This summer, one of my neighbors
planted several tomato plants in four large buckets. He carefully filled the
buckets with the right soil and fertilizer mixture. He watered them each day.
The plants began to grow strong and upright. Beautiful red tomatoes began to
blossom on them—tomatoes that he picked and shared with us. This summer,
a professional crew has been power washing the outside of the apartment buildings where we live. My neighbor had talked with them when he saw them cleaning in another section of the apartment complex.
They had assured him that their work would not damage his plants.
Then one day a couple of
weeks ago, they showed up at his apartment while he was out of town. They began
spraying, and the next day the plants began turning black and dying. He again
talked to the people, that in spraying his plants they had killed them. He told
them how he felt betrayed by what they had done, and he expected compensation. However,
nothing could replace his hard work in nurturing those plants. All his work in
planting and watering—all his eager expectations—all down the drain!
Likewise,
having served congregations in rural areas, I know that farming is a risky venture. In
particular, owning a vineyard is more risky than some other means of farming. In
riding with Dick Daniel throughout his beautiful vineyard a couple of months ago, I realized how much work there is to having
a vineyard. The plants have to be chosen for the climate in which they will grow,
they have to be planted with care to be sure they get the right amount of sunlight. They have to be fertilized, pruned, and
watered. The weeds have to be pulled out, lest they stunt the growth of the vines.
Then an unexpected early or late frost can do great damage to a crop. Owning a vineyard is a labor-intensive act of love, encompassing substantial economic investment, and considerable
financial risk. Indeed, it is an act of love.
In
the Book of Isaiah are two poems about vineyards. The first poem began
as a love song. The initial voice to speak is a feminine voice. She sings about her beloved and his vineyard. He had planted
his vineyard on a very fertile hill. He had broken the ground and cleared it
of stones, so that the roots could grow deep and find their nourishment. He had
planted it with the finest grapes, in order to make the finest wine in the region. As
was the practice in that day, he had planted his grapes so that the growing vines might be able to run along the ground, trail
over fences, and even grow up poles or trellises. He might even have put a bench
under one of the trellises so that the owner and his workers might be able to take a break in the middle of the day and sit
under them as a shelter from the sun’s rays.
After
he had cleared the stones from the field, he used some of those stones to build a watchtower to keep out thieves. He also built a hedge to keep wild animals from tramping over his grapes. Finally,
he dug out a wine vat in a stony area of the vineyard. In his wine vat, his workers
could mash the grapes, extracting the juice. The juice then would be fermented
into the finest wine. It had taken years for the vines to grow large enough to
produce grapes, and over those years, her beloved had made a considerable emotional and financial investment in his vineyard.
She knew of his love for his vineyard. Therefore,
when her song concluded, her words expressed the great pain she felt for her beloved—“He expected it to yield grapes, but it yielded wild grapes.” That
word she used, “expected”,
as in “he expected it,” will
resound again and again throughout the poem.
A
new voice then speaks in the poem. It is a male voice. It is the voice of the beloved, the vineyard’s owner. His
voice is angry. As if addressing a courtroom, he asks for his listeners, the
people of Jerusalem and Judah, to
sit in judgment of his vineyard. One can hear his pain in his voice when he asks,
“What more was there to do for my vineyard
that I have not done in it.” Despite all the care that he had taken
for the grapes, despite all the attention that he lavished upon them in breaking the ground, clearing out the stones, building
the watchtower, and digging out the wine vat—the vineyard had not lived up to the purpose for which it had been created.
In its willfulness, the vineyard had betrayed him! The grapes had become, not grapes suitable for making the finest wine, but rather they had become stinking
and worthless grapes. They were not even worth picking from the vines. “What more was there to do for my vineyard that I have not done in it,”
he pleaded? The implied answer of course was “Nothing!” There was nothing else that he could have done for his grapes—so much potential—so
much loss.
Instead
of waiting for his listeners to render their verdict, the owner then renders the verdict on his vineyard. He had provided a safe and fertile place for his grapes to grow. Nevertheless,
in their rebellious willfulness, they had refused to fulfill their purpose. Therefore, if they wanted to be wild grapes—he
would allow them to be wild grapes. He would tear down the hedge that had kept
out the wild animals. The land would be returned to its original state—no
pruning, no hoeing! Soon the vineyard would be overrun with briers and thorns,
which would choke out the grape vines. Finally, in his anger, the owner said
that he would command the clouds not to bring rain upon his vineyard. In his
anger, he wanted the vineyard to become a wasteland—land not suitable for the growth of any vegetation.
