God
Heard It through the Grapevine:
by Josh Hosler
for Dr.
Fentress-Williams
Virginia
Theological Seminary
OTS-503:
Old Testament Interpretation 3
30
April 2012
Let us imagine for
a moment that we are ancient Judahites. The setting is Jerusalem in or around
the year 723 B.C.E. King Ahaz has just ascended to the throne. Fear is in the
air, for the Assyrians are threatening to overrun both the northern kingdom of
Israel, against which we hold no small grudge, and the southern kingdom of
Judah, where we live and where we believe—or at least hope—that our identity as
God’s chosen people and the keepers of God’s temple will keep us protected from
foreign invasion. People bustle by, taking care of their everyday needs and
trying not to think too much about the political situation. A beggar cries out for
bread, but he is ignored. A thin-faced widow leads her four children through an
alley. And on the busiest street corner of all, the Prophet Isaiah has begun to
sing a song for the passersby.
From its first
notes, we recognize it as a familiar and rather hackneyed song about a
vineyard. This is surprising fare from a prophet who has gained a reputation
for gloom and doom. But the song is a guilty pleasure, and Isaiah is a good
singer, so we stop to listen. Perhaps it would have been better if we had moved
on. Isaiah’s song about a vineyard turns out to be an ever-shifting,
multi-genre suite that frustrates our expectations at every turn yet draws us
in line by line, until finally we realize that in our appreciation of the song,
we have condemned ourselves for blatant sins against God and humanity.
What kind of song is
Isaiah singing? Gene Tucker asks, “Is this really a song? If so, what kind? …
Initially, the speaker announces that he will sing a song, but when one
examines the unit as a whole, it becomes clear that the song is limited to vv.
1b-2. If it is not a song, then what is it?”
[1]
Howard Wallace writes, “There has been a great deal of debate over the genre of
the passage. Suggestions have included a song, a love song, a drinking song, a
satirical polemic against fertility cults, a lawsuit, a fable, an allegory and
a parable.”
[2]
We may feel it is important to identify the genre of this passage, but Brevard
Childs warns:
The problem lies in understanding the
relation between the predominately wisdom components of a parable and the
prophetic features of a judgment oracle. The very recognition of a unique
mixture of literary traditions should guard against an unfruitful search for a
formally consistent pattern with one genre. Attention to both form and function
is crucial.
[3]
Isaiah has intentionally set up a
multi-genre passage that functions to keep us listening. The constant shift of
genres from verse to verse leaves us uneasy and uncertain of what to expect, so
we are caught off our guard when we finally realize that the song implicates
us. Let us imagine, then, that Isaiah began with a song that everybody knew and
then began to change it specifically in order to pull us in further. We expect
a theme, but we begin to hear variations.
 |
| Actual Hebrew text of this passage; click to enlarge |
|
The first lyrics
we indeed know well, for we have heard them sung often at weddings by a paid
musician or a musically inclined uncle.
[4]
We can even sing along with verse 1: “I will sing now for my dear friend a song
about him and his vineyard. My dear friend has a vineyard on a fertile hill.”
[5]
The lyrics are pleasant to the ear in our native Hebrew, carefully crafted to
ensure a singsong quality: “Ashirah na lididi shirat dodi. L’charmo kerem hayah lididi
b’qeren ben-shamen.” Rhyme is not a common device in our tradition, but we do
love alliteration, assonance, and plays on words. When we hear “lididi” and
“dodi,” it may as well be “do wah diddy diddy” or “da doo ron ron,” except that
these are not nonsense words: they both mean “dear” or “beloved.”
They’re fun
words to sing, and they lend themselves well to a popular but innocuous ballad.
“Ashirah” and “shirat” in English are rather like, “Sing … sing a song.”
“Kerem” and “qeren”-- the words for “vineyard” and “hill”—also sound alike.
“Qeren ben-shamen” literally means “a horn, son of oil,” but we know it in
poetic context as a “horn of plenty” or a “fertile hill.”
[6]
Geoffrey Grogan
writes, “The use of ‘vineyard’ or garden for a bride is often found in the Song
of Solomon … and it may have been recognized as a stock metaphor.”
[7]
Yet perhaps already our suspicions are aroused due to the identity of the
speaker: this street corner scene is not a wedding, but some kind of prophetic
performance art. Carolyn Sharp suggests, “Since prophets speak for God, the
audience might suspect from the start that this male beloved is God.”
