This week, according to the wonderful plans provided by LifeWay, I am supposed to be teaching Isaiah 5 to my Sunday School class. This is an interesting passage, and when I read it for the first time that was just what I thought, “This is interesting,” but that was about it. I did notice that it had the best verse against frat boys in it (v.22, “Woe to those who are heroes at drinking wine, and valiant men in mixing strong drink.”), but as far as something worthwhile for my class, initially I was at a loss. However, as I kept reading, I decided to cut out all of the “Woes” directed at the men of Judah and focused in on vv.1-7. Here’s what they say:
Let me sing for my beloved
my love song concerning his vineyard:
My beloved had a vineyard
on a very fertile hill.
He dug it and cleared it of stones,
and planted it with choice vines;
he built a watchtower in the midst of it,
and hewed out a wine vat in it;
and he looked for it to yield grapes,
but it yielded wild grapes.
And now, O inhabitants of Jerusalem
and men of Judah,
judge between me and my vineyard.
What more was there to do for my vineyard,
that I have not done in it?
When I looked for it to yield grapes,
why did it yield wild grapes?
And now I will tell you
what I will do to my vineyard.
I will remove its hedge,
and it shall be devoured;
I will break down its wall,
and it shall be trampled down.
I will make it a waste;
it shall not be pruned or hoed,
and briers and thorns shall grow up;
I will also command the clouds
that they rain no rain upon it.
For the vineyard of the LORD of hosts
is the house of Israel,
and the men of Judah
are his pleasant planting;
and he looked for justice,
but behold, bloodshed;
for righteousness,
but behold, an outcry! (Isaiah 5.1-7)
As we read, this starts as a poem from Isaiah to his beloved, God, and then crosses over to be a poem from God to the “inhabitants of Jerusalem and men of Judah.” In it, both Isaiah and God lament a vineyard which had been prepared by the Lord, cleared of all debris and hindrances to growth, planted and cared for with full provision, and yet nonetheless the fruit of the vines is a bitter product, bringing judgment and destruction upon the vines. In reading this, the one verse that really struck me was v.4,
What more was there to do for my vineyard,
that I have not done in it?
When I looked for it to yield grapes,
why did it yield wild grapes?
Here God is saying, what else could I have done? What more could you have asked for? What was lacking that the vines needed to produce good fruit? and yet they didn’t. Has God been negligent? Has God not provided what is necessary for his vines to grow up into healthy plants? Surely not. Then why do they fail?
I read this and the first thing that jumped out to me was how convictingly accurate this idea is when pressed against the situation of Western Christianity. I particularly viewed it in light of myself and my own church, thinking how on Sunday morning we get up and head to padded chairs in a climate-controlled building with locks on the doors and coffee on the table, only to complain about how noisy it gets while we try and have Sunday School or how crowded our classes are or how cheesy the music is. And then, when we go out from that place, we act as if we were never there to begin with and shed the “Jesus Freak” persona until the same time next week. We pass the time between Sundays without living out our calling, without sharing our faith or living in a manner that is honorable around non-believers (1 Peter 2.11-12). We chase after the desires of our hearts and claim “Christian liberty” for indulging in all the vices of the flesh which have controlled us since before we came under grace.
And all the while, God is sitting back saying, “What more was there to do for my church, that I have not done in it?” We have no need. We are not under fear of persecution. But somehow this makes no difference. Though we lack not, we still seem to be producing wild grapes that make a bitter wine.
I am just as guilty of this as all of us. I could share my faith with anybody I want, anybody I see out in the day-to-day world I live in, without anything to fear but possibly rejection. But I don’t. I bide my time, saying, “That person seems busy, they don’t want a religious nut intruding on them,” “They’re probably already a Christian; look at that cross they’re wearing,” “I shouldn’t share with that person, I really don’t have time to get wrapped up in a big discussion.” What is that? Where does that come from? There is no freer place in the world to share the gospel than in my context, the American South, and yet I balk at it all the time. Why?
We are so unaware of what God has given us, or aware but unmoved by it, and in the end what it leads to is wasted fruit, grapes that are pleasing to no one, not worthy of being pressed into wine, only to be thrown out and trambled on the ground. What will it take for this to convict us? Will it fall short of the destruction brought upon Judah, or have we already gone too far?