FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Commentary
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By James A. Nestingen
Isaiah 52:7-10 (Christmas Day)
Is it possible to read these beautiful words, for Christians so much a part of the Christmas tradition, without wondering what actually happened? Faith sees a deeper reality, that unfolding out of God's graciousness. But at the same time, it knows the stuff of everyday -- the way it is to the eye. The good word is that in the end, the two realities will be resolved in favor of the promise.
Full of the first reality, Isaiah sees to the gracious center of God's purpose. Feet aren't much to look at, at least those toughened enough to carry good news -- gravel-hardened or bunioned and corned by modern cobblery, they show evidence of the burden they've carried. But with his ears full of the word, his heart warmed by the promise, Isaiah looks through all of that, rejoicing in the messenger -- even, especially the feet -- for the abiding delight of the message.
And such a message it is: "Your God reigns" (v. 7). Sick and tired of the grim stuff of oppression, displacement and loss, God acted once more to dispossess the hostile. He is on his way back to his holy hill, to comfort, to redeem, to save. In fact, it will be the ultimate muscle show, God's arm flexed in the face of every force or power that contends against the gently ruthless force of his graciousness.
Did it happen that way? The question has to be asked for a couple of reasons. For one, while faith doesn't depend on earthly realities -- it can always hear more than it sees -- no reality check turns it from faith to delusion. For another, the very festivity of these words, taken over by the Church as an expression of the festivity of Christmas, serves a poignant reminder of the opposite, cries of pain and despair.
Both dimensions are harsh. The exiles returned not as much in triumph as a straggle, drifting in, struggling amidst hope and contention to rebuild. There was more destruction, further dispersion. Now the Dome of the Rock, one of the most sacred sights of Islam, stands right over the Wailing Wall, the remains of the Temple. By the same token, for many if not most, Christmas is one of the most disappointing days of the year. Expectations cooked to white heat, the inevitable sorrows -- absences, contentions, disappointed longings -- pile up like dirty dishes and the laundry. So what's the difference, anyway? And where's the hope?
It is in the wilderness, where Isaiah, John the Baptist, and Jesus began their work. It is in the manger, looked over by cud-chewing cattle, a mother just recently out of puberty, and a callous-handed carpenter still wondering how in the world he became a father. The reality of hope is hidden in the harsher reality of the eye, just so. And it is there that the voice speaks the last word, "Your God reigns." You will not be disappointed forever.
By James A. Nestingen
Isaiah 52:7-10 (Christmas Day)
Is it possible to read these beautiful words, for Christians so much a part of the Christmas tradition, without wondering what actually happened? Faith sees a deeper reality, that unfolding out of God's graciousness. But at the same time, it knows the stuff of everyday -- the way it is to the eye. The good word is that in the end, the two realities will be resolved in favor of the promise.
Full of the first reality, Isaiah sees to the gracious center of God's purpose. Feet aren't much to look at, at least those toughened enough to carry good news -- gravel-hardened or bunioned and corned by modern cobblery, they show evidence of the burden they've carried. But with his ears full of the word, his heart warmed by the promise, Isaiah looks through all of that, rejoicing in the messenger -- even, especially the feet -- for the abiding delight of the message.
And such a message it is: "Your God reigns" (v. 7). Sick and tired of the grim stuff of oppression, displacement and loss, God acted once more to dispossess the hostile. He is on his way back to his holy hill, to comfort, to redeem, to save. In fact, it will be the ultimate muscle show, God's arm flexed in the face of every force or power that contends against the gently ruthless force of his graciousness.
Did it happen that way? The question has to be asked for a couple of reasons. For one, while faith doesn't depend on earthly realities -- it can always hear more than it sees -- no reality check turns it from faith to delusion. For another, the very festivity of these words, taken over by the Church as an expression of the festivity of Christmas, serves a poignant reminder of the opposite, cries of pain and despair.
Both dimensions are harsh. The exiles returned not as much in triumph as a straggle, drifting in, struggling amidst hope and contention to rebuild. There was more destruction, further dispersion. Now the Dome of the Rock, one of the most sacred sights of Islam, stands right over the Wailing Wall, the remains of the Temple. By the same token, for many if not most, Christmas is one of the most disappointing days of the year. Expectations cooked to white heat, the inevitable sorrows -- absences, contentions, disappointed longings -- pile up like dirty dishes and the laundry. So what's the difference, anyway? And where's the hope?
It is in the wilderness, where Isaiah, John the Baptist, and Jesus began their work. It is in the manger, looked over by cud-chewing cattle, a mother just recently out of puberty, and a callous-handed carpenter still wondering how in the world he became a father. The reality of hope is hidden in the harsher reality of the eye, just so. And it is there that the voice speaks the last word, "Your God reigns." You will not be disappointed forever.
