The central theme of this episode revolves around the profound notion that God does not initiate anew from a place of perfection but rather from the remnants of despair and brokenness. We explore the poignant imagery presented in Isaiah 11, wherein a single green shoot emerges defiantly from the desolation of a stump, symbolizing hope amidst despair. This episode invites listeners to reflect on their own personal stumps—those areas of life that appear irrevocably severed and hopeless. Through the lens of Advent, we are reminded that even in the bleakest circumstances, divine renewal is not only possible but already in motion. We encourage each listener to confront their own wounds and embrace the transformative potential that lies within the promise of redemption.

In this Advent devotion, Dr. Jeffrey D. Skinner reflects on the themes of hope and redemption during the Advent season. He shares a personal story about a soldier named Caleb who experienced a profound moment of divine presence during a chaotic time. The message emphasizes that hope is not quiet but rather a powerful force that breaks through darkness. The devotion concludes with a prayer for redemption and a call to recognize the light amidst struggles.

The discourse presented delves into the profound theme of hope as articulated in the context of Advent, particularly focusing on the metaphor of a resilient shoot emerging from a seemingly lifeless stump. This imagery, drawn from Isaiah 11, serves to illustrate the promise of renewal amidst despair, as the speaker reflects on a personal experience with a desolate landscape in Alabama, where life defied destruction. The narrative unfolds to reveal that, despite the apparent finality of loss, divine intervention instigates a resurgence of vitality and hope, encapsulating the essence of Advent that invites believers to acknowledge and embrace their own stumps—those personal struggles and wounds. Through the poignant illustration of the shoot from the stump of Jesse, the speaker emphasizes that God’s renewal often arises not from pristine beginnings but from the very scars of existence, thereby inviting listeners to find solace and strength in the belief that redemption and restoration are possible even in the most desolate circumstances.

Takeaways:

• The metaphor of the stump exemplifies resilience and the emergence of hope amidst despair.
• Isaiah's prophecy illustrates God's ability to create new life from seemingly dead circumstances.
• The Advent season calls us to recognize the transformative power found in our deepest scars.
• In times of adversity, we are encouraged to confront our challenges and seek renewal.
• The promise of a new branch signifies that redemption is possible even in bleak situations.
• We must actively look for signs of hope, as they often arise in the most unexpected places.

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Foreign.

Welcome into Echo through Eternity.

If you're new here, grab some coffee, light a candle if you've got one, and settle in.

We're walking straight into the raw, stubborn hope of Advent today.

Title of this episode for Advent Week 1 Episode 3 on Tuesday, December 2nd when God refuses to start over, I want to take you to a clear cut hillside I visited a few years ago in the rural parts of of Alabama.

Acres of nothing but stumps.

You could still smell pine pitch and chainsaw oil.

Everything looked finished, dead, gone.

And then, right in the middle of the carnage, I saw it.

One single defiant shoot pushing up through the heartwood of a stump that had to be four feet across.

Bright, tender, impossible green against all that brown ruin.

That image has never left me, because that's exactly what Isaiah hands us in chapter 11.

Let me read it slow.

The way it deserves to be heard is Isaiah 11:1 10 new revised standard Version Updated Edition A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of its roots.

By the time Isaiah speaks these words, the royal line of David looks exactly like that clear cut hillside.

The glory days are sawdust.

Babylon's axe is already swinging.

And into that silence God says, watch.

I I do my best work in the graveyards.

Not a brand new tree planted somewhere else.

Not a restart that pretends the wounds never happened.

A shoot from the stump itself.

God starts over from scars.

And this branch is no ordinary king.

Seven spirits rest on him.

Wisdom, understanding, counsel, might, knowledge, and the fear of the Lord.

Named twice because that's where his delight lives.

He doesn't judge by Fox News or cnn, by tweets or polls.

He judges by righteousness.

The poor get justice.

The oppressed get equity.

And when wickedness finally opens its mouth to roar, he he just speaks and it drops dead.

The rod of his mouth, the breath of his lips.

That's all it takes.

Then comes the part that always undoes me.

The peace.

Wolves bunking with lambs, leopards napping beside baby goats nursing babies, treating cobra dens like playground equipment.

The whole created order exhales and remembers Eden.

I used to file this under Sweet Someday Stuff.

A nice closing slideshow for the end of time.

But Advent refuses to let us do that.

Advent says the chute has already broken ground.

The root of Jesse has already been lifted up, first in a feeding trough, later on a cross so that every nation could see see the signal and come asking, where is he?

So here's a question I carry into every hospital room, every fractured family, every church that's more wound than worship.

Wash your stump.

Name it out loud if you can.

The marriage that feels severed at the root.

The kid who walked away and hasn't answered a text in two years.

The diagnosis that cut hope off at the knees.

The dream you buried with your own hands.

Whatever it is, stare at it.

Tonight, I'm thinking.

A friend of mine whom I've known for decades.

She's been through a lot, and now her daughter, in her mid-20s, will have the vast majority of her colon removed next week.

Her life will change drastically, but she hasn't given up hope.

Despite the despair that desperately tries to break in in the midst of the chaos that threatens the peace, she says no, I will not go gently into that good night because God is on my side.

The hope of Advent the stump of Jesse has come and is coming.

This year.

Listen for the sound you can here south rising, a green sliver defying the sawdust because the branch doesn't wait for perfect soil.

He comes when everything looks dead.

He comes when the only thing left is the old promise buried under centuries of disappointment.

And from that gravest dump he grows a kingdom where the vulnerable are finally safe.

Predators learn a new diet and a little child born in Bethlehem and born again every time we let him leads the way home.

So let so light whatever candle you've got, pray whatever honest prayer you can manage, and dare to believe that nothing is over until the one who makes shoots out of stumps says it's redeemed.

Let's close in prayer together, Lord Jesus.

Root and branch cross grow where we thought life ended.

Let your spirit of wisdom and peace split our hardened places.

Give us eyes to spot the shoot among the stumps and hearts brave enough to live like the wolf is already learning the lamb's name.

We wait for you.

We wait in you come quickly.

Amen.

If this has stirred something in you, share it.

Text it to the person who needs to hear that their stump isn't the end of the story.

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Until next time, keep listening for SAP rising, grace and peace.