LUTHER SEMINARY CHAPEL, 10 OCTOBER 2002

TEXT: ISAIAH 5:1-7 (PENTECOST 20 – SERIES A)

PREACHER: FREDERICK J. GAISER

A LOVE SONG FOR THE VINEYARD

(Tune: Home on the Range)

It’s a love song I’d sing,

And salvation I’d bring

To my people, beloved and strong;

But, can’t do what I would,

For I made them for good,

And somehow they got it all wrong.

Home, home, please come home,

There’s death where you’ve chosen to roam.

I stand and I knock. Can’t you hear the dread clock

Ticking tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock?

They were meant to bear fruit,

But they pillage and loot.

They’re a vineyard that’s grown old and wild.

So I’ll prune and I’ll cut,

And the door I will shut

To my dwelling, though they are my child.

Let me set forth my case,

Lest you think that my face

Just turns this way and that way for sport.

No, Redeemer’s my name;

Steadfast love is my game.

I seek life; I am not Voldemort.

So I planted and tilled—

All their enemies killed—

Not so nice, I confess, but deserved.

I gave them a land,

Their expansion I planned,

And their lives, above all, I preserved.

Did I act out of greed?

Is there something I need?

For myself? Not one thing, I am God!

Well, maybe their love,

Or, as I watched from above,

Some concern for the earth—not so odd.

But they squabbled and fought,

Did not love as they ought.

They could have done well if they would.

I expected a crop;

What I got was a flop,

And a cow’s would have smelt just as good.

So, I’ll plow up their field;

I will decrease their yield.

What was fertile will now become rocks.

I will lay their land waste;

I will do it in haste,

Habitat for just jackal and fox.

I can sense your surprise;

You thought I was one of those guys

Who would never turn out to be judge.

But for judges there’s place

Midst this sad human race;

For no judges, no justice, no nudge.

And should you complain:

Death is more of a pain

Than a “nudge.” “It’s more like a knife!”

Let me hasten to say,

Death is with you to stay.

I just want even it to serve life.

So, home, home, please come home,

There’s death where you’ve chosen to roam.

I stand and I knock. Can’t you hear the dread clock

Ticking tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock?

Now, lest you think, “Wow,

That was then, this is now.

I’m sure glad that that Testament’s Old!”

I want to make clear

That you are so dear

To me, I’ll judge you too! You’ve been told!

You have heard me sing “them,”

Perhaps thinking “Amen.

They just got their deserts, after all.”

But I’ll give you a clue:

You must substitute “you”;

For now, you are the people I call.

If you think they had a land

That was pleasant and grand,

Look around and see what you’ve been given.

Wealth like yours is unknown;

Fat and lazy you’ve grown.

You’re quite sure that you’re worthy of heaven.

So I sing you my song,

For you too get it wrong,

Your priorities quite out of whack.

It’s not plowshares but swords

That get greatest rewards,

And tight ends take home gold by the sack.

“But not me,” you retort,

“I’m not one of that sort

With embarrassing wealth out the ears.”

But have you one suit,

And another to boot?

Then the Mount Sermon should bring you tears!

You need never say no

To a glass of Merlot,

And you put fine perfumes in your bath;

Lay up treasures on earth,

But they’ll only give birth

To a harvest of dark grapes of wrath.

So, what should I do?

Send my Son down to you?

But would he not suffer the fate

Of all others who dare

To suggest you should care

For the beggars who stand at the gate?

They’re there, don’t you see?

More, in them, please see me–

Standing, knocking, and waiting for bread–

While you play and you pray

In your nonchalant way,

Doing little to see that they’re fed.

But I’ve plighted my troth

To come there where the moth

And the rust have their way with all things.

They will have at me too,

When I enter your stew,

But I love you, ride home on my wings.

It’s a love song I’d sing,

And salvation I’d bring.

I will never give up my refrain,

For it’s life that I seek

For the strong and the meek.

Won’t you please come in out of the rain?

Home, home, please come home,

There’s death where you’ve chosen to roam.

I stand and I knock. Can’t you hear that dread clock

Ticking tock, ticking tock-tick-tick-tock?