Peace on earth.
The Prince of Peace makes peace for sinners by being the offering of peace for all people.
To properly situate the remarkable words of the prophet Isaiah in your mind’s eyes, it is necessary, I think, to examine that well-known account of the Savior’s birth in Luke 2. That night, which started out like any other night, was suddenly turned into a night like no other, what with angels appearing to announce the Messiah’s arrival and shepherds visiting the meager room where the Christ of God was born. I often wonder what Mary and Joseph were thinking as a band of smelly sheep herders came into the room, still beaming with joy from the sight of the angels. It’s not often that shepherds would be welcomed in such places, their lack of hygiene making them more than a little off-putting, not to mention their reputation for being “low-lives.” But that didn’t matter much, for as soon as they opened their mouths, they couldn’t stop going on and on about the angels’ message of salvation and joy and peace (Luke 2:17). It was just as the angel told them: a baby in a manger meant salvation and peace on earth.
We shouldn’t hurry past that point, either. The angel choir adorns the arrival of Christ the Lord with the promise that peace and joy on the earth have arrived along with him (Luke 2:14). There is something quite ironic and beautifully paradoxical in that — an infant in a borrowed feeding trough is the world’s emblem of peace. That was the universal sign, so to speak that the light of peace had dawned in a world of darkness, as Zechariah the priest sang (Luke 1:79). As the shepherds laid their eyes on baby Jesus, I wonder what thoughts flashed across their minds? Humanly speaking, my first thought would be, “This is it? This is the one through whom peace and joy are going to fill the earth?” Indeed, we might well imagine them departing and saying, “Gonna be honest, I was expecting a bit more from that.” But what do we find them doing instead? That’s right, “glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them” (Luke 2:20). And as they left, I imagine them skipping and singing hilariously, perhaps even waking the neighbors at an ungodly hour. But they couldn’t help themselves. Everything was just as the angel told them it would be, which meant that all that they’d been told about this babe wrapped in swaddling cloths was just as true. Despite appearances to the contrary, that baby in the manger was none other than the Prince of Peace himself, the child whom Isaiah, centuries prior, foretold would come (Isa. 9:6).
It is significant, I think, to note that the angels’ song is one that is filled with the announcement of peace: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men,” is often how the verse is translated. Accompanying the arrival of Israel’s Messiah is the dawning of an age of peace. That is, as the word literally implies, an era of “harmony” or “safety” or “a lack of strife” was set to emerge. This, of course, is a testament to who this baby is — namely, Christ the Lord. It’s also, however, indicative of one of mankind’s deepest felt needs. It’s no surprise that nearly every song that’s sung around Christmastime is filled to the brim with longings and aspirations for peace. Among the Christmas-themed carols and hymns that are in most church hymnbooks, the vast majority directly mention the “peace” this season brings. When we sing “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” we sing in unison, “Bid envy, strife, and quarrels cease; / Fill the whole world with heaven’s peace.” Our hope and prayer are as it’s written in “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day”: “The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, / With peace on earth, good will to men.” Every time we sing those words, we are singing about the universal human craving for uninterrupted peace.
Inspirational messages and melodies of peace aren’t relegated merely to the carols in a church’s hymnbook, though. Secular Christmas songs are just as hopeful for a day of peace and prosperity, without any strife, that covers the earth like a warm blanket. What does Frank Sinatra say in “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”? “Have yourself a merry little Christmas / Let your heart be light / Next year all our troubles will be out of sight.” The song is sentimental wish-fulfillment, with trouble and turmoil out of sight and “miles away,” as the second stanza says. And how is this lack of trouble going to be brought about? Well, as it says at the end of the song, “If the fates allow.” The song’s longing for peace is left without a solid answer or conviction for how that peace will be realized or accomplished. A similar sentiment can be heard in the 1992 single made famous by Amy Grant, “Grown-Up Christmas List.” I’m sure you’re familiar with the words:
No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end, no
This is my grown up Christmas list
The premise of the song is, what? It’s an adult reflecting on all the things she used to wish for come Christmastime. But now, in her adulthood, she realizes that there’s a bigger and better thing to wish for — namely, world peace. That’s how we could summarize that chorus. “No more lives torn apart,” no more war, no more hunger, no more loneliness or brokenness or injustice. This is the singer’s “more informed” Christmas list. It sounds very much like John Lennon’s 1971 single, “Happy Xmas (War Is Over),” which was nothing more than a blatant anti-war protest ballad dressed up as a Christmas song. What does he say in the song? “Let’s stop all the fight . . . War is over, if you want it.” Interestingly enough, Lennon later admitted that he was trying to avoid the schmaltzy sappiness that he felt often characterized Christmas songs while also delivering a message of “peaceful unity” and optimism. It’s ironic because what resulted is one of the sappier Christmas songs ever released, but I digress.
