Mountains and hills will burst into song

You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands. (Isaiah 55:12, NIV)

Isaiah 55:12 has been set to music and children in my church sing it in Sunday School worship . . . a lot. In the final refrain, they clap for the trees; I doubt that many consider the prophet's intent in Isaiah 55's sustained metaphor, or recognize that it comes close to being a remarkable encapsulation of what faith in—and faithfulness to—YHWH meant to Jewish teachers and prophets in Old Testament times.

As an English language student and teacher, I wrestled with educational methodology in the“teaching” of poetry. Is there a valid educational point in presenting a work of art . . . when its meaning and intent has to be “explained?” Should art—whether visual, musical or literary—not impact us on its own, or is the appreciation for artistic expression something we learn as methodically as we are taught and learn to, for instance, knit a sweater or drive a car?

Is there merit in explaining to children that although trees don't have hands, nature's rejoicing illustrated through anthropomorphic imagery concludes a prophetic poem with deep meaning for Christians and Jews? Probably not, especially if they're very young (and even though you had found a way to say it in very simple words) and their minds are not drifting away to what is real for them at their particular stage in life.

In my most strenuous semester in College, I took four English Literature courses and for relief, a course called “Psychology of Aesthetic Responses.” (Read: “Why we like some art and don't like other so-called art.”) From the bearded, afghan-wearing prof, I discovered in myself that I could more fully appreciate an artistic work if I understood basic principles behind it, and that I couldn't understand the basic principles behind it unless someone would teach it to me. In other words, art appreciation for me wasn't absorbed naturally in the daily course of living. For me, it was taught and learned through concentrated effort.

Students of Christian History routinely discover that faith in God and Christian practice have repeatedly fallen prey to the whims of powerful people who waved a Bible in people's faces, a Bible which they themselves misunderstood, either out of wilfulness or ignorance. People, for instance, who missed entirely the deep significance of the Creation narratives because no one ever taught them to appreciate symbolism, imagery and metaphor, the basic principles behind the language artistry that dominates much of the recorded narratives of God and his people together.

I could embark here on “explaining” what Isaiah 55 means to me. But I won't. What I will do, though, is to say that if Isaiah 55 and the narrative of my life are laid side by side, meaning and understanding blossom where nothing other than the routine, material story of daily living lay before. Sort of.

That's the gift of art . . . if even only-dimly appreciated.

To enjoy Isaiah 55, click HERE.