From Isaiah 11

Then a shoot will sprout from the stump of Jesse;

from Jesse’s roots a branch will blossom.

The Spirit of YHWH will rest on you –

a spirit of wisdom and understanding,

a spirit of counsel and strength,

a spirit of knowledge and reverence for YHWH.

On that day, the Root of Jesse

will serve as a symbol to the peoples of the world –

nations will flock to you

and your home will be a place of honor.

This advent season we are searching for the Holy in the night, the Holy in the darkness. We are not only searching but recognizing that there can be Holy in the night, Holy in the darkness, especially in the voices of people who live in bodies with darker skin tones. I appreciate Shannon Dycus‘s book, calling us to venture into the dark – and to listen to the voices of brown and black people.

This week as I read through our customary lessons in preparation for Christmas Eve Lessons and Carols, I was stopped in my tracks. We usually read from

I John 1: (5, 8)

This then is the message we heard from Jesus

and declare to you:

God is light and in God there is no darkness at all.

If we say we have intimacy with God

while still living in darkness,

we are liars and do not live in the truth. 

Ouch. I understand that this is a particular translation of a message, for a particular time, for a particular community. I understand that this passage is not talking about dark skin. Not even talking about the actual night. And still it catches me up short because it is so counter to how we are focusing this advent.

In our context today, we might want to push back on this particular text and say that God is with us in the dark. There is truth in the darkness; we can live truth, we must live truth, while living in times of darkness, while living in dark bodies.

What I John says about darkness is not the only thing that the bible has to say about darkness. In Isaiah we hear: from Jesse’s roots a branch will blossom. Where else does a root live but in the dark of the earth? Jesse is the father of little David who becomes King David, the ancestor of Jesus of Nazareth. The root of Jesse is the tradition, the God of Jacob, Leah and Rachel. Sometimes the tradition gets covered up, gets hidden, looks like it has no life. But even hidden underground, there is life in the stump, in the root, waiting until it is time to send up a new shoot, a new branch.

Isaiah writes that the root will send up a sprout that will blossom and grow and bear much fruit – wisdom, understanding, counsel, strength, knowledge and reverence for God. Isaiah has other wild imaginings of what can grow from that root: a wolf and a lamb, a leopard and a kid goat all living together in peace. The fruit from this root looks like a baby safely playing over the hole of a snake and a toddler sticking their hand in an adder’s den. It takes deep underground roots, in the dark, to grow this kind of peace. And remarkably, Isaiah’s vision is not just for the descendants of Jesse. Isaiah proclaims that the root of Jesse will serve as a symbol to the peoples of the world.

Isaiah’s vision was a comfort for many generations. And then along comes John the Baptist. John knows about this root and he finds that he connects best with the root when he is far from the centers of power, in the desert. As John encounters some of the religious power brokers by the Jordan River, he shares his doubts about their connections to this root of Jesse.

Read Matthew 3:1-10

At this time John the Baptizer appeared in the desert of Judea, proclaiming, “Change your hearts and minds, for the reign of heaven is about to break in upon you!” It was John that the prophet Isaiah described when he said, “A herald’s voice cries in the desert: Prepare the way of our God, make straight the paths of God!” John was clothed in camel’s hair and wore a leather belt around his waist. Grasshoppers and wild honey were his food. At the time, Jerusalem, all Judea and the whole region around the Jordan were going out to him. John baptized them in the Jordan River as they confessed their sins.

When he saw that many of the Pharisees and Sadducees were coming to be baptized, John said them, “You pack of snakes! Who told you to flee from the coming wrath? Give me some evidence that you mean to reform! And don’t pride yourselves on the claim ‘Sarah and Abraham are our parents.’ I tell you, God can raise children for Sarah and Abraham from these very stones! Even now the ax is laid to the root of the tree. Every tree that is not fruitful will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”

Whoa John, get a hold of yourself. Are these religious leaders all bad? Are they really a pack of snakes, as in the snake that was the tempter in the garden of Eden? Then John gets straight to the point: The ax is laid to the root of the tree. John thinks the root, underground in the dark earth, still has some good in it. John has no patience with those who say they have roots in the faith and yet are living in a way that does not produce good fruit. They must be cut down. (It is this kind of talk that will get John in trouble.)

This root of Jesse in Isaiah and the root of the tree that John rages about, they make me wonder if perhaps the dark underground, the nourishing dark, is way more important than we have been led to believe.

As the song says:

“There’s a wild hope in the earth. Her body provides us with nurture.

The dark underground is where life can abound – there’s a wild hope in the earth.” VT 828

With John’s threat to the above ground tree, maybe it is time to pay attention to the roots, to “the dark underground where life can abound.”

The idea of “underground” has new resonance for me these days. When the light becomes a place of danger and lies, where you can see people but not know who to trust, then the dark has a new appeal. The dark becomes a place to find safety and care, a place where you can trust people you don’t even know. The description we read in I John becomes inverted, turned upside down. Instead of God being light, it may be that the dark, underground, amidst the roots, is where God appears.

When things feel upside down and “the trees are not bearing good fruit” it is a good time to get in touch with our roots:

Our roots as people who are committed to peace.

Our roots as Anabaptists.

Our roots as Jesus’ followers.

All this upside down, light and dark, may sound overblown, but if you spend any time with people who are mocked and tormented, you will know that the fear is very real. Our faith tradition teaches us that Love casts out fear. And our faith, rooted deep in the tradition of peace, deep in the life of Jesus, is for times such as these.

The reality is that many of us here do not have to worry about our safety. But because of our roots in the faith of Jesus, because we are Jesus followers, we look around and pay attention to those who do live in fear. We look around in the bright light and see where our presence and voice might be needed. We pay careful attention to the places where we can speak up for those who are forced underground.

What does this kind of lived faith look like? Getting in touch with our roots? Looking out for those who live in fear? Some of us already do this by making comforters for those in crisis, or providing and serving food for people at the Day Center who struggle with food insecurity. Or working with Life After Release to greet people as they leave jail. We often think of these actions as bringing light. What if we are also seeing life, being present to life, in the dark?

Most of the time I would rather not think about the risky roots of the early Anabaptists. The decisions they made to spend time in prison, to risk death; these have always baffled – and frightened me. But in this moment, as I ponder the nourishment of darkness, the power of roots to send forth shoots that might eventually bear fruit, I am full of wonderings. I wonder how in 1573 Mayaken Wens found the faith and courage to leave her child with friends, to face her accusers and the stake. I wonder how some 50 years ago, Ethiopian Mennonites found the strength and courage, to escape political persecution by going underground with their small house churches, trusting that growth happens in the dark.

We talk about celebrating the 500th anniversary of Anabaptism; I wonder if we are ready to truly celebrate these roots. I wonder where that celebration could lead. I wonder what new life might spring from these roots, deep in the dark.

In this season of advent when we wonder at the power and possibility of being in the dark, listening in the dark, nourishing darkness, we remember that

“The dark underground is where life can abound –

there’s a wild hope in the earth.”

I invite you to try another breath prayer.

On the inhale: from my roots in the darkness

and on the Exhale: I have hope