Look, to be very clear, I do not intend to mock all of your favorite Christmas songs by ridiculing their sentiment. By all means, crank these Christmas crooners as much and as loud as you so choose during the holiday season. I’m not trying to play the Grinch to your Whoville holiday. What I’m hoping you see, however, is that everyone — and I mean everyone, not just every Miss America contestant — feels within their bones that our world is bereft of peace. It’s a need that we all have and that we all feel. Otherwise, why else would we be singing about it? Pleading for it? Yearning for it? And endeavoring to realize it? We do so because we know our world is not a world of peace. It’s an agitated world, a conflicted world, a divided world, one that’s fraught with dissension and discord and hostility and hunger and bloodshed. We sing about peace and pray for peace because we know we don’t have it. The point I’m trying to make is that any hope or aspiration for world peace that leaves out the Prince of Peace is actually pointless; it’s nothing more than a well-meaning sentiment that’s ultimately powerless.
Just think about all the organizations and institutions and committees and “task forces” whose existence is some form of “world peace mission.” There’s The Peace Corps, The Peace Alliance, and the Peace Development Fund. There’s the World Peace Council, established in 1949, which is not to be outdone by the International Peace Institute, founded in 1970. Both of those programs exist with the same goal in mind: global peace, as their names suggest. But the fact that both of those programs exist likewise suggests that neither of them has been successful so far in realizing their mission. Perhaps the closest humanity ever got to “world peace” would be the age known as the Pax Romana, which was a roughly 200-year-long era of peace and prosperity within the Roman Empire from approximately 27 B.C. to A.D. 180. At the time, Rome’s might stretched over a large portion of the globe, and as their might continued to increase and expand, a relative “lack of strife” existed within the kingdom. But even this “golden age” of Roman peace is not really the whole story because what was happening concurrently in this time period? That’s right, the persecution and execution of Christians in Roman arenas. This is just to say that while the Pax Romana was, relatively speaking, peaceful, it was by no means the utopia that humanity so desperately craves. Just ask the churches from that era.
In many ways, the peace that mankind is so earnestly and eagerly striving for is perfectly described by the Old Testament prophet Isaiah:
The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together; and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze; their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the cobra, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder’s den. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. (Isa. 11:6–9)
Now, that is peace. Leopards and lambs and little lads and lasses playing together without any fear is, for all intents and purposes, what the majority of those world peace organizations intend and have a heart to establish. Even if they’d never dream of using the language of the Bible, that’s what they’re after. Case in point: in 1984, America decided that the World Peace Council and the International Peace Institute weren’t enough, and so the United States Institute for Peace (USIP) was formed. Their tagline says it all: “Making peace possible,” which sounds incredibly affirmative. The mission of the USIP is to realize “a world without violent conflict,” and they’ve come to believe that that is possible. How, you might ask? Through the exciting and invigorating peacemaking errand of negotiation and policy-making. The USIP, in a blurb straight from their website, says that they seek to combine “research, analysis and field experience to strengthen the capacity of policymakers and other professionals to respond to some of the most critical global challenges of the 21st century.” So, you see, a peaceful, more inclusive world is achievable by way of simple policies. That’s all we need for the cow and the bear to start grazing in the same field together. If only we knew that before.
