“A Shoot from the Stump of Jesse”

Kudos to you if you’re familiar with the biblical allusion in the title. I never make assumptions about biblical literacy when I’m teaching, preaching, or in this case, writing, so I’ll note that Isaiah prophesied the coming of a Messiah using the language “A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him…” (Isaiah 11:1-2). Jesse was the father of David (Goliath-slayer and king). The stump of Jesse is a metaphor for Israel’s lack of a future. They had roots (a history), but their hope for the future was cut off due to lousy leadership at the top, enemy incursions from without, and moral rot within. No trunk. No branches. No leaves. No fruit. No hope. They were stumped. Ah, but wait. Isaiah envisioned a shoot coming out of a stump. A branch from the roots. A God-sent, spirit-anointed sliver of hope. A shoot from the stump of Jesse.

If you already knew all that, pat yourself on the back and give thanks for your Sunday school teachers. If you didn’t know it, now you do. Thank you from this Sunday school teacher for wanting to learn.

Now the story.

After worship on the second Sunday of Advent, Peace Sunday, I saw Heart of the Rockies’ founding pastor, the Rev. Jeff Wright, standing in the back of the sanctuary cradling an infant in his arms, grinning, his cheeks glistening with tears. 

Twenty feet to his right, Radwan sat transfixed, his eyes lifted to an unseen horizon, cheeks glistening, too. Radwan’s hometown is Aleppo, Syria. Muslim, he attends the mosque in Fort Collins. Years ago, befriended by folks at Heart of the Rockies in some community service/ Middle East peace initiative, he became a regular attender here as well. 

Why the glistening eyes of septuagenarian pastor and grey-headed, gray-bearded Syrian?

I called Radwan to check on him. He asked if he could come in on Monday and talk. He did and for ninety minutes he narrated a history of Syria, the suffering his people have endured for half a century under the Assad regime, and the hope kindled by the liberation of Aleppo and Damascus. Radwan told me he was carrying all that with him when he sat in his back row seat on Sunday. Then, watching the Peace candle lit, singing lyrics rife with longed-for peace, and listening to biblical prophesies of peace, he was stirred deep within. Perceiving a shoot from a Syrian stump, Radwan wept with longing.             

When the Wrights came over for dinner that Tuesday, I asked Jeff about the baby he was holding. I told him he looked like a proud grandfather. Turns out it was a guest’s seven-week-old son. The baby’s mother was home ill. The father told Jeff he woke up that morning with a desire to go to church somewhere and take his newborn son with him. He ended up at Heart of the Rockies and took a seat in the back row behind the Wrights. 

Jeff said he came to worship down in the dumps. He quoted a lament from Isaiah: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!” (Isa 64:1). My paraphrase: “Lord, this world is going to hell in a handbasket. Would you please do something? Now!” That’s the disposition a wise, seasoned, sensitive pastor brought to church. He was feeling dejected. Downcast. Stumpy.  

As the service progressed, Jeff said he “was broken open” by the music, prayers, and scriptures. Tears began to flow and he couldn’t stop them. He wept through communion, the offering, and the Benediction. At end of the service, his stumpy anguish having given way to a shoot of euphoric hope, he turned at the closing Amen, saw the child, and surprised himself when the words that blurted of his mouth were, “May I hold your baby?” 

It happens. Every once in a while we’re broken open in worship. God tears open the heavens and comes down. Sends a child. Evokes a shoot from a stump. The beloved carol sings, “The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight,” whereupon grown men weep and blubber, “May I hold your baby?” 

I hasten to add this detail: The baby’s name is Boone. The father’s name is … Jesse.  

Now fast forward one week from Advent Music Sunday when the Peace candle was lit to Christmas Pageant Sunday when the Joy candle was lit. Heart of the Rockies’ tradition is to set up a table in the Gathering Area on which is placed nativity scene costumes and props: robes of blue (Mary), white (angels), and brown (shepherds), sheer wings, clothes hanger halos, gold crowns (magi), sheep and donkey ears. 

The instructions: No matter your age, grab something. Anything. All or part of any costume.  Angel robed in white but wingless – Fine.  Shepherd with no robe, but staff in hand – C’mon. Wise man dressed to the hilt – Bring it on! Woman with a baggy toga, crown, and a box painted dull gold – To the manger you go. Anything and anyone goes. And there is no limit to numbers. Multiple Marys are welcome. A multitude of the heavenly host? Perfect. When the Christmas story is read and your character is named, come up as you are and stand on the chancel.

Here’s what happened. As the reading of Gabriel’s annunciation to Mary unfolded, no one came forward. No Gabriel. No Mary. Nobody. Whereupon Wendy, our Associate Pastor, drew a bead at Jennie, who was in the front row robed in white with a set of wings pinned to her back, and wordlessly summoned her to archangel duty. Which landed us a Gabriel, but no Mary.     

Be not afraid! Just as the reading drew to a close, one of our senior members came rushing forward, wrapping a scarf around her head as she did, concealing her face. Upon arriving at the chancel steps, Burka Mary knelt down before Archangel Jennie Gabriel and looked up in reverent awe.

As the story of Joseph’s dream was read, neither a Joseph nor an angel appeared. Archangel Jennie Gabriel having flown the chancel coop to a destination as yet unknown (Wait for it), one of our young women, Maddy, picked up a set of wings discarded in front of the pulpit by a wandering toddler/angel and took on the role of an angel. And when fortyish Ethan finished reading, he announced, “I’ll be Joseph.”

The reading of Jesus’ birth in Luke 2 followed by Matthew’s story of the magi flushed out a burgeoning cast of characters including a) the church’s Vice-Moderator sporting donkey ears accompanied by another board member donning the same; b) a smattering of angels of all ages in varying degrees of costume completeness; c) a gold-crowned wise youth and three fashionably dressed and crowned wise women; d) gray-bearded Kimball in a shepherd’s brown robe flanked by two younger staff-toting accomplices; e) three juvenile sheep (one sporting a tiara); f) an adult angel wearing a tinsel-wrapped clothes hangar halo; g) a boy in a shark sweatshirt; h) a boy in a Santa sweater; i) a male teen sporting a tinsel halo; j) a girl in a pink ballerina tutu; and k) Yours truly hoisting a three-dimensional gold metal star above everyone’s heads.

One character was missing – Jesus. We had no Christ child. No babe in the manger. No manger period. Which is when I realized Archangel Jennie Gabriel had flown the chancel coop and journeyed to the back row of the sanctuary where, lo and behold, Jesse and his shoot from the stump of – baby Boone – were visiting us for the second Sunday. At the archangel’s behest, Jesse donned a crown, pushed baby Jesus forward in his stroller/manger, and parked him in front of the aforementioned ragtag tableau as the narrator read, “While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child.” Two of the wise women curtsied before the manger/stroller, the congregation sang “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and the pageant was complete.   

After the service, Jennie learned that Kate, the woman who was our Burka Mary, had wanted to play Mary as a girl seventy years ago, but was denied the part. In ensuing years, she was never asked and she was too bashful to make her desire known. So, she said, she carried the ache of never being Mary throughout her life. When she saw no Mary come forth, she felt called, wrapped the scarf she wore to church around her head, and hastened to the altar. Finally Mary. At last, fulfilled.  

I hope you had a good Christmas. Isaiah did. In a time when he and his people were fretful, late in life and short on hope, he saw a shoot coming forth from the stump of Jesse. So did Jeff. So did Radwan. So did Kate.

And now you have, too.