Walking Bible Study: The Path of Peace

Abingdon Press

Chapter One

Reflection

This Bible passage is the glorious finale to the second book of Isaiah, called Deutero-Isaiah, written during the Babylonian exile. Most scholars agree that there really were three authors for the Book of Isaiah. The first author wrote in Jerusalem before the Exile (Chapters 1–23, 28–33, and 36–39), the second author wrote from Babylon during the Exile (Chapters 34–35 and 40–55, Deutero-Isaiah), and the third author wrote upon returning to Jerusalem (Chapters 24–27 and 56–66, Trito-Isaiah). While all three books are connected theologically and thematically, they cover about 150 years of history.

The passage we just read in Isaiah 55 is the closing of the second book. The tone in this part of Isaiah has changed, from condemnation of the people of faith to consolation and comfort. This is the climactic end, and in this passage the writer portrays a God who can level mountains and trees and is more powerful than in the Exodus. The prophet, with poetic grace and stirring prose, envisions a paradise emerging before his eyes as God's people are restored. The people receive comfort and hope as all of nature becomes a sign of God's work and fulfillment.

The prophet's vision begins with an invitation for the poor to take part in a feast so wonderful that even the trees will clap their hands with joy. The feast is about spiritual bread, to be sure; but the prophet is also referring to real bread. It is real suffering that the people have endured, and so it must be real comfort that he imagines. To see the feast as more than symbolic gives hope and dignity to the people. It makes our daily lives part of God's revelation that the Kingdom has been restored. We are central to the fulfillment.

When we share a feast, we know that God is present with us. The banquet is an expression of God's abundance and a reminder that when we come together in great joy and thanksgiving, we can change the course of the world. All the people sharing the feast are considered chosen and holy. In giving and receiving the gifts of God with one another, we remember how rich we are, how amazing the creation is in providing for us, and how loving our God has proven to be. The feast is an invitation for all of us to seek the Lord outside the traditional sanctuary of the temple, in the land and in the people.

Nature provides the context, the sign, and the lesson for the prophet's vision. We are called to be like trees, to soak in God's words and deeds like water from the earth and then to grow and give back to creation. Last year when I walked in the woods, I realized that my prayer was filled with hope that the trees would survive the horrible drought we were experiencing. One thing about trees is that they stand their ground. Stoic and accepting, they take the late frost and call upon their own reserves to grow new leaves. They stand tall and peaceful in the windless summer and with equal grace shed those same leaves later on. The trees seem particularly tender at the lake where I walk almost daily, because water is so close by. The trees are within sight of the lake, but they can't move; and sometimes it seems to me that they must be dying of thirst. What I forget is that without moving, the trees find water deep under the ground in roots that I never imagined were there.

In surviving drought, the trees preach about patience and waiting for rain. They preach that it is possible to soak up all that is good from the depths of creation and offer it back to God. In my periods of spiritual drought and exile, the preaching trees can carry me through. If, like trees, we can take in all the good things that God offers us, then we can produce good fruit. That is the way it works in nature. There is a soaking in and a giving back in the most natural process we know. We are born to be loved, to soak that love in, and then to offer love back. That has been one of the lessons the woods have taught us since Eden: We are beloved and beautiful and good, and we can offer our fruits back to the world through our actions and words.

This passage from Isaiah was written during a particular period of history and for a specific people moving from exile and pain into fulfillment and joy. But the implications for how we can live today are easily made. We are to move from the pain of exile into the joy of community, offering everything we have as a gift to God. Our opportunities to share the feast thus become not a burden to carry, but a way to multiply the joy.

As we become the people that God intended for us to be, all of creation celebrates with us. Like the Israelites leaving Babylon and returning to the Promised Land, we experience so much joy that creation literally shakes. The trees clap their hands. Thorns are removed, and the trees of paradise grow. Only divine love can make us feel that kind of deep and abiding joy. Nature deeply reflects the depth and truth of such a divine love.

Questions for the Walk

1. What are some of the attributes and gifts that you admire about the various kinds of trees you see on your walk? How do those gifts remind you to be givers and receivers of God's love?

2. Isaiah's words were written in exile, and they express a vision of what the Israelites would find upon their return. As you walk, imagine what your surroundings would look like in different seasons. Do these pictures suggest any insights about the seasons of your life?

3. We think of Isaiah and the other prophets as messengers of God. Are there ways in which nature can be a messenger of God? What are some of the ways you've experienced?

Walk in Silence

Closing Prayer

Thank you for the gift of walking in the woods. Teach us to walk in praise of trees that have clapped their hands like the fulfillment of Isaiah's vision. Open our hearts as conifers shed their cones like tears for seasons gone by. Open our ears to old sycamores that can tell a story in their bark. Open our minds to oaks that exhale poetry. Stir our passion like poplars that reach for the stars. You have taught us that there is healing in the woods and sanctuary under a canopy of green. Give us now a reverence for their silent witness. As we walk on parched trails, remind us to give thanks for all the rain we have known. As we stand on a limestone foundation, let us cherish all Edens and bow our heads in thanksgiving. Let us hear the dusty voices of our ancestors rising from the earth to join our praise for sacred woods. Lead us again into the woods, and bind us close to the trees. Amen.

Meditations for Week 1

Day 1

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. (Psalm 23:4a, NIV)

I don't think we always know the path we are walking or why we are walking. It is enough to be drawn to walking and to trust that God is present on the walk. Friedrich Schiller, an eighteenth-century German poet and philosopher, said in his poem "The Walk" that for him the path was often hidden. He describes the path as a precipitous depth that yawns behind him. It is an image that invokes the reader to be aware that it is impossible to turn back. If what is behind us...