“Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth,
Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth,
Faith is like a lily lifted high and white,
Love is like a lovely rose the world’s delight.
Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,
But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.”
So sang the poet Christina Rosetti. Poets use the music of their language to speak of flowers and of truth. But flowers use the sweetness of their scent and the delicacy of their beauty to magnify truth.
The advertisers urge us to "say it with flowers". Poets and musicians, preachers and artists, the Bible itself, speak often of one great truth with the language of flowers. That truth is Christ. The beauty of Christ. The majesty of Christ. Fairest Lord Jesus, ruler of all nature.
A thousand years before Christ came, Solomon sang a verse we have come to think of as applied to Christ. Though Solomon spoke of romantic love and of the delights of human beauty, we know that he saw beyond when he sang, "I am the rose of Sharon, the lily of the valley." The rose is the loveliest of all the flowers that bloom, and the plain of Sharon is a fertile land, where flowers grow in abundance. For us to say that Christ is the rose of Sharon is to say that we see in Him matchless beauty, wonderful grace, a face like no other face and yet a face with the dignity of all men’s’ faces. For us to say that Christ is the rose of Sharon is to say that we long for the beauty of Jesus to be seen in us, all His wonderful passion and purity.
As this Advent season begins, we long for Christ. We long for His presence in an intimate way. We thirst for His purity, we hunger for His worth, we struggle toward a touch of His glory. And, like the artists and the poets, the musicians and the prophets of old, we will learn of Him from the flowers of the field.
The theme hymn for Advent is the carol, "Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming". The theme Scripture is the first verse of the second chapter of the Song of Solomon, "I am the rose of Sharon, I am the lily of the valley." The Chrismons too will give us the message, with one of the most prominent of the Chrismons being the rose petals. All of them will say to us in these several Sundays, "A king of such beauty was ne’er before seen .. blest be the hour, welcome the morn, when Christ our dear Savior on earth now is born."
So hear the words of the prophet, Isaiah of the Exile, in chapter 35:1-10
It was Robert Burns whose poetry gave us the well-known line: "O my love is like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June.” Yes, and our love, our Christ, is like a red, red rose fresh upon the winter’s snow. A complete surprise. A total wonder. A joy and a sign of hope.
But here is what we are going to learn: that for life to flourish, a price must be paid. For the rose to bloom in the desert, it must be watered from unseen sources. For salvation to come, a price must be paid, a ransom given. God’s love is like a red, red rose; more’s the miracle, it has flourished in the winter of our discontent. And He has paid its price.
Isaiah had spoken harshly about the Judah. He had spoken of her faithlessness, he had announced her punishment. He had said that the nation must undergo a terrible thing: exile. Forty years away from home, a generation in an alien land, away from everything they called dear. Isaiah’s word spoken in chapter 34 had been harsh, unbending, and unyielding. But now the prophet was speaking in kinder, gentler terms. Now there was a word of hope for a weary people. That the plain of Sharon would once again burst with the scent of roses; that the Arabah, that vast wasteland from the Dead Sea south to the Gulf, would be watered and the barren land, among which nothing but lice and dust had grown, would someday be carpeted with blooming lilies. What a dream!
But when? And how? Who will do all this? When will our land be refreshed? And who will pay the cost?
It has always been the message of the Advent season that hope can be born in each heart, hope can rise from faith, and faith from love. And so when the prophet tells us that we can hope that barrenness may give way to life and the desert blossom as the rose, it is not only hoping that we must do. It is nourishing faith from the springs of love. But oh what love will do, what wondrous love is this!
Let’s watch this rose unfold, petal by petal:
I
The barrenness of our personal lives. The dryness of the heart. Too many of us live without much purpose, without any direction other than staying alive, trying to make it, attempting to pay the bills. And I know that there are times and circumstances in which that is all it is possible to do. I know that if only we can put a roof over our heads and shoes on our feet, food on the table and clothes on our backs .. I know that that seems all we can manage sometimes.
But ultimately it isn’t enough. Ultimately you and I need more than that. We need purpose, we need meaning, we need to know that our lives have counted for something. Victor Frankl was an Austrian psychiatrist imprisoned by the Nazis in a concentration camp. In that camp he discovered that the only thing that kept him or anyone else going was the will to meaning, the need to have significance. If we have not mattered to anybody, then it wasn’t worth being here. If we have not mattered to anybody, if we have neither loved nor been loved, then it wasn’t worth breathing. We need to know our purpose. Otherwise the heart is a desert.
The cynical playwright Hannah Green said, “I never promised you a rose garden.” But that’s not what God promises. God says, “The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them, and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. .... Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a fearful heart, ‘Be strong, fear not: behold your God will come....”
Our lives will have meaning. Our spiritual droughts will end. Our personal witherings will revive. Advent insists that the day will come when we can live beyond just everyday keeping going and we can flourish.
But when? And how? Who will do all this? When will our land be refreshed? And who will pay the cost? Here is what we are going to learn: that for life to flourish, a price must be paid. For the rose to bloom in the desert, it must be watered from unseen sources. For salvation to come, a price must be paid, a ransom given. God’s love is like a red, red rose; more’s the miracle, it has flourished in the winter of our discontent. And He has paid its price.
And so when the prophet tells us that we can hope that barrenness may give way to life and the desert blossom as the rose, it is not only hoping that we must do. It is nourishing faith from the springs of love. But oh what love will do, what wondrous love is this!
II
Not only is the barrenness of the heart at stake. So are our limitations. So are our mistakes, our failings. The things we could have done, would have done, but cannot and will not. The gifts we might have given. The wisdom we might have taught. All that we have passed by, that too is up for renewal.
