Day 4 - Wednesday, November 30
Title: THE PROPHECY OF MICAH
Scripture: Micah 5:2-5
“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of you shall come forth to Me the One to be Ruler in Israel, whose goings forth are from of old, from everlasting.” Therefore He shall give them up, until the time that she who is in labor has given birth; then the remnant of His brethren shall return to the children of Israel. And He shall stand and feed His flock in the strength of the Lord, in the majesty of the name of the Lord His God; and they shall abide, for now He shall be great to the ends of the earth; and this One shall be peace.  

Poetry & Poet:
“Happiness” 
by Paisley Rekdal

I have been taught never to brag but now
I cannot help it: I keep
a beautiful garden, all abundance,
indiscriminate, pulling itself
from the stubborn earth: does it offend you
to watch me working in it,
touching my hands to the greening tips or
tearing the yellow stalks back, so wild
the living and the dead both
snap off in my hands?
The neighbor with his stuttering
fingers, the neighbor with his broken
love: each comes up my drive
to receive his pitying,
accustomed consolations, watches me
work in silence awhile, rises in anger,
walks back. Does it offend them to watch me
not mourning with them but working
fitfully, fruitlessly, working
the way the bees work, which is to say
by instinct alone, which looks like pleasure?
I can stand for hours among the sweet
narcissus, silent as a point of bone.
I can wait longer than sadness. I can wait longer
than your grief. It is such a small thing
to be proud of, a garden. Today
there were scrub jays, quail,
a woodpecker knocking at the white-
and-black shapes of trees, and someone’s lost rabbit
scratching under the barberry: is it
indiscriminate? Should it shrink back, wither,
and expurgate? Should I, too, not be loved?
It is only a little time, a little space.
Why not watch the grasses take up their colors in a
     rush
like a stream of kerosene being lit?
If I could not have made this garden beautiful
I wouldn’t understand your suffering,
nor care for each the same, inflamed way.
I would have to stay only like the bees,
beyond consciousness, beyond
self-reproach, fingers dug down hard
into stone, and growing nothing.
There is no end to ego,
with its museum of disappointments.
I want to take my neighbors into the garden
and show them: Here is consolation.
Here is your pity. Look how much seed it drops
around the sparrows as they fight.
It lives alongside their misery.
It glows each evening with a violent light.

I KEEP A BEAUTIFUL GARDEN

In today’s artwork, homes and trees spring from the earth looking like they have been cultivated. The ladder of peace reaches between Heaven and a Jerusalem that is like a garden. 

There is a delectable intensity in the language of poet Paisley Rekdal’s “Happiness” that acts like a fortress. This poem expresses a joy so innocent it is its own defense: “I have been taught never to brag but now / I cannot help it: I keep / a beautiful garden, all abundance, / indiscriminate,  pulling itself / from the stubborn earth . . .”

It is a joy that needs defense for, as Rekdal’s speaker tells us, when he or she is gardening neighbors visit, and they want the garden to diminish before their sorrow: “. . . each comes up my drive / to receive his pitying, / accustomed consolations, watches me / work in silence awhile, rises in anger, / walks back.” These neighbors grow angry and storm off when the speaker proves unwilling to abandon her joy.

More than likely, all of us have been these neighbors. We have been hurting, angry, obsessed with our misery, convinced we can only find comfort if we make sure people understand our suffering. When their sympathy does not satisfy, when their needs conflict with ours, or when they are happier than we are, we fault them for not diminishing their joy. 

Odds are, we have also been the speaker. We have been assaulted by the miseries of loved ones, tempted to make our joy smaller so they’ll “feel better.” But I cannot invite my beloved into the abundance of my garden, of my new life, if I am not tending to and delighting in that garden, that new life. As the speaker says: “If I could not have made this garden beautiful / I wouldn’t understand your suffering, / nor care for each the same, inflamed way.” It is shortsighted to diminish my joy because another claims their suffering (always important, but never absolute) is more valuable than my delight. 

In today’s Scripture, the Lord tells of a Ruler to be born in Bethlehem. God promises the Ruler, Jesus, will return Israel’s remnant to a Jerusalem where “He shall stand and feed His flock in the strength of the Lord . . . and they shall abide.” Other translations articulate “they shall abide” as “they shall dwell secure” (ESV) or “they will live securely” (NIV). 

This gift of a secure abiding place is costly. It is won by the emptying of God’s self at the Incarnation (Philippians 2), his death on the cross, and his resurrection – all gifts he takes infinite joy in giving; none of them easily given. What if Israel’s remnant tried to belittle their joy in these gifts so the fallen members of Israel, who have rejected God’s joy, might “feel better?” What a farce would that make of God’s costly, restorative love?

As Christians, we are part of the remnant bound for that healed, holy city. As such, we are a people bound to the Lord’s joy, which becomes ours when he unites our life to his. We are the garden of the Lord. We are also made gardeners after his likeness, called to tend his gift of life in every part of ourselves.

Advent is a season of reflection and penitence that moves toward celebration. We remember what gardening we have participated in or ignored this year. We eagerly expect the dual comings of Christ: his first coming in the Incarnation, and his second coming at the end of all things. We ready ourselves to receive him. 

When he comes, will we be found to have abandoned our garden in attempts to patch up others’ suffering? Or will we be found to have received and tended the healing joy, the abundant life, Christ gave us at great cost – the joy that is the only abundance into which we can invite our suffering beloveds?

“I want to take my neighbors into the garden,” Rekdal’s speaker says, “and show them: Here is consolation. / Here is your pity. Look how much seed it drops / around the sparrows as they fight. / It lives alongside their misery. / It glows each evening with a violent light.” 

Prayer:
I will extol the LORD at all times; 
His praise will always be on my lips.
I will glory in the LORD; 
let the afflicted hear and rejoice.
Glorify the LORD with me;
Let us exalt his name together.
I sought the LORD and he answered me;
He delivered me from all my fears.
Those who look to him are radiant; 
their faces are never covered with shame. 
This poor man called, and the LORD heard him;
He saved him out of all his troubles.
The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him,
and he delivers them.
Taste and see that the LORD is good;
blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.
     — Psalm 34:1-8 NIV

For additional meditation: Psalm 1, Psalm 131, and Psalm 117.

Alea Peister
Copywriter for Deloitte Digital
Alumna, Biola University

For more information about the artwork, music, and poetry selected for this day, we have provided resources under the “About” tab located next to the “Devotional” tab.