I don’t mean to sound so cynical. I guess the holidays have a way of bringing out my inner Scrooge to some degree. But do you see how impotent mankind’s vision of peace truly is? For man, peace is possible just by singing, “The war is over.” I hate to break it to John and Yoko, but there have been several more wars since then, and there’ll be several more to come, too. If mankind is to be believed, realizing peace is merely a matter of implementing the right policies and procedures that pave the way for new legislation, which ultimately ushers in peaceful behavior among the masses. I regret to inform you that however successful and exquisitely written these new policies are, the feuds and foibles of the world will continue well into the future. And I don’t think that’s “breaking news.” Humanity already has a few thousand years of history and data, which proves that philanthropy can’t produce the peace we crave. Neither can policy, or politics, or humanitarianism, or even compulsion. Men and women can’t be compelled or coerced into behaving peacefully. You can’t train people to be peaceful to one another, nor can you legislate kindness and brotherly love.
This, to be sure, doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t be faithful in our pursuits of such things. If God’s calling you to pursue a career in politics or to live your life in the service of some such charity, by all means, follow his lead. Fulfill your calling. But do so with the clear-minded assurance that your efforts, as well as mine, cannot do anything to institute a long-lasting society of peace and inclusivity. Our efforts towards peace and bettering the human condition must be couched with the stouthearted certainty that we can’t make that happen, but we know the One who can and who, one day, will. Again, peace without the Prince of Peace is nothing but a well-meaning albeit pointless sentiment that’s ultimately powerless. And that’s precisely because mankind can never bring about the peace that only God in Christ can and does give them.
This brings us back to the words of Isaiah’s prophecy. His depiction of peace in Chapter 11 is different. And that’s because it’s not metaphorical or allegorical or whimsical. It’s not based on what the fates allow, and neither is it a case of wish fulfillment. This day that he’s describing, when bears and cows and toddlers all get along, is not merely some fanciful vision of a hopeful utopia realized through better choices or superior policies. On the contrary, this is a prophetic word of Yahweh that’s tethered to the One whom Yahweh will send to bring about and bring to fruition all that Yahweh has promised. After the prophet’s grand vision of what this peaceful world will look like (Isa. 11:6–9), he is sure to mention who it is that makes this happen:
In that day the root of Jesse, who shall stand as a signal for the peoples — of him shall the nations inquire, and his resting place shall be glorious. (Isa. 11:10)
The Root of Jesse, he calls him (cf. Jer. 23:5; 33:15; Zech. 3:8). This is a callback to the opening verse of the chapter, which itself is an allusion to what the prophet spends several verses expounding in Chapter 10. At the close of the tenth chapter, Isaiah sets up the image that will be carried forward into Chapter 11. His subject has been the looming judgment that awaits the nation of Assyria. Yes, the Assyrians have wreaked havoc on the people of God for decades, decimating God’s chosen people in all manner of horrific ways. But, for as mighty as Assyria surely seemed, they were but an axe in the hand of the Lord, a pawn used by him to bring about his desired ends (Isa. 10:15). Though the Assyrians waxed strong and boastful in their conquest of the people of God, Isaiah says that their days are numbered. Soon, God would send his Majestic One to act as a divine lumberjack, hacking down mighty Assyria to humiliating degrees (Isa. 10:33–34).
That, to be sure, was a message God’s people were eager to hear. They were surely enthused to learn of the imminent demise of their overlords. But, even still, that didn’t address their own national predicament. Judah, by this time, was a shell of its former self. Years of exile, fear, and disillusionment had ground God’s chosen people to the dust. Indeed, for all intents and purposes, the nation of Judah was nothing but stump at this point. Hence, Isaiah’s words in verse 1: “There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse.” The “stump of Jesse” is a euphemism, a prophetic nickname, if you will, for the kingdom of promise and blessing of the mighty king David, he being the son of Jesse. All the favor and splendor and majesty that was once associated with David and his line of kings was all but gone, having been reduced to nothing but a stump. And stumps, in and of themselves, don’t look very promising.