Slowly
his listeners began to sense the identity of the owner. They knew that only God
could direct the clouds to rain or not. They began to sense that the song was
not about an actual vineyard—this song was in fact an allegory, a story that represented something else. The owner therefore must be God. Suddenly, to their horror,
his listeners realized that the poem was about them. It was about what God was going to do with them! Then to make sure that everyone understood, the poet declared, “For the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the people of Judah are his pleasant planting; he expected justice, but
saw bloodshed; righteousness, but heart a cry!”
When
we Modern Americans think of justice, we think of arresting, convicting, and imprisoning those who commit crimes. The Old
Testament also opposed such criminal behavior. At the same time, the Old Testament’s
understanding of “justice”
was much broader in concept. It understood that God had given a few people economic
power, political power, or social power. That power was given to them, that they
might use that power for the welfare of all humankind. The 5% of the population that controlled significant power – they were to seek to manifest God’s
care; the other 95% of the population that was powerless! Their power was to
be used for the welfare of widows, orphans, migrant workers, and other poor people—people who did not have the clout
or other means to protect themselves. Yet those who had been given power, they
had refused to live responsively with their power. They had abused the poor with
their power. The poor had cried out to God. God
had heard their cry to him, and he was angry!
God’s
love, it turned out, came with expectations. Three times in this poem, we have
heard that God “expected, expected, expected.” God knew the difference between a well cared for vineyard, and a patch of
kudzu growing on a hillside. God had called Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob to follow
him. When the Egyptians had enslaved the Hebrews, God had sent Moses to lead them out in the exodus. God had brought them
through the wilderness, fed them manna and quail, and supplied them good water to drink. God
further had given them the Promised Land. God lovingly had led them through challenge
after challenge in their history. God had deeply invested himself in them. He therefore had high expectations of them. Yet,
they had failed to be that which God had created them to be.
Within
a decade, the Assyrian army under Sargon II would attack Israel, the northern kingdom, defeating it and carrying off as prisoners a significant portion of its population. The history of the northern kingdom would end. However,
God’s indictment was not just against Israel
for its injustices. The southern kingdom, Judah, was likewise rebellious against God. Within about 75 years, the Babylonian armies
would destroy Jerusalem and its temple, and would carry into exile much of the population.
If
one expects to find any grace in this poem by Isaiah of Jerusalem, one
does not find it. God’s grace therefore must be experienced elsewhere in the book.
In Isaiah 27, another prophet spoke. We call him “Isaiah of the Apocalypse.” This prophet sang a song about another vineyard. This
song was a song about salvation. This song was a reversal of the earlier song
of the vineyard. As before, the owner once again would be attentive to his vineyard,
providing water, and guarding it night and day to protect it from harm. In this
new vineyard, there would still be the expectation of a fruitful harvest. God
declared, “I am not angry. If only there
were briers and thorns confronting me! I would march against them in battle; I would set them all on fire. Or else let them
come to me for refuge; let them make peace with me, yes, let them make peace with me...” “Isaiah of the Apocalypse”
declared that God had summoned the foreign nations by sight and by sound—as one would summon a dog. God had used these foreign nations to punish Israel for disciplinary reasons. However, God had not destroyed Judah, nor had God forgotten his people Judah. God loved his people.
A
CBS News story last year told of Tracy and Blake Allison, a couple living in Boulder,
Colorado. The couple, both whom are engineers, decided to turn their home
into a grape vineyard. They had planted their backyard with row after row of
grapes. Moreover, inside their home they had installed a grape press, oak barrows,
and stainless steel casts for the preparation and fermenting process. Their winery
was very successful, for in the previous year they had produced 125 cases of wine for sale. They
truly had a home industry.
The
continuing Good News for us is that God still sings, plows, plants, and looks for good fruit in the homes of all those who
trust in him. The fruits of that harvest are sweet justice, festive righteousness,
and joyful worship. In our homes, in our work, and in our play—let us manifest
that bountiful fruit of God’s love. Let us, too, be about the work of singing,
plowing, planting, and seeking to bring forth good fruit in other’s lives.
