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| Seen and Unseen Isaiah 5:1-7
It is for the people like me that the phrase “spoiler alert” became a familiar banner across the media throughout July. I had to work hard to avoid hearing references made by casual disk-jockeys, coverage in the news, online announcements of reviews, etc. I am not a fast reader, but it was important to me that I be able to experience the rest of this story as the author intended, without any knowledge of what was to come, so I read through it as quickly and in as much of a vacuum as I could. I wanted the full effect of the surprises within. And I am glad to say that I was successful, and it was, to say the least, a lot of fun. I gasped, I laughed, I cried, and I mourned when it was over. Again, in this world where too much raw information so often preempts wisdom, it is unusual to experience real surprise. We usually get more information than we can handle too quickly, and often need to backpedal through all the data in order to decipher the heart of a story. But when we experience the biblical story of the ever unfolding love of God for humanity, we have not been under the protection of spoiler alerts. Mostly, at least in faith communities such as this, we already know how the story ends, and just as important we already know how the story begins and progresses. In fact, as a community of the faithful we rightly consider it a core responsibility to “spoil” the story for our children. The Greatest Story Ever Told is not one that we withhold in part, in order to allow the learner to savor the experience. In fact, as Christians, we usually start with the climax and work our way backwards. We start with Jesus and then use the truth of the Good News of Christ as the lens through which we interpret all else. So when we read today’s scripture lesson from Isaiah, we are already in on the secret. We already know the continuous pattern throughout the Hebrew scriptures of rebellion and return. As we hear the allegory unfold, we are not necessarily surprised to learn that this is a reprimand of Israel. Even if we do not recall the specific text, once we hear it we know its general location in the plot line. We enter the text as observers who already know “who” the vineyard is or at least why the House of Israel is being called out, and therefore we must stretch ourselves even if only to experience the moment vicariously. The only real means for us to access the intended effect of what is called the Song of the Vineyard, is to try to suspend our prior knowledge enough to imagine how it would feel. How would it feel to be the target audience of this reprimand and to hear it for the first time? So I want to take a moment to tell the story with a little more creative license, first by setting the scene: The reading we heard today from Isaiah is in the form of a song, and a specific kind of song, sung as part of a celebration by a gathered people who share an appreciation for the importance of land well cared for bearing good fruit. It’s just good business, and it is their business, their sustenance. The Song of the Vineyard is like a pub song – imagine a room of revelry where all are engaged in a series of interactive ditties crafted to get the crowd going. Signers rise to center stage so to speak and unfold a story, and draw the audience into that story by asking them questions and encouraging responses. We enter the scene in the midst of the celebration – spirits are high and tongues are lose. Isaiah takes center stage and begins his song. First he pulls the listeners in with a beautiful vision of the abundance of love and care given to the vineyard by the owner. Surely, the image of the investment of labor, sweat and resources resonated with these listeners, who are then informed of the treachery of the land. Despite all that has been poured into the land, it has produced a useless harvest of wild grapes. And there was no reason for it! The caretaker did everything right, and the appearance of wild grapes was not only contrary to the caretakers will, it defied all logic. “Why,” Isaiah pleads with the listening throng, “why did it yield wild grapes?” Certainly, that would be the question on everyone’s mind, and with anticipation they might yearn to hear the reason. But regardless of any reason, justice would need to be served against a vineyard that accepted all that labor and drained the resources of the owner, only to betray him so severely. And so Isaiah gives the energized audience what it longs for - justice. All the protections afforded the treasonous vineyard will be torn down; all the nurturing and care will be denied; it will be neglected and left vulnerable to the predatory forces that surround it. Finally, Isaiah takes a bold step as a mere mortal and claims that he will even command the forces of Creation to act outside of themselves – “I will also command the clouds that they rain no rain upon it.” I can hear the thunderous cheers from the rowdy gathering, dripping with the righteous indignation reserved for one so gravely wronged. The hearers of this story, identifying without question with the caretaker of the vineyard, feel justified in the course of the imaginary action they have participated in. The story is one to which they can relate and the ending seems fit. But then it happens – what is called in popular culture, the buzz kill. Another name might be the zinger. With a mighty crash, Isaiah proclaims the truth, that they, the listeners and participators, those who have already agreed that such a display of wrath is in fact a reasonable act of justice, are the ones sentenced to the fate. It is a much greater truth than they had bargained for, and one that, to say the least, probably felt wildly out of place. In my imagination I can feel the room come to a sudden standstill – some not quite catching what was just said, others scratching their heads, and still others perfectly clear about what they heard and not pleased at all with the trick that has been played on them. For some, there is embarrassment, for others nothing but anger, yet hopefully for some, the seedlings of remorse. For these few, a veil of self-deception has been lifted and the process of liberation has begun, although not without labor pains. In theory, we love the switcheroo – when things are not what they appear – when reality is in actuality not at all what it has been assumed to be: Many of our sitcoms are based on the guilty pleasure we find from watching a series of misunderstandings spin out of control, only to be wrapped up with a humorous revelation of the truth at the end. And we are enraptured by the tragic ending of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, when Romeo mistakenly concludes that Juliet is dead and commits suicide at her side. As we watch her awake from her slumber we are consumed with the ferocity of the mortal consequences of such a failure to see reality as it is and not as it appears to be. Still, as observers of these unfolding events, we can witness the moment of revelation and either laugh or cry as is appropriate, and then go on our way. But how does it feel when the failure to see reality
