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)
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.
Comments
Post a Comment