A tree stump is an image of what once was. The size and bulk of a stump suggest that while there used to be a mighty oak standing strong and stalwart, that’s all but gone now. All that remains of that once glorious oak is the stump, which, as Dale Ralph Davis notes, “points to what is desolate, defunct, and demolished” (105). Such is the sad state of affairs that had befallen the people of God. Isaiah’s reference to the “stump of Jesse” is meant to evoke a dreadful response in the hearts and minds of his audience. “This is what you’ve become,” he says, in effect. But it is precisely in that stump-like state of dread and disconsolation that Isaiah’s prophecy turns hopeful. “There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit” (Isa. 11:1). From that stump, a new shoot, a new branch, will sprout and rise and grow. A new tree will come from a dead trunk, bringing the whole thing back to life, even bringing forth fruit from its branches.
The “stump of Jesse” will be made alive by a new stem, by one whom we might call a “New David,” who will perfect and complete and fully realize all of the promises made to David that had since fallen into ruin. Isaiah’s readers would’ve immediately been struck by the reference to the Davidic covenant of old, which spoke of an everlasting kingdom that would come through David (2 Sam. 7:8–16). That promise had been cast into doubt in the centuries since, enfeebled by king after king who failed to live according to Yahweh’s Word. But now, as Isaiah prophesies, that fossilized line of Jesse would rise once again with a new, true, and better Son of David taking the mantle and the throne. This New David would be a king of absolute truth and justice, governing his people with unblemished righteousness and unremitting faithfulness (Isa. 11:3–5). And when he comes to reign, his will be a kingdom of universal and unending peace. “In that day,” Isaiah announces, “the root of Jesse, who shall stand as a signal for the peoples — of him shall the nations inquire, and his resting place shall be glorious” (Isa. 11:10).
Stay on that point for a moment. For as astounding as his words are in verses 6 through 9, what Isaiah proclaims in verses 11 through 16 takes the cake:
In that day the Lord will extend his hand yet a second time to recover the remnant that remains of his people from Assyria from Egypt, from Pathros, from Cush from Elam, from Shinar, from Hamath, and from the coastlands of the sea. He will raise a signal for the nations and will assemble the banished of Israel, and gather the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth. The jealousy of Ephraim shall depart, and those who harass Judah shall be cut off; Ephraim shall not be jealous of Judah, and Judah shall not harass Ephraim. But they shall swoop down on the shoulder of the Philistines in the west, and together they shall plunder the people of the east. They shall put out their hand against Edom and Moab, and the Ammonites shall obey them. And the Lord will utterly destroy the tongue of the Sea of Egypt, and will wave his hand over the River with his scorching breath and strike it into seven channels, and he will lead people across in sandals. And there will be a highway from Assyria for the remnant that remains of his people, as there was for Israel when they came up from the land of Egypt. (Isa. 11:11–16)
It’s not just that predator and prey will play, it’s that the whole world, “from the coastlands of the sea” to the “four corners of the earth,” will be blanketed in the peace of this heaven-sent King. All the lost and banished people of God will be reclaimed under his rule. He will gather all his people to himself, putting an end to all strife, both internal and external. As verses 13 and 14 suggest, all those old tribal grudges will depart, and all of Israel’s enemies will be thwarted as God’s people are liberated of captivity and barrenness and led back into the land of promise. Indeed, the thrust of verses 15 and 16 is meant to encapsulate a “New Exodus,” of sorts, by which the people of God are delivered. There will be no barrier, no obstruction, no strife plaguing those over whom the New David rules. His will be a kingdom of true peace, complete peace. And to think that all of that is what’s captured in the angelic announcement of peace on earth and goodwill toward men (Luke 2:14).
You see, it is Jesus Christ, the Lord, who arrives in a lowly cattle stall, who is heaven’s Prince of Peace, sent by God the Father in the Spirit of the Lord to establish peace on the earth. Like an unsuspecting twig that starts to shoot out from a stump thought to be dead, Jesus’s arrival is rather sudden and surprising. He comes as an infant — a sprout, if you will — but he comes endowed with all the wisdom and understanding and might of God because he is God (Isa. 11:2). He is “the root and the descendant of David,” as Jesus says of himself in Revelation, “the bright morning star” (Rev. 22:16). He is the light that dawns “in a land of deep darkness” (Isa. 9:2), revealing the light of salvation to the Gentiles, as Simeon the priest sings (Luke 2:29–32). He is the branch that springs from the stump, the One who brings about God’s kingdom of peace, and it’s important to note how.
