Isaiah 55:10-13; July 12, 2026; Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
The imagery. The words. The promise.
Like last week, this text is like poetry, isn’t it?
It’s beautiful.
Scripture at its best.
And doesn’t it remind you of a text from the New Testament? Matthew’s gospel? Chapter 13?
Yes, the Sower.
In Matthew 13, Jesus gives us a parable about the Word of God giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater; but also, that as his disciples we ought to respond and act in kind, sowing good seed in healthy soil so that we might grow in it and bear fruit from it.
Jesus says, and I quote: “As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of this age and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields in one case a hundredfold.” – Matthew 13:22-23
Amen!
Jesus is telling us then, like Isaiah, to not be distracted by the lures of this age that stunt us, that yield nothing of substance; but to be attentive to the timeless gifts of creation that inspire us, that yield the things that matter in abundance.
If Jesus were speaking directly to us today (as he does), I can imagine him explaining the parable to mean plainly this: stop wasting your life chasing vices, burying your head in devices.
Stop sewing our seed in these digital wastelands that mostly harden our souls, perpetuating the vulgar and banal within us.
But rather, emerge from these corners of darkness by freeing your soul and letting it sing, planting your eyes on things like mountains and hills, fields and trees, these magnificent elements of creation that God put before us as a gift of cosmic poetry in motion.
Friends, let us spend our time tilling gardens that lead to inspiration, that lead to life, rather than pouring concrete that chokes and hardens it.
Amen?
Most of you know this by now, but I lived in Florence, Italy for half a year after graduating from college. Yes, it was as amazing and privileged as it sounds.
Two lasting yet contrasting memories always come to mind. One good, one not so good.
First, the not-so-good: “The David” — now don’t get me wrong, the statue/the sculpture, it was a sight to behold. But the crowd, in the Academia, all cattle-prodded around it, not so much.
Even back then, people seemed less impressed by the David itself, and more by their photos of themselves with it. I can only imagine what it’s like today with live-streamers and youtubers.
More frustrating is that leading up to it, your surrounded by all these other incredible works in progress by Michaelangelo, impressive sculptures on your left and right desperate to see the light… but they might as well have been done by some random plebian for all anyone seemed to be focused on was that directly in front of them: the David.
The David, much like other large and central figures today, engulfed the entirety of their senses, such that everyone was so distracted by him that they seemingly missed all these magnificent creations still on display all around them.
You know what I mean?
That was the not-so-good. But here’s the good. Ben, show them the image of that Tuscan estate and those cypress trees.
Ah, yes. Even though I didn’t take this photo, it reminds me clearly of an image burned into my memory of when I saw these trees for the first time. Cypress trees. A symbol of resurrection, or so an old man once told me.
They are truly a sight to behold and beheld them I did! I remember spending a day once doing absolutely nothing but just walking among them. And as the world melted away, all of its worries and all of my cares, I remember being transported in hope, wonder, and awe.
“Instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle. Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress.” – Isaiah 55:13
Do you know that the name for these trees comes from ancient mythology? The Greek Κυπάρισσος translates to cypress, and its mythological lore goes like this (thanks Wikipedia for the source material): a lover of Apollo named Cyparissus (or Kyparissos) receives a stag as a gift from Apollo, which he accidentally kills with a spear while hunting in the forest.
Overwhelmed by pain and sorrow, Cyparissus asks Apollo to allow his tears to flow for eternity. So, Apollo transforms him into a cypress tree, such that his sap will ever drip down its trunk, representing his ever-flowing tears.
Due to its connection to grief, the cypress became one of the symbols of Hades and has been planted in cemeteries since the classical era.
But more than that, it became a heavenly symbol of forgiveness and newness, emerging from earthly mourning and sadness.
“For you shall go out in joy
and be led back in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you
shall burst into song,
and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;
instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle,
and it shall be to the Lord for a memorial,
for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.” — Isaiah 55:12-13
My friends, more than a lovely image, this is the promise of the gospel sowed into God’s covenant with us. A covenant that shall never be cut off from us.
That even though we so often remain distracted and compromised, apathetic and immobile, narrow-minded and sinful, exhausted and heavy-laden, we have yet been forgiven, for we are ever loved; and God remains patient with us still, hopeful and waiting for us to sew good seed in Christ’s fertile soil.
For that which the Lord purposes, scripture says – that we shall go out in joy and be lead back in peace, to hill song and clapping – will be accomplished.
For one day, no, maybe not tomorrow, but at the last, we will be planted and rise like the cypress.
Transported in wonder and awe.
And together we will emerge out of mourning and sadness and become living symbols of newness and life.
Amen
