Isaiah 11:1-10
December 4, 2016
Advent 2A
In the earliest years of my childhood there were two television programs that I watched regularly. One, of course, was Sesame Street. The other was Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. These two programs were very different. One program featured creatures like Big Bird and Snuffolufogas learning to live together peacefully on the streets of an urban neighborhood. Whereas Wild Kingdom featured creatures like leopards and lions hungrily feasting on the bloody entrails of some unlucky zebra or gazelle, somewhere in the African Serengeti. The contrast between these two shows couldn’t have been starker.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that Marlin Perkins was actually teaching me more about the real world than Grover and Cookie Monster ever could. Sesame Street never mentioned anything about sin. For that matter, Marlin Perkins never said the word either. But every time I saw a wolf pack ripping some little bunny to shreds—every time I saw the crimson face of a lion snacking on the innards of a baby water buffalo—every time I saw a cobra sink its fangs into some cute, fuzzy mammal and then swallow the mammal whole—what I was seeing was the unmistakable evidence of the fall into sin.
Originally, in the beginning, before the fall into sin, these beasts were harmless and posed no threat whatsoever to Adam and Eve. Even the biggest and fiercest creatures were ruled and dominated by our first parents in Paradise. Predator and prey were terms you would not find in the dictionary of the Garden of Eden. But since that fateful day in Genesis chapter three, wolves, bears and lions are largely untamed. They are wild—outside of our control and dominion. If you get attacked by a bear, it’s nothing personal. Don’t be offended. Bears and other predators live by instinct, not by conscience. They prey on the weak. They fight to survive. It’s what they do. Back them into a corner or, say, threaten their offspring, and prepare to have claws and jaws aimed at your throat. The theme of this fallen creation is not “live and let live,” but rather, “kill to live.”
Sadly, the laws of the jungle don’t only apply to the predators and prey of the planet, but also to the people of the planet. For what the wolf does to the lamb and what the lion does to the fattened calf is also what we do to those around us. We don’t do it with fangs and claws, mind you, but with our words and actions. It really doesn’t take much provoking for us to rip apart the lives of others. We regularly sink our fangs into those who get in our way and inconvenience us. We chomp down on the bones of those who dare to cross our paths. For what the cat does to the mouse is what we do to those around us on a regular basis—friends, family members, innocent bystanders, it matters not. As we view the world through the lenses of our sinful nature, it’s clear: I’m always right, and everybody else is always in the wrong place at the wrong time, fully deserving all the puncture wounds we can inflict with our words and deeds.
The painful truth is that we’re much worse than the animals. Isaiah makes that clear in chapter one where he writes, “The ox knows his master, the donkey his owner’s manger, but Israel does not know, my people do not understand” (v.3). The ox and ass have things figured out. The wild animals are wise compared to us. To describe our behavior as beastly is actually an insult to the beasts! At least nature’s carnivores kill for their own survival. In the human world, unborn babies can be brutally murdered for nearly any reason at nearly any time of development. In the human world, we rip apart reputations just to make ourselves look good by comparison. In the human world, we bear our fangs purely for reasons of revenge and retribution. The “human” world is actually much less “humane” than the wild kingdom. Inside each of us is a wild, beastly, sinful creature. It cannot be domesticated, placated, or tamed. It must be killed.
This is what Advent is all about—killing the beast within. This is what John the Baptist meant when he preached repentance, calling the scribes and Pharisees a brood of vipers when they came after him with their fangs in full view. Advent is about Jesus—about the Son of God coming right into this hellish God-forsaking zoo of a world—stepping right into the lions’ den—right into this wild kingdom. Jesus came precisely for wild and untamed sinners like us. Jesus came to seek and save us beasts, to give us the beauty of His own righteousness.
When Isaiah first preached about the Messiah coming into our wild, wild world, it must have seemed pretty unlikely; in fact, darn near impossible. Isaiah preached that the coming Savior would be like “a shoot from the stump of Jesse.” You remember Jesse, don’t you? Jesse, the father of King David? God had promised David that his kingdom and his throne would be established forever (2 Sam. 7:16). But right about the time Mary and Joseph were encountering all those “no vacancy” signs in Bethlehem, David’s throne had been unoccupied and gathering dust for nearly five centuries. David’s kingdom had long ago been mowed down by the Babylonian chain saw wielded by Nebuchadnezzar; and only a dead stump remained. But from the remains of that dead stump sprouted David’s greater Son—David’s greatest Son—the Son of God—the Son of Mary—our Savior.
Isaiah said that the Savior would come to judge. But He doesn’t judge by what He sees with His eyes or hears with His ears. He judges you, Isaiah says, with righteousness. And even though you are guilty, for your sake He takes the blame. For your sake, the rod of punishment leaves welts and bloody furrows on His back. The belt of righteousness around His waist, the belt of faithfulness around His loins—these He removes from Himself and lovingly wraps them around you. You through faith become what He is; as He becomes what you are. You switch places, so that all the good He has becomes yours; and all the bad you have becomes His. As Isaiah looked ahead to Good Friday, he expressed the Savior’s work like this: He was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities . . . and with His stripes we are healed.
This great exchange—this sacred substitution—transpires here in His church. Here in the church of Jesus Christ there’s always more than meets the eye. For as my eyes scan the pews this morning, I see sinful beasts—lions and tigers and bears (oh, my). Yet at the same time, I see something glorious: baptized beasts—sinners defanged and declawed by confession and absolution—souls redeemed by Christ the crucified—living together, loving together, serving and sacrificing together, witnessing as one. Here in the church, already today, the wolf dwells with the lamb, the leopard with the goat, the cow and the bear, the lion and ox, all of them hanging out together without fear of harm or destruction—led by the little child born in Bethlehem, David’s Son and David’s Lord.
Ultimately, of course, this life we share together in the church is a preview of heaven—the life of the world to come. And that heavenly life is less about harps and halos, and more about a return to Paradise—a restoration of what Adam and Eve enjoyed before they sinned and died. In paradise there will be no predators and no prey. No sin and no death. Just the good company of the Creator and His creatures, living in perfect harmony.
But between now and then, of course, you have to head back out into that wild kingdom we call planet earth. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. But as you head out, remember this: the Lord Jesus has chosen you (of all creatures) to be His own, to bless you with His blood-bought forgiveness and His resurrection life. He has washed you and welcomed you into His holy family. He has fed you and clothed you with the beauty of His own righteousness. You are a beast made beautiful by the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
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