as it truly is, is not fictional? What does it feel like when it
seems as though the universe has played a nasty trick with dire
consequences? When we learn that a man has spent 50 years in prison
only for the world to discover through new technologies that he
was in fact innocent. If you have had such an experience, as I have had quite a few, then you probably can easily recall the feeling of having the rug pulled out from under you. Some describe it as falling. Others as having the wind knocked out of them. Others experience it as a force crashing down. However the experience has named itself for you personally, it is without a doubt one of the most dreaded experiences of adulthood. And the agony that springs from the experience is not the agony of a victim, someone who truly did not participate in the construction and fortification of a false reality. I am talking about the agony that comes from knowing, in hindsight, all the ways in which we did contribute. The times we spoke up in favor of its foundations. The times we didn’t speak up when something just didn’t seem right. The times we left questions unasked or unanswered. The times we retreated into the sense of security the illusion provided. Or the times we helped to silence those who were trying to raise the alarm that something was amiss. This is the intended effect of Isaiah. The role of the prophet is to punch through carefully constructed illusions, and at this point in Israel’s history, God’s chosen people seem to have entangled themselves so securely within the web of their own self-deception that it feels like swaddling clothes. And certainly, it has done so in contradiction to all logic. God has created for them a world in which living in accordance with Divine justice should come naturally, yet they have chosen to live as though they are nested within some alternate reality. According to the words of Isaiah, Israel has chosen bloodshed over justice, and has turned a deaf ear to the cries of the vulnerable where there should be righteousness. “Why,” Isaiah cries out. But as we all know, there is no answer – no answer other than sin. Whether we remember the times we have experienced it ourselves or we have watched others in our lives do it, we have seen the dual powers of rationalization and self-deception blend to construct understandings of “the way things are” that are so finely crafted by the believer that they seem impenetrable by straight appeals to reason or even to conscience. Certainly, this is at the heart of addiction, and it is why the first and most important step of the Twelve Step program is to shatter the fundamental and fatal illusion of having control over the addiction. The first step to healing and liberation is to admit that there is a problem. But what is to be done when through the deceptive lenses of sin we look in the mirror and don’t see anything wrong with the picture? What is to be done when sin has hijacked our vision so much that our abilities to reason and discern are themselves corrupted? Well, the Great News found in both of today’s readings will not come as a surprise, but it is great news to hear anyway. The Great News is that when all else fails, God’s Holy Spirit of illumination will shake and shock the very foundations of our illusions, will pull that proverbial rug out from under us and will send us hurtling through the unknown. We will find ourselves confused, without sure footing, and vulnerable, unsure anymore as to what is real and what is unreal, unsure whether to believe in the seen or in the unseen. Wait! So this is the great news? Well, no one said that blessings always feel good. Yes, this is great news, but it is also difficult. A change of heart comes with a price, and in the case of answering the prophetic call to reorient ourselves, the price is facing the scary and exhausting work of deconstruction. So again, where is the great news? To put it plainly, here it is: The great news is that God wouldn’t bother if God didn’t have every confidence that we can rise to the occasion and emerge from the other end a shining witness, worthy of bearing the Divine image. The prophetic voice of God is nothing if not a revelation of the ever optimistic heart of God. The expectation is that we will finally get it. The expectation is that we will finally shake off the distorted lenses of sin and open our eyes to Divine reality. Simply by loving us enough to confront us with the truth, God proclaims that we cannot fail. And really, if God believes we can do it, who are we to argue? Both Isaiah and Jesus offer up some seriously tough love. Isaiah uses a humiliating trick to catch the attention of the Israelites. Jesus confronts the multitudes with an embarrassing condemnation of their unwillingness to see the obvious that is right in front of their faces. He calls them, and us, hypocrites, from the Greek word meaning stage performers, actors. Jesus calls us out - we are pretenders, we are counterfeit, actors in a play of our own authoring. But just saying it isn’t enough – Jesus also spices the message with bitters by confronting us with the obvious. But he does so because he knows we are capable of more, that we are capable of courage and of greatness. We are creatures somehow able to perform magic. We are able to cloak Divine reality from our sight to the degree that it is no longer visible, and to create in its place a reality crafted out of our own desires. But as people of faith, that’s not how we want to be! Is it possible to escape the lenses of sin and to see things for the way they are in God’s eyes? Well, it seems to me that Isaiah thought so, and glory be to God so does Jesus! Liberation comes from someone willing to tell the truth with love – someone willing to be the one to lift the veil, with compassion yes, but also without apology - sympathetic without being apologetic, inclusive but not accommodating. The Holy Spirit of illumination is not an editorial agent, and content is not manipulated to soften the blow. The Spirit of God greets us with the dignity deserving of one bearing the Divine image, one with the strength to confront sin, and, with the help of the Lord, to participate in victory over it. But no one said it would be painless. Divine
judgment is like fire, while it cleanses, it also burns. But praise
be to God, because that same Spirit of fire is also the Spirit of
comfort, the Spirit of advocacy, the breath of New Creation. When
the power of God Almighty is the source of revelation, and we find
ourselves falling, we can trust that we will be caught by that same
power, and lifted up to new heights we did not know we were capable
of.
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Is Still Speaking www.stillspeaking.com |
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