[8]
Katheryn Pfisterer Darr disagrees: “Elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, the
adjective
yadid often refers to
YHWH’s beloved (e.g. Israel in Jer. 11:15; Ps. 127:2, etc.; Benjamin in Deut.
33:12), although never to YHWH as ‘beloved.’ In the Song of Solomon, a young
woman frequently uses
dod to refer to
the man she loves (e.g., 1:13; 2:3; 4:16; 5:10). Here, however, neither
yadid or
dod betrays the farmer’s identity.”
[9]
Either way, it’s an intriguing situation, so we stick around to hear more.
As verse 2 begins,
we might imagine Isaiah’s singsong love song to be something like the Beatles’
“Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da”: the man will set up a house for his bride where the two
of them can happily get down to the work of making babies, new children of
Abraham. “And he dug around it thoroughly and de-stoned it, and he planted in
it the best possible vines.” In Hebrew this is a series of Pi’el verbs
indicating intense work: “Va-y’azqehu, va-y’saqlehu, va-yitta’ehu.” These
strong sounds change the tone and form the bridge of the song, leading toward a
familiar chorus. “And he built a tower …” Our ears prick up, for Isaiah has
departed from the familiar lyric. Let us presume there was nothing in the
original hit version about a tower. But why wouldn’t the man build a tower?
Isaiah seems to be performing his own variation on the song, and this makes it
even more interesting. Carolyn Sharp comments: “The tower will provide a dark
place for the storage of fermenting grape juice; it might also house the
vineyard owner or an employee watching over the vineyard a
t night. There may be
a subtle resonance with ‘[military] watchtower’ here as well: is this
foreshadowing that sentinels will be needed to warn Israel of approaching
enemies?”
[10]
Yet nothing in the song has given us a clue about where it is headed. What a
fascinating change! We do have someplace to be, but Isaiah has our attention.
Verse 2 continues: “And he built a tower in its midst, and he even hewed out a
wine-vat in it.” As Isaiah’s voice swells toward the chorus, we’re excited to
hear all about the couple’s love for each other and the birth of their
children.
“And he expected a
yield of grapes … but it yielded nasty, stinking grapes.” Now there’s a shock.
This isn’t a love song at all: it’s a cheating song! Gary Roye Williams
addresses this sudden change:
The expectation of grapes (v. 2c),
perhaps a symbol of children, was fully justified, and the final word of the verse, “be’ushim,” “stinking grapes,” perhaps representing illegitimate children,
comes as a great surprise. One expects rather a synonym of “anabim,” “grapes.” The husband’s
expectations were frustrated, but so also are the interpreter’s. A major
reinterpretation of the song thus far is called for.
[11]
What began as “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da”
has become “I Heard It through the Grapevine”! Yet more
surprises are in store.
Childs writes: “These elements of indeterminacy, which are constitutive of a
wisdom saying, function to puzzle the audience, which expects one thing but
then receives quite another, as the mood of entertainment and curiosity is
quickly dispelled by the prophet.”
[12]
Even the sound of the word “be’ushim”—with a guttural aleph bursting into a “u”
vowel—banishes any singsong quality we had been enjoying.
We move into the
second section of what will turn out to be a suite, and it is here that Isaiah
changes rhythm and even vocal tone to signify that somebody different is
speaking. This is no uncle at a wedding; even the honeymoon is over. The
bridegroom himself, all worked up in grief and
anger, steps up to the
microphone in verse 3 for his recitative: “And now, residents of Jerusalem—and
man of Judah—judge, if you please, between me and my vineyard.” Isaiah has
dragged us into court, and we are placed on the bench to hear the farmer’s
grievances. Verse 4 presents the formal complaint: “What more could I have done
for my vineyard that I have not already
done? Why, when I expected a yield of
grapes, did it yield nasty, stinking grapes?” It is important at this point to
ask some of the same questions Joseph Blenkinsopp has asked:
There are … incongruities and problems
for the modern reader, e.g., squaring the very mundane language of the poem
with love poetry; imagining how a vineyard can be responsible for a poor crop;
why the same people represented by the failed vineyard are asked to take sides;
or, finally, why the decision to destroy is taken before those solicited have a
chance to respond by making some useful suggestions, e.g., consult an
experienced vintner, add compost, try a different kind of grape.
