Harm and Harmony

Sermon by Seminarian Alex Clare on the Fifth Sunday in Advent + Sunday, December 7, 2025

If a Christmas tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Does it say “ouch”?

Nature isn’t always peaceful, quiet, or calm.

Our Scripture today tells us a story of harm and harmony — of dead trees bringing forth new branches, of animals once at each other’s throats lying down together in peace, and of humans— begrudgingly!— working together. 

Isaiah tells us, “A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots.”

And John the Baptist warns us, “Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire!”

Yikes. Harsh. Why all this talk of trees growing, trees dying, trees being thrown into the fire? What does that have to do with me?

In ancient times, the people of God were worried that their community had been cut down by their oppressors. They struggled to imagine a future where the world did not hurt, a world in which their lineage was secure. They saw themselves as a tree cut down, only a stump in the sand. Something without leaves or branches— dead. Lifeless.

We are in the midst of Advent. Christmastime is just around the corner! The promise of fun, festivities, tree-decorating is nearly here! Yet in Advent, we practice something a little counter-cultural. We prepare ourselves. We say, “Not yet, but soon.” Before we decorate a Christmas tree at church, we prepare ourselves, “prune” ourselves — preparing for our own fruits to grow though we are currently bare, leafless in the cold.

But our faith tells us that the stump is not dead. The story is not finished. The tree is lying in wait — a new shoot will grow out of it! Jesus is that new, green growth— the promise of new life. Resurrected life. Jesus gives us the hope of fresh fruit, despite our spindly limbs.

When I was a child, my grandmother had a fig tree in her garden. It had delicate branches the color of bone and only a few leaves — it had a real “Charlie Brown Christmas Tree” look to it, very scruffy and scrappy— but year after year, it produced just enough figs for the family to enjoy. 

One morning, sitting at the base of that fig tree, I watched as the circle of life played out before me. Eating the fruit I’d picked from its branches, I watched as a colony of fire ants surrounded a wasp, then dragged the much larger, presumably more dangerous, insect down into their nest.

Maybe I’m “going out on a limb,” here,  — pun intended!— but… Nature is not always so gentle, harmonious, or kind, is it?

My first year in the Midwest, one of my friends noticed something strange. Before leaving my college dorm room, I’d pick up my shoes, turn them upside down, and shake them out, before putting them on and lacing up my sneakers.

“Why do you do that?” My friend, who was born in the Midwest, asked.

Still holding my shoe upside down, I paused. “Scorpions. Snakes,” I answered blankly. “They hide in the toe.”

The absurdity of what I’d said flashed across my mind. I sounded like Woody from Toy Story, chirping, “There’s a snake in my boot!” I hadn’t stopped to consider that I now lived in a cold climate: a place without snakes and scorpions.

 Growing up in the Southwest, there were certain actions you took to avoid harm in the desert: Shake out your shoes. Make noise as you hike the trail. Don’t turn over any stones.

Yet our scripture promises us that one day — some day — the things that harm will no longer harm. The Animal king-dom, with all its competition and violence, will be overturned and become a new thing: the kin-dom of God. Isaiah tells us, “The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid… The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den. They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain.”

We are still in that time of  “soon… but not yet.”

We protect ourselves from harm. We do all sorts of mental calculations to avoid danger, pain, and fear. Yet our Scripture promises us that the peaceable kin-dom which God desires for us is coming near. The old ways, where competition thrives and harm prevails, will be no more. The harm will not harm. The sting of Death will be no more. Though the child puts their hand on the adder’s nest, no bite will come.

Now, John the Baptist was familiar with the Animal Kingdom. You might call him the Steve Irwin or Bear Grylls of his time. Eating locusts and honey, wearing a camel-hair tunic, you might say he was truly living the “Man Vs. Wild” lifestyle.

John was a bit of an eccentric, a wild man, competing with the religious leaders of his day, having theological arguments at the riverbank. A man of good intentions, preparing the way for Jesus’ ministry, he could be a little single-minded. His words were not always kind; he harmed people’s feelings. John used some strong words about the religious leaders in his day, calling them “a brood of vipers!”

But: Remember.

In God’s just and harmonious kin-dom, even the snakes are included, once they’ve lost the will to bite.

Yet, our Human king-doms harm the vulnerable. Personally, and structurally, we harm each other. We compete with, take advantage of, turn away from those in our society most in need of care: Immigrants. The Queer and Trans community. People of Color. Disabled people. The poor.

Yet I see the good work this congregation does, preparing the way of the Lord, trying to overturn kingdoms of harm and bring about the peaceable kin-dom of God. I notice the ways you are committed to working for the good of all people, sewing relationship instead of discord, harmony instead of harm.

So go forth, people of God. Embrace Advent! Prepare the way of the Lord; for the day is coming when harm will be no more, the asp will not bite, and death will have no sting.

The stump of Jesse will bear fruit, the tree of crucifixion will be the tree of new life, and all creation will live in harmony. Amen.