Isaiah alludes to this in verse 12, where he mentions that this New David will “raise a signal for the nations,” which will beckon the banished and dispersed to gather together in one unified assembly. The word “signal” is significant, meaning a “standard,” or “banner,” or “something lifted up.” You might imagine a flag on a field of battle. Those who stand with swords drawn under a particular flag stand to fight for all that that flag represents. That banner is no mere piece of cloth. It’s a rallying point, and so long as that banner is raised, those who fight for it will fight on. And what is it that serves as the “signal for the nations”? Isaiah tells us two verses prior: “In that day the root of Jesse, who shall stand as a signal for the peoples” (Isa. 11:10). The banner that’s lifted up for the nations is none other than the Root of Jesse himself.
The New David, the Messiah, would come and be raised as his people’s rallying point, the ensign which draws all men to itself. This, to be sure, is a prophecy of the cross. A signal that’s raised is the same language that’s used for Moses’s bronze serpent that was raised for the salvation of God’s people in the wilderness (Num. 21:8–9), which Jesus identifies with himself when conversing with Nicodemus. “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up,” Jesus declares (John 3:14). The signal for the nations that adorns the earth with peace is the crucified Christ. That is the banner that beckons the poor and the meek to find hope and the lost and the outcast to come close, to come home. “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth,” Jesus says elsewhere, “will draw all people to myself” (John 12:32). And with that, we’re given the full picture of how this peaceful kingdom is established — namely, through death on a cross.
In the fullness of time, at God’s appointed time, God sends his Son into the world to be “born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons” (Gal. 4:4–5). The Son of God comes as the Prince of Peace, making peace for sinners by he himself being the offering of peace for all people. Such is what we revel in and rejoice in every Christmas season. Jesus is not a heaven-sent author who comes to deliver a divine instruction manual and call it a day. Jesus is not a mystic, come to guide us into serenity through some transcendent experience of heavenly nirvana. Jesus is not a moralist or ethicist, come to example the way to peaceful living. Jesus is not a politician, come to legislate his kingdom of peace through policy or compulsion. Jesus is none of those things. Rather, he is, as the angel announces, the “Savior, who is Christ the Lord,” the One who “will save his people from their sins” (Luke 2:10; Matt. 1:21).
Jesus comes as the Prince of Peace on a mission to give us his peace (John 14:27; 16:33). This is not an illusion of peace that’s realized through manmade treaties, pacts, and agreements. This is the truer peace, the deeper peace that only comes through atonement, that comes through forgiveness, that comes through death. What does Paul say in Romans 5:1? “Therefore, since we have been justified by faith we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” The peace that Jesus gives us is peace that comes from the top down. It is the peace, harmony, and settledness that comes from knowing our account has been resolved with God. That’s what Jesus comes to earth to accomplish. He’s the One who settles every score, dispelling the tension between us and God, as well as the angst between us and our neighbor. He brings those who are divided and estranged into unity.
The Prince of Peace is himself our peace (Eph. 2:11–22), who comes to give us his peace through his own self-sacrifice. When we gather as a church, we are given a foretaste of this peaceful kingdom that will one day be ushered into reality when the enemy is gone for good, the curse is lifted at last, and the righteousness of God fills the whole world like a flood. When we assemble, we’re given a glimpse of what it’s going to look like when Christ the Lord comes to reign on the earth. And when we sing about the baby in a manger, that’s who we are worshiping. That’s who the angels heralded, who the shepherds praised. The Prince of Peace has come, and he’s come for you.
Works cited:
Dale Ralph Davis, Stump Kingdom: Isaiah 6–12 (Ross-shire, Scotland: Christian Focus, 2017).