O Radix Jesse, qui stas in signum populorum, super quem continebunt reges os suum, quem Gentes deprecabuntur: veni ad liberandum nos, jam noli tardare.
O Root of Jesse, who stand as an ensign to the peoples, at whom kings stand silent and whom the gentiles seek, come and free us, delay no longer!
Who does not love those beautiful medieval images of Jesse and the great tree of descendants springing from his loins — in stone at Christchurch, wood at Abergavenny (as shown above) and glass and stone in the window at Dorchester — and the genealogies of the gospels which all end with the birth of Christ? Jesus has a human ancestry as flawed and imperfect as our own. The way he looked, the way he spoke, the way he walked were a very human mixture of genes and upbringing. He is, so to say, of the earth, earthy, and among his ancestors are some very dodgy figures, including some non-Jews. Yet before him, the humble Galilean, kings stand silent and gentiles come in search. He, and he alone, can set us free from everything that binds us and lead us into the Promised Land where all is peace and joy. That, surely, is Jesse’s dream, a long, long dream down the centuries. I hope it is not too fanciful to see a connection between our modern word ‘dream’ and the Old English ‘drëam’, meaning ‘joy’ or ‘music’. The serenity of Jesse’s features suggest, to me at least, a man who gazed into the future and rejoiced at what he saw: a graceful flowering of all that he held most precious, a fruitfulness far beyond the ordinary.
Tempting though it is to linger among such images, we know it will not do. We cannot ask for freedom if we are not prepared to work at it, sacrifice for it, share it with others. Most of us are probably a little afraid of the chains that bind us, the sins we don’t quite see as sin, the comfortable accommodations with secular values that are a little selfish, a little self-indulgent maybe, but not really bad. Unfortunately, that kind of thinking can be dangerous. Without falling prey to scrupulosity, we need to recognize that, as Christians, our way of acting should be different from that of others. If we are truly rooted in Christ, we must grow to be like him; and that is always going to be demanding. We are, of course, inclined to set limits. We don’t mind being a little stunted, a little pot-bound, it’s more comfortable that way. So, for instance, I’ll love other Christians, but I draw the line at loving those outside my comfort zone, Muslims/atheists/blacks/whites/conservatives/liberals (complete as appropriate). Hmn. I’m not sure about that, are you?
There are several scriptural texts we could ponder today (e.g. Isaiah 11.1; Isaiah 11.10; Jeremiah 23. 5-6: Micah 5.1; Romans 15. 8-13; Revelation 5.1-5; Revelation 22.16) but I am constantly drawn back to that silent, dreamy image of Jesse. Silence is characteristic of the men involved in the Infancy narratives, and I have often wondered why. Today, for example, Zachariah is struck dumb (Luke 1.5-25); Joseph will remain silent when instructed by the angel. We, by contrast, tend to rush into making observations or sharing our opinions with others. Perhaps we need to make some silence for ourselves today, so that we can reflect on the use we make of our own freedom — and the limits we impose on the freedom of others by the way we talk and act. Then we can make the prayer of the antiphon our own.