of the songs they were singing, and thought that regardless of the language or the culture or the context, there is just something so powerful about reciting a rhythmical chant or a poem: It energizes; it lifts up; it inspires. There is something about a rhythm that lasts in the mind and the heart and the memory when prose has been long forgotten and hidden in the recesses of time.
The rhythm and metre of poetic words give them the power to come back into our consciousness. Even if the content is not as profound as some prose, somehow poetry stays with us.
Not long ago, a colleague (not of our denomination) was making light of United Church preaching. She said, “You know, it seems to me that in the United Church, all you really need to have a sermon is to have a lot of Bible and then throw in a poem.”
I reflected for a moment, and then I thought, “What's wrong with that?” I think our preaching is far more than that, I might add, but just think what power there is when the rhythm and the metre and the power of verse coincides with the word of God and the inspiration of the Holy Spirit! When I was in Santiago, I met a number of local people from the city, and I asked them as a matter of interest who the great poets of Chile were, for I was sure I had never heard of them. They told me some of the great names I did know, like Pablo Neruda, and another I didn't, a Jewish writer called David Rosenmann Taub.
Interested, I went on the Web the next day and started to read the poetry of Neruda in English translation and of David Rosenmann Taub, and I saw that these poets, like poets from other countries, were able to capture the culture, the sentiment and the milieu of the time, like nobody else. I realized anew that you can say in poetry what you dare not say in prose, that you can recount events in a poetic verse as if somehow there is a mystery to it all, but when it is recited, it becomes clear. A Chilean critic once wrote about David Rosenmann Taub:
He expresses himself pridefully, and speaks to God in his poems in a raw and a sharp dialogue very much as if they were on equal terms, but at bottom, knowing that he is subject to God. This is not William Blake's idea that poetry is one of the principal means of speaking to God. No, it is a rough conversation, like a person to a person, but always realizing that God has the final say.
That is the power of poetry: the power to capture an intimate relationship, a dialogue, an ongoing message and theme that prose cannot capture or illustrate or repeat. Our text this morning from the Book of Isaiah is one such classic moment. It is the coming together of a poetic verse with a prophetic insight. It is the unity of the vision of a society that is to be changed and renewed with a poetic verse that people will never forget. One biblical critic went as far as to say that Isaiah 61 is a poem for all time, written within the context of the Exile of the people of Israel.
Not long after Jerusalem had fallen, this poet Isaiah wrote to his people to give them a sense of hope and a sense of peace. In the midst of the tragedy around them, he wanted them to also have a sense of joy in the midst of their suffering, and the belief that they will be victorious. But all of this was predicated on the spirit of the Lord having come upon them. Since the spirit of the Lord had come upon him, he felt the power to issue a prophetic word of hope and consolation to his people.
This is one of the reasons why the Book of Isaiah, amongst Christians in particular, is the most read of all the prophets and is one of the most read books in the Bible, alongside the Psalms, which over 108 times talk about the joy and the jubilation and the victory of God, and Proverbs, with its wonderful phrases, such as “when justice is done, there is joy in the righteous!” Along with those, Isaiah's stands as one of these prophets who gives us a profound sense of hope. His message is both one of judgment to the oppressor and one of liberation and hope to the oppressed. He is the source of rising illumination to those who are walking in darkness, but to the perpetrators of that darkness it is a warning, a sign of God's impending judgment and victory. For some of those who hear it, then, it is a message of sorrow; for others, it is a message of gladness. That is the power of the poetic verse of this great prophet. It tells us, as Christians, about the righteousness and justice and victory of almighty God in our lives and our world, for supremely above all things, the prophet's voice is a voice of joy.
More often than not, when you think about the prophets, you think about gloom and pessimism and destruction. When you see that someone is going to be prophetic, you want to get out of that person's way as quickly as possible. When someone uses the word “prophet,” you think, “Now, we're in for some bad news!” The same even applies to preaching. I hate to say this, but Lord Byron in Don Juan put it very, very well indeed when he said, “Let us have wine, women, mirth and laughter; sermons and soda water the day after.”
I love having sermons compared to soda water - don't you? In other words, the assumption is that the prophetic word of God, preached, spoken or proclaimed by prophet, poet or preacher is somehow a pessimistic, dark and miserable affair. But nothing could be further from the truth! Look at what Isaiah has to say, and look at exactly how he says it:
The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord's favour, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn.
In other words, yes, it is bad news, and yes, it is God's vengeance for those who have turned their backs on him and have turned away from the needs of people. But to those who are mourning, broken-hearted, in prison, blind, or in need of support, God's prophecy is good news. This poem puts it beautifully: in the midst of chaos, at a time when the people of Israel were being threatened from without and from within, when they were questioning whether their God was righteous and just, when they did not know whether the future would be bright - in the midst of all this, Isaiah gives them this poetic verse to lift them up when they are down, to give them strength when they are weak.
Paul Thigpen, who writes frequently for a magazine called Christian Leadership, more often than not writes very serious, heavy theological papers and prose. But in one issue he tells the story of how when his wife was ill, in hospital. He came home after having spent all of the night before cleaning his house and making it absolutely perfect. He walked into the kitchen and saw disaster before his eyes: There were chocolate fingerprints all over the shelves; there was sugar all over the floor; there was flour spread over the counters; the oven door was left open; the fridge door was left open; cream and eggs and other perishables were left in various places throughout the room. As he looked around at this absolute and unmitigated disaster, he realized that the source of it was his little daughter.
