Advent Day 15: Branch | Rod Out of the Stem of Jesse

The Tree of Jesse, Victor, 1674. Tempera and gold leaf on panel, 20.4 x 16.0 in. Hellenic Institute of Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Studies, Venice, Italy. Public Domain.

“O Root of Jesse” Peformed by Et Incarnatus Chamber Orchestra.

“The Rod of Jesse’s Root Has Bloomed” from the album Kontakion on the Nativity of Christ. Performed by Cappella Romana, directed by Alexander Lingas, composed by Richard Toensing.

Week Three Introduction:

The Figurative Names of Christ

In addition to being a volume of concrete theological ideas and beliefs, the Bible is also a text filled with creative imagery and imagination. Scripture is a rich depository of poetic word pictures: symbols, motifs, metaphors, similes, parables, and similitudes. This imagery is used when familiar language does not adequately express what the author wishes to convey. Figurative language has the ability to speak passionately about abstract truth using concrete images from everyday life with attached emotional/spiritual associations. It appeals to our sensory perceptions of sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch—ways we understand the world around us.

This evocative language tends to elicit stronger feelings and deeper insights than hard, cold facts. We are able to more fully understand the complex character and diverse attributes of Christ because of the abundant symbolism concerning Him found in Scripture. In fact, the Bible offers such a vivid tapestry of Christological images that it is impossible to stereotype Christ or consider only one aspect of His being. This week, we’ll delve into a few of the many figurative names used to describe our Lord. In his “25 Metaphors for Christ” guide, Chris Drew writes, “Each metaphor offers a unique perspective on who Jesus is and what he means to those who follow him. As we contemplate these metaphors, may we draw closer to the multifaceted, awe-inspiring reality of Jesus Christ.” That is our prayer for you this week as well.

Poetry:

“Salvage”
by Ada Limón

On the top of Mount Pisgah, on the western
slope of the Mayacamas, there’s a madrone
tree that’s half-burned from the fires, half-alive
from nature’s need to propagate. One side
of her is black ash and at her root is what
looks like a cavity that was hollowed out
by flame. On the other side, silvery green
broadleaf shoots ascend toward the winter
light and her bark is a cross between a bay
horse and a chestnut horse, red and velvety
like the animal’s neck she resembles. I have
been staring at the tree for a long time now.
I am reminded of the righteousness I had
before the scorch of time. I miss who I was.
I miss who we all were, before we were this: half
alive to the brightening sky, half dead already.
I place my hand on the unscarred bark that is cool
and unsullied, and because I cannot apologize
to the tree, to my own self I say, I am sorry.
I am sorry I have been so reckless with your life.

Rod Out of the Stem of Jesse

Jesus entered a messy family tree.

When you’re familiar with the convoluted and offensive stories behind the names, the genealogy of Jesus is anything but boring. A father sleeping with his daughter-in-law. The king abusing power to commit adultery at best and sexual assault at worst. An oppressed man turned prince-of-oppressors committing murder. A schemer lying his way into blessing over and over. Everywhere you turn, something is breaking, and someone is hurting.

Before he ever heard the whispers about his mother’s unchaste pregnancy or suffered his father’s untimely death, Jesus inherited the pain of a family acquainted with agony, a family with things to hide. He stepped into a lineage littered with shame, blame, and a long list of unresolved traumas.

Do you know anything about that?

Anything about coming awake to generational cycles of sin and all they’ve cost you? Anything about whispers of indecent family histories—or silences that leave you uneasy? Anything about receiving a family mythology where we’re heroes, martyrs, and underdogs (our actions excusable), while those other people are unwelcome, unclean, unforgivable, or expendable?

In short: do you know anything about living within a messy family tree? Because I do. And I suppose anyone taking seriously God’s redefinition of the church as “family” must, too.

Of course, I don’t just come from a half-burned family. I lead a half-burned life. The only thing more painful than vulnerably facing the harm I’ve suffered is unflinchingly confronting the harm I inflict. My hands and lips are unclean. Called to be God’s adoring, committed partner in putting the world back together, I instead chase security, affection, and control. I use people. I quietly condemn. I look away. I self-justify. I fail to practice long-suffering love.

How does God respond to such a mess? What does he do when we, in our fear and pain, torch our churches, families, and lives?

He comes near. He sees a “tree that’s half-burned from the fires” and calls it home. He abides. He commits himself to salvaging. To redemption. Before he ever asks us to enter the mess and practice costly healing and costlier love, to face reality honestly and still return good for evil, to speak the truth in love—before he asks us to become cycle-breakers—he goes first. Before he asks us to descend into the anguish of grappling with our hearts, he commits to remaining with us on the journey.

The Rod of Jesse arrives as the infant Emmanuel, “red and velvety,” a green shoot emerging from a “cavity…hollowed out / by flame.” A child born to change the trajectory of the story. To live humbly, justly, and righteously before the Lord.

A symbol of hope for anyone who has ever writhed in the flames or been the one to light the match. A challenge to trust that in the very middle of our mess, he is recreating. And an open invitation to join in the new thing he’s already doing. Nothing is ruined. Because we are not alone.

Thanks be to God.

Prayer:
Rod of Jesse,
Root us in the security of your unrelenting love for us. Turn us toward sacrificial love for our families, neighbors, and enemies. Lead us, again, out of our slavery to fear. And give us the humility and courage to live into your better story for our world.
Amen.

Hannah Williamson
Content Architect - Writer | Full Focus
Alumna of Biola University
Torrey Honors College (‘18)

For more information about the artwork, music, and poetry selected for this day, please visit our website via the link in our bio.