Second Tuesday of Advent: All Creation
The wolf will live with the lamb,
the leopard will lie down with the goat,
the calf and the lion and the yearling together;
and a little child will lead them.
The cow will feed with the bear,
their young will lie down together,
and the lion will eat straw like the ox.
The infant will play near the cobra’s den,
and the young child will put its hand into the viper’s nest.
They will neither harm nor destroy
on all my holy mountain,
for the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the Lord
as the waters cover the sea.
—Isaiah 11:6-9
It’s a tricky thing to raise a child in this world.
I try to protect my one-year-old daughter from most things, but with my three-year-old son, I continually wrestle with the tension between protecting him and letting him experience pain and difficulty.
Recently we went on a short family hike to see a waterfall. I knew he could hike the distance himself because he had done it before. Along the way, he kept asking to be carried or have a piggyback ride, and I said “no” with no internal conflict or guilt. I knew he could do it, and I knew it would be good for him both in body and mind.
After our picnic at the waterfall, he was eager to wade barefoot in the water. The wading soon turned into rock climbing. He was so happy, and I loved that he was enjoying nature!
But then I saw it. The sunbathing snake.
Laying in a rock crevice, innocently enjoying the sun on its scales, the snake sent cortisol flooding through my body. The relaxed atmosphere was gone. I panicked.
I moved far away from the snake and yelled for my son to come to me. He was confused at my quick change in spirit and upset that his fun was over. But I was crystal clear that it was time to get off those rocks and come down near me in the shallow water.
We live in the mountains of western North Carolina where there are poisonous copperhead snakes. I’m not completely sure what they look like, but I know they have a pattern on their scales similar to the snake on the rocks. I was not going to risk letting my curious, independent three-year-old son get bitten by a poisonous snake.
He came down, and the snake never moved from its spot in the sun. I was relieved, but later, once we were hiking home, I wondered—what if things could have been different?
How fun would it have been if I could have confidently supported my son’s curiosity by calling him over to look at the snake? To hold his hand out and see if it climbed on? To talk and wonder about how a snake moves without legs or feet? To try to feed it and see what it likes to eat? To play as God’s created exploring God’s creation?
In this passage about the “Branch of Jesse,” Isaiah speaks to what the promised Messiah will be and do. The imagery is of beautiful, miraculous peace among God’s creation. Those who would normally harm and destroy the other will now be at peace together.
Whether literal or figurative, it is a beautiful picture of the restoration of all things. The destruction of evil and injustice are replaced with Jesus’ reign of peace, love, and joy.
Advent is a season of waiting. The waiting of the past, for the promised Messiah to come. The waiting of the future, for Jesus’ promised return. And the waiting of the present, for God to show up in our everyday lives and help us make a difference in this world.
This Isaiah passage points to the future—and to the present. The future projects an image of a restored Kingdom where peace reigns. And this hope provides an invitation for the present.
The invitation is to wait, watch for, and seek God’s peace—not peace as this world knows it, but Kingdom peace as described in imagery by Isaiah. Peace that permeates all of creation and all created beings.
And yes, our hope in God’s renewed world even touches snakes.
So even though I don’t love snakes, when one slithers across the path in front of me—and I know it’s not a copperhead!—I will wonder with my children about how it can move without feet. And when I see a gardener snake slithering through my yard, I will point it out to my children and make sure they see and celebrate the beauty and mystery of all God has created.
As I long for that day when Jesus returns and God makes all things new, where children and snakes can play together, I will embrace this time of Advent waiting. In the darkness of this world, I will intentionally seek God’s peace and light.
—Amy Oxendale-Imig ministers to students at Montreat College. She also serves as a Ministry Supervisor of other CCO campus ministry staff in the South.
the leopard will lie down with the goat,
the calf and the lion and the yearling together;
and a little child will lead them.
The cow will feed with the bear,
their young will lie down together,
and the lion will eat straw like the ox.
The infant will play near the cobra’s den,
and the young child will put its hand into the viper’s nest.
They will neither harm nor destroy
on all my holy mountain,
for the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the Lord
as the waters cover the sea.
—Isaiah 11:6-9
It’s a tricky thing to raise a child in this world.
I try to protect my one-year-old daughter from most things, but with my three-year-old son, I continually wrestle with the tension between protecting him and letting him experience pain and difficulty.
Recently we went on a short family hike to see a waterfall. I knew he could hike the distance himself because he had done it before. Along the way, he kept asking to be carried or have a piggyback ride, and I said “no” with no internal conflict or guilt. I knew he could do it, and I knew it would be good for him both in body and mind.
After our picnic at the waterfall, he was eager to wade barefoot in the water. The wading soon turned into rock climbing. He was so happy, and I loved that he was enjoying nature!
But then I saw it. The sunbathing snake.
Laying in a rock crevice, innocently enjoying the sun on its scales, the snake sent cortisol flooding through my body. The relaxed atmosphere was gone. I panicked.
I moved far away from the snake and yelled for my son to come to me. He was confused at my quick change in spirit and upset that his fun was over. But I was crystal clear that it was time to get off those rocks and come down near me in the shallow water.
We live in the mountains of western North Carolina where there are poisonous copperhead snakes. I’m not completely sure what they look like, but I know they have a pattern on their scales similar to the snake on the rocks. I was not going to risk letting my curious, independent three-year-old son get bitten by a poisonous snake.
He came down, and the snake never moved from its spot in the sun. I was relieved, but later, once we were hiking home, I wondered—what if things could have been different?
How fun would it have been if I could have confidently supported my son’s curiosity by calling him over to look at the snake? To hold his hand out and see if it climbed on? To talk and wonder about how a snake moves without legs or feet? To try to feed it and see what it likes to eat? To play as God’s created exploring God’s creation?
In this passage about the “Branch of Jesse,” Isaiah speaks to what the promised Messiah will be and do. The imagery is of beautiful, miraculous peace among God’s creation. Those who would normally harm and destroy the other will now be at peace together.
Whether literal or figurative, it is a beautiful picture of the restoration of all things. The destruction of evil and injustice are replaced with Jesus’ reign of peace, love, and joy.
Advent is a season of waiting. The waiting of the past, for the promised Messiah to come. The waiting of the future, for Jesus’ promised return. And the waiting of the present, for God to show up in our everyday lives and help us make a difference in this world.
This Isaiah passage points to the future—and to the present. The future projects an image of a restored Kingdom where peace reigns. And this hope provides an invitation for the present.
The invitation is to wait, watch for, and seek God’s peace—not peace as this world knows it, but Kingdom peace as described in imagery by Isaiah. Peace that permeates all of creation and all created beings.
And yes, our hope in God’s renewed world even touches snakes.
So even though I don’t love snakes, when one slithers across the path in front of me—and I know it’s not a copperhead!—I will wonder with my children about how it can move without feet. And when I see a gardener snake slithering through my yard, I will point it out to my children and make sure they see and celebrate the beauty and mystery of all God has created.
As I long for that day when Jesus returns and God makes all things new, where children and snakes can play together, I will embrace this time of Advent waiting. In the darkness of this world, I will intentionally seek God’s peace and light.
—Amy Oxendale-Imig ministers to students at Montreat College. She also serves as a Ministry Supervisor of other CCO campus ministry staff in the South.