“Of Wolves and Lambs and Human Beings”
Isaiah 11:1-10; Luke 3:1-16
Rev. Dr. Deborah L. Clark
Dec. 6, 2015
It makes for great Christmas card art—wolves and lambs cavorting in green pastures, a baby goat resting her head on a sleeping leopard. We are so accustomed to these tender images of the peaceable kingdom that we can miss what a radical statement the prophet Isaiah was making.
Isaiah spoke to a people who knew how dangerous wolves and leopards could be. The shepherds among them had spent many a sleepless night ensuring that wolves and lambs did not live together—for they knew the result would be deadly for the lamb.
For them, Isaiah’s vision was neither pretty nor cute—it was jarring. Isaiah asked them to imagine something so counter to their experience that it was utterly inconceivable. Isaiah promised that this One who was coming—the Savior—would turn their world upside down, a transformation so complete even wolves would be redeemed. In fact, this passage is often called “the redemption of nature.”
With his evocative poetry, Isaiah touched the depths of his people’s yearning. They yearned for freedom from the dangers that threatened them—the actual wolves that attacked their livestock, and the surrounding predatory nations that were like wolves waiting to pounce on the vulnerable nation of Judea.
Twenty-six hundred years later, we bring a different set of yearnings to these words. No longer does the danger come from wolves that might attack a straying lamb; now the danger is that wolves—and polar bears and wood storks and fireflies—may not survive. No longer do we yearn for the redemption of nature but instead for its restoration—restoration of balance to the fragile web of life. It is no longer the wolf and the lion and the adder we fear, but rather our own capacity to destroy this beautiful planet.
This week our fears and our prayers for our planet come to the forefront, as leaders from almost 200 nations gather in Paris for what is being called the Conference of the Parties. In spite of a devastating terror attack in the City of Lights less than a month ago, leaders from all over the world have still gathered there. The very existence of this conference this week represents a broad recognition that we cannot ignore climate change. Unless we come together, unless we turn the tide in the growth of carbon particles in our atmosphere, it will be too late.
And so they are there, world leaders that are at odds with each other on so many issues, gathered with a shared sense of purpose. Unlike at the UN Conference on Climate Change in 2009, for this conference the leaders have come prepared. Almost 180 of the participants have already submitted their nations’ targets for reducing their carbon emissions. The submission from the United States calls for reducing our carbon emissions to 26% below our 2005 levels over the next 15 years. Every major nation is making a significant commitment. It is amazing.
And it is not enough. According to an analysis by MIT’s Sloan School of Management, the proposed reductions in carbon emissions would reduce the anticipated global temperature increase from 8 degrees Fahrenheit to 6 degrees by the year 2100. In order to avoid catastrophic climate change, according to the same analysis, we need to limit the increase to 3 degrees.
There are proposals at the conference to intensify our global commitment, through a five-year review process that would reassess the status of the planet and the progress of each country and ratchet up the efforts. Perhaps our world leaders will respond to that proposal and agree to this even more rigorous review process.
The stakes for this conference are high, and so are the barriers. As a global community, we are asking ourselves to do something human beings naturally resist: make short-term sacrifices for long-term good. While there is broad scientific consensus about the global climate crisis, there are loud voices saying we don’t need to worry. Developing nations argue that developed nations, who have contributed most of the dangerous carbon emissions in the past, should bear most of the responsibility for making changes. In turn, developed nations worry that emerging economies are not doing enough. Then there is the delicate balance of international diplomacy with each nation’s political realities. For the global community to act with this much unity on such a complex issue is remarkable; for these leaders to take even further steps would be unprecedented.
The stakes and the barriers are high. The signs of progress, though significant, pale beside the enormity of the problem. Do we dare hope that human beings can come together to dismantle the barriers and prepare the way for the healing of our planet?
Our Advent scriptures challenge us to say yes—and to live that yes.
Scholars believe the book of Isaiah was written by three different prophets at three different times in Jewish history. All three periods were characterized by fear, uncertainty, and even despair. The people were tempted to give up, to abandon their principles and their faith. In each of these times, a prophet emerged to speak God’s words to the people.
Today’s reading comes from the prophet we call First Isaiah, who spoke to a people living in fear that their beloved nation would be attacked and destroyed by the Babylonian empire. In this anxious time, First Isaiah challenged his people to hope. He didn’t suggest that they keep their expectations low. Instead, he proclaimed a bold vision of a world transformed. Don’t just hope for one lamb to escape one wolf, he said to his people; hope for a world where wolves and lambs lie down side by side. Don’t just hope for a small increase in renewable energy, Isaiah tells us today; hope for a world restored. No matter how overwhelming the odds, Isaiah promises us, God’s love is powerful enough to transform our lives and our world. Dare to hope big, he challenged the people of ancient Judea. Dare to hope big, he challenges us today.
In our gospel reading, John the Baptist reminds us that hope is not a feeling but a way of life. Quoting another Isaiah text, John calls the people to prepare the way for the coming of the savior. “Every valley shall be filled,” he proclaims, “and every mountain and hill shall be made low.” Dismantle the barriers, John says, that get in the way of hope.
John calls the people to come and be baptized—a symbolic act that expresses their intention to change their hearts and their lives. The crowd wants more specifics: “What then should we do?” John’s guidance is concrete. If you have two coats, give one away. If you are a tax collector, collect only what is owed. If you are a soldier, do not extort.
John calls the people to acts that seem small but have major ramifications. He’s calling us to make sacrifices, small and large. He’s telling those of us with power and privilege not to use it for our own gain, but to serve God and God’s world.
Preparing the way, John the Baptist suggests, means changing your heart and your life. It means doing what you can where you are, whether you are in Framingham or Paris. It means giving away your coat–or maybe your car?– even when that only leaves you with one. It means recycling and composting and insulating, writing letters and investing resources and speaking out. Isaiah calls us to hope big; John challenges us to take the first steps toward our big hope.
John and Isaiah promise the coming of a Savior, one who will usher in a new world. Even as their words stir our own longings, we proclaim our belief that the savior has already come. In spite of expectations to the contrary, this savior did not come to fix our problems. Our Savior came—and comes—to transform us by the power of love.
There is no one person who can solve the problem of global climate change—no brilliant scientist with a biochemical solution, no charismatic politician who will make everyone agree, no Savior tearing open the heavens and restoring creation with a single stroke.
Instead the Savior calls us into community and then stands with us as we slowly, persistently work to dismantle the barriers and prepare the way for hope. Even as we, with Isaiah and John, look to our Savior as the source of our hope, our Savior points us back to ourselves. We are the hope—not on our own, but in community, by the power of God’s love, with the creative inspiration of the Holy Spirit.
So let us begin by doing what we can where we are. Let us trust that small acts can grow beyond our imagining. Let us dare to hope big, holding before us a vision of creation restored:
The wolf shall roam freely in the forest;
And the snow leopard shall nurse its young
on craggy mountain peaks.
Tropical fish shall feed on dazzling coral,
And polar bears shall rest secure on the ice.
Turbines shall rotate in the wind,
and solar panels shall soak up the sun.
Human beings shall walk gently on the earth,
And a child’s wonder at creation shall lead them.
They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain;
For the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord
As the waters cover the seas.