[13]
We have already addressed the
problem of genre, and we will discover soon enough who is judging whom. But
indeed, how can a vineyard be
responsible for its own crop? Could it be that there is indeed more the farmer
could do? Did the husband do something to make his bride feel unloved? Or is
the entire metaphor about to break down? We have been sucked into this dramatic
situation, but we are given no time to review the evidence before a verdict is
pronounced in verses 5 and 6—and not by us. But by whom?
So now, listen up! I will declare to you
what I am doing to my vineyard. I will take away its hedge, and it will be
destroyed. I will break down its wall, and it will become a trampled-down
place. And I will lay it waste. It will not be pruned, and it will not be hoed,
and thorn bushes and other rough growth will come up …
The
court has become a divorce court, and this relationship is clearly over. We
move from “I Heard It through the Grapevine” into a bitter breakup song. Isaiah
is singing the part of judge, jury, and … executioner? No, for although the
farmer takes away the hedge and breaks down the wall, he does not destroy the
vineyard itself. He’s leaving, and he will allow the vineyard to be trampled by
whatever cattle come along. He will allow it to go to seed in whatever way
nature takes its course. It’s not “The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia,”
but it may well be from the country genre … maybe something along the lines of
“My Give a Damn’s Busted.”
Yet in the final phrase of verse 6, Isaiah tips his
hand. The farmer will not uproot the vines, but he will make every effort to
sabotage their continued existence: “… and I will command the dark clouds not
to rain on it!” This is no farmer, and this is no husband. Only God can control
the weather.
So now we have
come full circle. When we first noticed Isaiah on the street corner, we
expected a prophecy of doom, and we’re going to get one. We brace ourselves for
the rest of the story. We know the Assyrians are about to invade that accursed
northern kingdom of Israel, the faithless ones who worship in places other than
the temple. Surely this prophecy will be against them, we hope, as Isaiah
begins verse 7: “And the vineyard of YHWH-of-the-angel-armies is the house of
Israel.” Of course it is. We knew it all along, so we exchange self-satisfied
smirks.
“And the man of
Judah is the plantation of his delight.” With this line, Isaiah cuts us to the
bone. There we stand on the corner, tried and convicted, though we don’t even
understand yet what the charges are. All this time Isaiah has been using God’s
voice to condemn us! Gene Tucker writes:
In the middle of the parable, the
prophet, speaking as the vineyard’s ‘owner,’ directly addresses the
‘inhabitants of Jerusalem and people of Judah’ (v. 3). Finally, however, the
indictment is against the ‘house of Israel and the people of Judah’ (v. 7). For
many interpreters, the meaning of ‘Israel’ here has been a key to dating the
original address, presumed to have been delivered in Jerusalem. Eventually,
‘Israel’ came to be a comprehensive term for the chosen people, and in Isaiah
it commonly is used in more of a religious than a political or geographical
sense. If ‘Israel’ refers here to the northern kingdom, then the parable of the
vineyard probably would have originated before 722 BCE, when Samaria fell to
the Assyrians. But the historical allusions in the context are not sufficiently
specific to allow reliable conclusions.
[14]
We may never know
for sure, but by mentioning Israel prior to Judah, Isaiah may be employing a
funnel effect similar to that used by Amos in the first two chapters of his
book. That prophet’s condemnations move geographically like a tornado,
beginning with Damascus, circling the Jordan in a spiral, touching down in
Judah, and finally settling on Amos’s own kingdom of Israel. In this way, just
when we thought we finally knew what he was up to, Isaiah has changed genres on
us once more. This is not a love song, or a cheating song, or a breakup song,
or even a “God Bless Judah” patriotic anthem. This is a condemnation of our
nation. Gary Roye Williams gets at the heart of Isaiah’s artistic method:
The most unpleasant surprise of all is
now ready to be revealed. The phrase “men of Judah” (v. 7) creates an
expectation of antithetical parallelism. Israel was to be punished, but Judah
would be blessed (cf. Hos. i 7, xii 1). However, the parallelism is synonymous.
Suddenly the awful truth is revealed. The disappointing vineyard, the
unfaithful wife, “the house of Israel”—all refer to Judah. The Song of the
Vineyard has turned out to be a juridicial parable, by means of which the poet
has led Judah’s citizens to condemn themselves.
