There is a sensation on You Tube called Kid President. Kid President is a young, African-American boy who makes videos about what a Kid President would be and do. In one particular video, Kid President asks, “What if YOU were Kid President for a day?” inviting viewers to tell what they’d change about the world. Their responses are priceless. They include:
· “Make college more affordable and create more scholarships.”
· “Reduce, reuse and recycle.”
· “Update the public on the first day of every month to show them how I've been improving this country.”
· “Stop bullying because it's bad and its being mean to people.”
· “We would treat everyone with respect.”
· “Make peace between countries.”
· “There would be a law that says you'd have to dance instead of walk.”
· “We'd make the world more awesome.”
What would YOU do if you were Kid President for a day? What would you say? All these responses were optimistic, forward-thinking, looking toward building a brighter future. The responses were filled with hope of a better day to come; believing that the best was yet to come.
Today's Scripture lesson is a prophecy of Isaiah, composed at a time in which the dynasty of King David, the son of Jesse, has been reduced in a matter of speaking to a mere stump; they were a shadow of their former selves. The people of Israel are cowering in fear of their Assyrian neighbors, who are as cruel to God's people as the Egyptians had been many generations earlier. In the middle of this frightening and violent time, God promises to launch a new political initiative, a peace so pervasive and widespread, it bypasses the genetic hard-wiring of nature itself, allowing the wolf and lamb to share their personal space without either temptation or intimidation.
But how will it appear?
This new regime comes from a simple shoot - from a bud, a sprout, a young leaf. Not from a warrior king or a conquering army, but from a fragile sprout. We know this shoot to be Jesus the Christ, the one born as a vulnerable baby in a manger in Bethlehem, the city of David. He doesn't come to us at Bethlehem as a Messiah with unlimited military might, even though legions of angels are at his disposal. Rather than scorching the earth with firepower, these angels are instead singing on Christmas night, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, good will toward all." The initial creation of the kingdom of God introduces the Prince of Peace, one who has "the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord" (Isaiah 11:2). He comes as a righteous king who is willing to protect the poor and the marginalized, especially widows and orphans. It was believed throughout the Ancient Near East that once the ideal king inaugurates a righteous society, peace and harmony will spread throughout creation. It’s the Peaceable Kingdom that comes and takes hold. This is what the prophet is foretelling.
In fact there is a famous painting entitled, “The Peaceable Kingdom” painted by an American painter Edward Hicks. Hicks painted over a hundred versions of his now-famous Peaceable Kingdom between 1820 and his death. The theme of this painting was undoubtedly attractive to Hicks and fellow Quakers not only for its appealing imagery but also for its message of peace: "The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the calf and the young lion and fatling together; and a little child shall lead them." The Rev. Dr. David G. Buttrick makes this astute observation about Edward Hicks' primitive painting. He asks whether anyone has noticed that there's something left out. In the Holy City, there will be no more churches -- no temples, no spires, no pulpits, no preachers, no squeaky chairs in the fellowship hall, no solemn Bible study circles. The dream gets better all the time, doesn't it? Think of it, the church is the only organization on earth that cheerfully announces its own demise; we know we haven't got forever. Of course, we forget the fact. We go on building thick-walled churches as if we had forever. But we don't; we are not permanent. In God's great plan we're headed for a phaseout. For who will need churches when God is near or at hand, or need preachers when everyone will know the Lord!
A new day is dawning.
This new day disrupts all that is old and destructive. To receive this new possibility requires a decision on our part that is both daring and costly. It is daring because we will not know how to act in a genuine, just community. It is costly because we benefit from and are comfortable with old, deathly patterns of life. We are invited and warned that we must make concrete decisions to reorder our life in ways appropriate to God’s new intention and vision for the world.
God’s life-giving, future-creating, world-forming, despair-ending power can create something new out of nothing. This “spirit of God” is inscrutable, irresistible, beyond human control, management, or predictability. The poem announces that the spirit has come to blow over the stump. The spirit signals new possibilities, while the stump closes out all futures. The situation is urgent. Some believe the hopeless stump can defeat the spirit of God.
The poet, however, knows otherwise! The spirit will prevail! That little “shoot” will be invaded and occupied by the spirit, and therefore massively transformed. The authorizing of the new king by God’s powerful spirit will make the king an advocate of good, fair, and equitable judgment. The spirit that will blow over the new governance is marked by wisdom and understanding, counsel and might, and knowledge and fear of God (v. 2).
The primary responsibilities of king in the ancient world are making decisions about social power and social goods. The new king, powered by the spirit, will not be open to bribes (“what his eyes see”) or convinced by propaganda (“what his ears hear”) (v. 3). He will, rather, be the kind of judge who will attend to the needs of the “meek” and the “poor,” that is, the socially powerless, not the socially powerful.
In our own time, we are learning, a little at a time, that human acts of injustice wreak havoc with the created order (climate change and environmental destruction). Conversely, acts of human justice permit creation to function in a healthy, fruitful way. The newness of human justice (vv. 4–5) leads to the newness of creation (vv 6-9); restored and reconciled, one in which the brutality is tamed and the death is overcome. The oldest of enemies—wolf-lamb, leopard-kid, calf-lion, cow-bear, lion-ox—are made friends. We thought it not possible, but the spirit makes it so. A child is mentioned three times here: “a little child” (v. 6), “the nursing child,” “the weaned child” (v. 8). The little child may be the new shoot of Jesse who will preside over new creation. More broadly, “the little child” bespeaks the birth of a new innocence in which trust, gentleness, and friendship are possible and appropriate. The world will be ordered, so that the fragile and vulnerable can have their say and live their lives, too.
Millions of people around the world and in our country are mourning the loss of Nelson Mandela. In his autobiography Long Walk to Freedom, Nelson Mandela tells of a place he came to during his 27 years in prison. He wrote, “It was during those long and lonely years that my hunger for the freedom of my own people became a hunger for the freedom of all people, white and black. I knew as well as I knew anything that the oppressor must be liberated just as surely as the oppressed. A man who takes away another man's freedom is a prisoner of hatred; he is locked behind the bars of prejudice and narrow-mindedness. I am not truly free if I am taking away someone else's freedom, just as surely as I am not free when my freedom is taken from me. The oppressed and the oppressor alike are robbed of their humanity.”[1] Upon his release from prison, Mandela did the impossible. Instead of getting even or taking revenge against his enemy, he worked toward reconciliation and peace between the blacks and whites of South Africa. He loved his enemy and showed what living a life of grace was all about. Such efforts ended the system of apartheid, of legalized separation of the races, and brought about peace, justice and reconciliation to a war-torn country. A new day had dawned.
There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things in order, she contacted her Pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in. Everything was in order and the Pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.
"There's one more thing," she said excitedly.
"What's that?" came the Pastor's reply.
"This is very important," the young woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."
The Pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.
"That surprises you, doesn't it?" the young woman asked.
"Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the Pastor.
The young woman explained. "In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie; something wonderful, and with substance!"
So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder "What's with the fork?" Then I want you to tell them: "Keep your fork ..the best is yet to come."
At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Pastor heard the question, "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled.
During his message, the Pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.
May we continue to keep our fork, trusting in the hope and peace of a better day; believing that the best is yet to come.
[1] Nelson Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom (New York: Little, Brown and Company, 1994), 544.
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