You come to a time in life when you look back and you realize that there are so many things you might have done, but you did not and now maybe you will not. You know you’re getting old when what used to thrill you now scares you. Three or four years ago Margaret and I went for a getaway weekend to Williamsburg and found ourselves wandering around Busch Gardens, two middle-aged, out-of-shape adults masquerading as children. We got to one of the roller coasters, and I said, “I’ve always wanted to go on one of those, but I never have.” She said, “I’ve never wanted to on one of those, and I never will; but you go ahead.” After a suitable but short resistance, on board I went, feeling slightly self-conscious, with twelve-year-olds squealing behind me. As the car took off and rode to its height, I thrilled at the sight; but as the car rose over the crest and plunged to sheer doom, I chilled at the fright. And when it turned through a twist, I just about lost my lunch. I did lose the last vestiges of my youth! And that’s sad. That’s sad, really, that the playfulness, the childlikeness, in any of us, withers. Sad when what used to thrill you now scares you.
The thought of taking on a new assignment. The challenge of learning a new skill, a language, a musical instrument, a computer program. The possibility of mentoring a youth. The excitement of guiding a child. There are a hundred flowers waiting to blossom in each of us! But ... but, we cut it off with “Been there, done that”, and we feel we can’t go back. Desert!
The callous critic Gertrude Stein rattled off, “A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose,” as if to say, one day after another, one thing as good as another, one life as casual as another. But that’s not what God says. God says, “The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them, and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. ....Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing.”
Advent promises that out of our limitations and weaknesses God will yet ordain strength, out of our timidity God will give confidence. Confidence enough to make life zesty and sparkling, confidence enough to make a difference for somebody else.
But again, when? And how? Who will do all this? When will our land be refreshed? And who will pay the cost? Here is what we are going to learn: that for life to flourish, a price must be paid. For the rose to bloom in the desert, it must be watered from unseen sources. For salvation to come, a price must be paid, a ransom given. God’s love is like a red, red rose; more’s the miracle, it has flourished in the winter of our discontent. And He has paid its price.
And so when the prophet tells us that we can hope that barrenness may give way to life and the desert blossom as the rose, it is not only hoping that we must do. It is nourishing faith from the springs of love. But oh what love will do, what wondrous love is this!
III
And there’s more. There is still more to blossom in this desert, still more buried deep in the red, red rose of God’s love. For it is not only our meaninglessness He will refresh into power; and it is not only our limitations He will explode into potential; it is also our sin He will rush away into holiness. He will deal with the core issue of the human heart. He will cleanse what we thought would never be cleansed, He will give life where we thought there would only be death.
Let’s confess it on this Advent morning, that fundamentally there is only one human problem and only one human need. That is the problem of sin and our need to be freed from sin. Fundamentally that is all that there is. We may speak long and eloquent things about spiritual illness and emotional concerns, about broken relationships and social issues, but at the core, at the root, is this thing called sin. This distance from God. This separation from our creator. That’s what makes our lives unfruitful and barren. That’s what destroys the richness of life. Sin. Who will deal with that? What is its remedy? Who will tell me the truth about sin?
I don’t know about you, but I appreciate the kind of person who will tell me, straight up, what’s going on. I don’t need folks to beat around the bush. I need somebody to tell me, in plain and concrete terms, what I need to know. Sometimes things happen around the church, people feel things, think things, and they speak in puzzles. They expect me to figure out what their complaint is. I’m not too good at that. I need to have reality put in front of me, and then I can learn.
And so our God promises that a highway shall be there, a way that shall be called, “The way of holiness”. This highway will slice through the desert, clean and straight, and “it shall be for the wayfarers, who, though they be fools, shall not err therein.” Our God promises that there shall be one who will teach us, plain and simple, one who will show us the way, one who is Himself the way, the truth, and the life. Our God promises that through the deserts, long and hot, trackless and barren, there will be a way of holiness that we can follow. A way home. A way out of sin.
That’s what I need, most of all. That’s what I need, that’s what every soul needs. A highway to travel home.
The world in its weariness wanders any by-way. We are tempted to cut corners and cheat on the speed limit. We’re ready to travel that road to hell, paved with good intentions. Was it not old Will Shakespeare who suggested, “That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.” But no. But no, that’s a deception. That’s not what God says. God says, “The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them, and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. ....A highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called ‘The way of holiness’; and the redeemed shall walk there.” It’s not just any way. It’s the way of the redeemed. The redeemed shall walk there and not get lost.
Ah, but my question, my question. It remains unanswered. When? And how? Who will do all this? When will our land be refreshed? And who will pay the cost? Here is what we still need to learn: that for life to, a price must be paid. For the rose to bloom in the desert, it must be watered from unseen sources. For salvation to come, a price must be paid, a ransom given. God’s love is like a red, red rose; more’s the miracle, it has flourished in the winter of our discontent. And He has paid its price.
And so when the prophet tells us that we can hope that barrenness may give way to life and the desert blossom as the rose, it is not only hoping that we must do. It is nourishing faith from the springs of love. But oh what love will do, what wondrous love is this!
I will tell you who the rose is. I will speak His name. I will sing His wondrous love. God’s love is like the red, red rose. Blood red. The Cross, the Cross. “See, amid the winter’s snow, heaven on earth for us below.” The Cross, the Cross, “free for all, a healing stream, flows from Calvary’s mountain.” God’s love is like the red, red rose. “That love that will not let me go, I rest my weary soul in thee, I lay in dust life’s glory dead, and from the ground there blossoms red Life that shall endless be.” He has paid the price. He is the ransom for many. Christ. Christ.
“Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth,
Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth,
Faith is like a lily lifted high and white,
Love is like a lovely rose the world’s delight.
Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,
But the rose with all its thorns [its crown of thorns] excels them both.”