He went through the house looking for her - he was going to give her a piece of his mind - but he couldn't find her. Finally, under a bag of flour he saw a little note which said simply: “Daddy, I am making something for you. Love, Angel.”
All of a sudden, he felt all the anger go from the top of his head and out the bottom of his feet. He said, “How could I stay angry with someone who is offering something in love?”
Isaiah, in writing his prophecy to the people of Israel, felt just the same way. Oh, they had been the source of their own demise; their kings had led them astray; the exile was a result of things they had done wrong; but God's spirit could not hold onto vengeance, could not be angry with them forever. There was going to be a time when there would be change. This is the poetic way in which Isaiah put it: “I will grant them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of the tears of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of the spirit of fainting, so they will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord that he may be glorified.” For Isaiah, there was no question: Even if it was a prophecy that was hard for others to hear, for his people, it was the source of joy.
The prophetic voice is not only a voice of joy. It is not all just about being glad and happy within the kingdom. It is also a voice of hope. Implicit in all of this is a belief that was held amongst Jews called the “Jubilee,” the Acceptable Day of the Lord. The Acceptable Day of the Lord came every seven years. It was the day when people's debts were forgiven, when fields that had been used for seven years were allowed to run fallow and would not be used for the next year or two. It was a time of renewal, when people could go into the Temple and make their offerings and be assured that their sins would be forgiven. Everything was wiped clean; it was a chance to begin again.
Isaiah was saying this is what the spirit of God is going to do: He is going to wipe the slate clean! The burden that you have carried and the debts that you have owed to me will be ultimately put to one side. That is one of the ideas behind the whole notion of ensuring that we allow countries that are heavily indebted to be released from their debts, in order that they can live again - in order that they can be free again.
This does not mean supporting the oppressors, or neglectfully releasing people from their obligations. It means, whenever possible, to free nations from under their terrible bondage. In the end, when they are free, all are free. When they are free of their debt, so is the world free of its debt. It is for the good of all ultimately, but it takes courage to get there. That is the idea behind the prophet Isaiah; this is what he is saying: The good tidings that I bring is that the acceptable day of the Lord is coming, and debt will be wiped away. The same applies to us, to our lives, to our indebtedness to God, to the guilt that binds us. There is this promise of forgiveness, the promise of a new beginning, of a restoration and a change. That is why this poem lives on.
In New York City a number of years ago, a new company was created called Big City Forest. It was set up in the south Bronx, and in an article in the New York Times last year there was an account of how successful this business had been. It was established by the poor, by people who were in need, who had no way of being able to get out of their debt, but one man had decided that if they worked together co-operatively, great things could take place.
This is what they did: They purchased wooden pallets used on loading docks and in warehouses. Often, when heavy crates are put on those pallets, they crack and become useless. Once damaged, the pallets are worth no more than the value of the wood - about $30 a ton. These people got together, and they prayed about what they could do. They bought these palettes, and began to recycle them into rather rough, but nevertheless comfortable furniture. As a result, Big City Forest began to expand, and it was estimated that the value of the tonnage of the used wood, after they had finished with it, had gone from $30 to $6,000 a ton, just because they had taken what had been broken and done something with it.
Now, there is a line in this poem I don't know if you caught the first time I read it. Let me read it to you again: “So the people of Israel will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord that he may be glorified, and they will rebuild the ancient ruins.” They will be oaks: This strong tree will be a symbol of their presence. They will be able to be restored and rebuilt from what seemed to be like ashes of nothingness, like vapours in the wind; they will be built up and restored by the power of God's Holy Spirit, and will become oaks. Even that which is broken and worthless can become magnificent with God's grace.
This week, I was reading a MacLean's magazine article on Terry Fox. Always taken by the stories of his life, I was particularly interested in the summary at the end of the article:
Why is Terry Fox a rarity? Because he was an exceptional guy with an uplifting story, and because by inspiration, good luck or higher purpose, he was blessed with the proverbial village of support. Rick Hansen calls him ”˜an instrument of a dream,' but the vision behind it so captivating. ”˜It doesn't always depend on one individual,' his friend Doug Alward said.
In all seriousness, what caught me was, in many ways, he is not dead. This is a strange thing. There is a much higher purpose to his life than just physical life and death - it is spiritual.
That is what Isaiah is telling the people of Israel. It is not just a matter of their lives and their deaths: when the spirit comes upon them, they will rise, and in the poetic verse, what is broken will be restored and what is in bondage will be set free, what mourns will celebrate, and the oil of tears will no more, it will become the oil of gladness.
One of the most beautiful poets of the latter part of the 20th century, who summed up in so many ways the plight of black Americans, is Maya Angelou. One of her poems has always caught my imagination, and it should resonate in all our hearts, regardless of our race, for it speaks of hope:
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt,
But still, like dust, I'll rise.Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
”˜Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.Just like moons and like suns,
With a certainty of tides,
Just like hope springing high,
Still I'll rise.Do you want to see me broke?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
”˜Cause I laugh like I have gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.You may shoot me with your words.
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still like air, I'll rise.Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I am a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.,
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise.
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise.
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise
For Isaiah, we rise. That is why at the very beginning of his ministry in the Temple, Jesus quotes no other source than our poem today: “The spirit of the Lord God is upon me because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news.” Amen.
This is a verbatim transcription of the original sermon.