In a field not too far from my home, a grapevine struggles to survive. The field wasn’t always just a field; wildflowers and fruit trees grew there not too long ago. At one time, the landowner allowed others to plant vegetable gardens there as well. But eventually he decided he preferred the look of golf courses instead. The gardeners were told to leave. The fruit trees were cut down. The flowers were replaced with grass. That single grape vine still lives at the edge of the property. Occasionally, one of the former gardeners sneaks by to harvest some of the grapes, but the vine isn’t as fruitful as it used to be due to neglect. Where there was once abundance, the landowner’s abuse has produced barrenness.
In Isaiah’s parable, the prophet sings of his beloved who planted a vineyard and did not neglect the vines, but nurtured them with care and provision. Despite the love and nourishment poured into the vineyard, though, something went wrong. The vines produced wild and rotting grapes. Eventually, the one who planted the vines, seeing they were not fruitful, allowed them to go to waste.
If the metaphor is unclear to his readers, Isaiah explains in verse 7 that the vineyard and grape vines represent Israel and the people of Judah, but where the Lord expected justice (mishpat) among them, there was bloodshed (mispakh), and where God expected righteousness (tsedaqah), there was a cry of need (tse’aqah). God loved and nurtured God’s people and expected fruitfulness from them but found corruption instead. Where God intended abundance, instead there was violence and oppression.
Perhaps we can see examples in our own communities of the ways in which God’s abundant provision has been neglected in favor of oppressive violence. Where there could be community centers and community gardens, instead there are prison cells. Funding that could support municipal housing pads police budgets. Resources that could provide for mental health services are redirected to systems of incarceration. Where God desires abundance, we find injustice.
And there, a prophetic word is needed to spark the imaginations of God’s people. In barren landscapes, can we envision abundance again? Where we hear desperate cries of need, can we proclaim hope? I have heard that if you spread some seeds in the corner of a grassy field, the birds and wind will spread them even further until that field is covered in wildflowers (although I’ll never admit to having done that myself). How might we spread seeds of hope that invite God’s people to imagine and help build a world with fewer prisons and more vineyards?
Jed Tate is a United Methodist pastor in North Carolina.