The Hills Break Into Cries Of Joy
Van Gogh, Wheat Fields After The Rain, 1890, the year of his death
In my early morning prayer, meditation, and reading this week, I stumbled into Isaiah 55. I suddenly found myself wide awake. To begin with, I was stunned by the beauty of the writing. In all my literary training, great writing will always be concrete, specific, earthly grounded, no matter where it’s headed toward some profound truth. The rhythmic strategy of Isaiah builds toward dramatic statements about how God utters a word, but not until it is grounded in mundane details of daily life. That’s the way our faith should always be, isn’t it? The Bible teaches this even in the way it is written.
As the rain and snow come down from the heavens
and do not return there without watering the earth,
making it produce grain
to give seed for sowing and bread to eat,
so is it with my word issuing from my mouth;
it will not return to me empty
without accomplishing my purpose
and succeeding in the task for which I sent it. Isaiah 55:10-11
Our attention is focused first on rain and snow coming down to water the earth. And then we are quickly reminded this happens so that we may eat, so that we are provided new seeds to sow for another day of nourishment. We begin with rain and snow and seeds and bread. Before we ever get to the main metaphor of the poem—the word issuing from the mouth of the Lord—we are grounded in ordinary details. Don’t leave these details behind, we are encouraged. Great writing does this, always. Scripture does this supremely.
Notice then the power gathering around the word from the Lord’s mouth. We should notice first that the Lord has a “mouth,” and that mouth speaks words, all of it incredibly concrete. This word of the Lord’s mouth is like rain and snow that waters the earth, bearing seed to sow and bread to eat. This word is nourishing, life-giving, a gift from heaven to earth, not for heavenly meaning alone, but for earthly living. Nothing abstract here. It is the kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven.
Have you ever thought about why you read the Bible? Have you ever considered it’s like watering a garden so that plants may sprout and grow? Have you ever noticed you feel nourished—body, mind, and soul—when you’ve finished reading? Some twenty years ago, I adopted the daily practice, influenced by the grand monastic tradition of lectio divina, holy reading, to read one Psalm a day, among other things. This practice has nourished me, fed me with the bread of life. This practice gives me new life every morning, like a seed sprouting, like making bread.
There is mystery here when the Lord utters his word. It is the place where the miracle of new life happens. It is not only for building an intellectual argument, nor only for satisfying the questions of our minds, though we sometimes think that is all it’s for. No, it is for nourishment, refreshment, renewal. We remember God walking in the garden in the cool of the evening breeze, beckoning us to walk with him (Genesis 3:8).
Isaiah 55 then takes us one step further. If we are nourished with this bread of life, every morning, we are given an outlook, a posture, a worldview, an alternative narrative to the narrative by which we live in our modern world. So, from your prayer chair early in the morning, from your little space of solitude and silence, from listening to the word of the Lord’s mouth, from there
You will go out with joy
and be led forth in peace.
Before you mountains and hills will break into cries of joy,
and all the trees in the countryside will clap their hands.
Pine trees will grow in place of camel-thorn,
myrtles instead of briars;
all this will be a memorial for the LORD,
a sign that for all time will not be cut off. Isaiah 55:12-13
You come from your reading seeing things in utterly new ways. My word, the mountains and hills are breaking into songs of joy, the trees are clapping their hands. The whole world is filled with joy. This is why Christians have always read the Bible. This is why we do this regularly. This is what happens when the Lord utters his word early in the morning. Our eyes are opened to what is really real. We announce to ourselves, and to the world, oh my, it’s great to be alive.