[15]
But what have we
done to deserve this condemnation? Isaiah saves the accusation itself for the
second half of verse 7: “And he [God] expected judgment (‘mishpat’), but
behold, bloodshed (‘mishpah’)—righteousness (‘tz’daqa’), but behold, a cry of
distress (‘tz’aqa’)!” Here Isaiah uses one of the most famous examples of
wordplay in the Hebrew Bible. The words stick in our ears like the choking
sound at the center of the word “tz’aqa” sticks in Isaiah’s throat. Referring
to the oracle that follows this passage in chapter 5, Jeremy Wynne explains:
The larger context of the parable is
therefore indispensable: in their unrighteousness, the people of God have
nurtured insatiable appetites for wealth; they have hoarded property and driven
the poor from the land (5.8); they have traded the origin of their life
together, their election from among all the nations, for the pursuit of
self-indulgence and fleeting pleasures (5.11f.); and they have capitulated to
bribery and twisted the law such that it no longer protects the innocent but
rather serves as an instrument of suffering (5.23).”
[16]
And now it all comes clear. The
condemnation was for both Israelite countries, even in their estrangement from
one another. The breakup lyrics tell us that we cannot assure ourselves of
God’s protection, for God intends to remove that protection and let us be
trampled down by whatever nation happens to overpower us first. Even the word
“parotz” for “break down” returns to haunt us, for it sounds rather like
“paroh” … Pharaoh! We have cheated on God, breaking our centuries-old covenant
in the way we treat each other, so God is undoing the agreement. We have
produced stinking grapes, rather than the sweet grapes that God took every
possible measure to assure and which we had no right not to produce. God loves
us and longs for us, yet what have we done in return? We stand guilty as
charged … right there on the street corner in Jerusalem, surrounded by beggars,
widows and orphans. All our expectations have been frustrated … and now we
might begin to understand how God feels about the situation. Williams notes,
“This hermeneutical frustration is a literary device which strengthens the main
message of the song: Yahweh’s frustrated expectations concerning Judah.”
[17]
Is all hope lost?
Wynne reminds us that in every time and place, God’s number one purpose is
always redemption: “In righteousness, and especially in the mode of his wrath,
because God is no less free than he is loving and no less loving than free,
redemption may take a surprising route, and the yield of righteousness among
God’s people, so to speak, may finally be harvested marvelously in another
manner.”
[18]
May it be so. In the meantime, we can only stand in awe at the skill of this
prophet-turned-busker who has taken our own love song, used it to draw us in,
and turned it against us to display God’s righteous judgment.
End Notes
[1] Gene M. Tucker, “The Book of Isaiah,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume VI, Leander
E. Keck et al., eds. (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2001), 87.
[2] Howard N. Wallace, “Harvesting the Vineyard: The
Development of Vineyard Imagery in the Hebrew Bible,” in Seeing Signals, Reading Signs, Mark A. O’Brien and Howard N.
Wallace, eds. (London, U.K.: T&T Clark International, 2004), 119.
[3] Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), 44-45.
[4] For more about Isaiah 5:1-7 as an “uncle’s song,” see
John T. Willis, “The Genre of Isaiah 5:1-7,” in Journal of Biblical Literature, Vol. 96, No. 3 (Sep., 1977), 337.
[5] The translation of Isaiah 5:1-7 throughout is my own.
[6] “In Isa 5:1, qeren
seems to mean hill or mountain spur (apparently, land that protrudes and is
prominent) …” Michael L. Brown, in New
International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology & Exegesis, Volume 3,
William A. VanGemeren, ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House,
1997), 991.
[7] Geoffrey W. Grogan, “Isaiah,” in The Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Tremper Longman III and David E.
Garland, eds. (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2008), 497.
[8] Carolyn J. Sharp, Isaiah 5:1-7, in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised
Common Lectionary, Year A, Volume 4, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown
Taylor, eds. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 123.
[9] Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Isaiah 5:1-7, in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised
Common Lectionary, Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown
Taylor, eds. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 343.
[11] Gary Roye Williams, “Frustrated Expectations in
Isaiah V 1-7: A Literary Interpretation,” from Vetus Testamentum, Vol. 35, Fasc. 4 (Oct. 1985), 460-461. Accessed
April 13, 2012.
[13] Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1-39 (New York: The Anchor Bible Doubleday, 2000), 206.
[16] Jeremy J. Wynne, Wrath
among the Perfections of God’s Life (London, U.K.: T&T Clark, 2010),
126.
