In the early 19th century, Edward Hicks painted "The Peaceable Kingdom," a benign menagerie of animals, wild and domesticated. He based his work on the Isaiah 11 passage that speaks of animals such as the wolf, lamb, leopard, lion, kid and calf, all sharing the same pasture, grazing and resting together. Hicks' vision, like that of Isaiah, is of a world of peace, and of love and tranquility -- even among animals who are ordinarily obedient only to instinct.

Hicks captured, on his colorful canvas, the dream of a world that knows war no more.

Now contrast this type of tranquility to that of the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery in Hartsdale, New York, a cemetery where cats, pigs, hamsters, alligators, chickens, rabbits, parrots, turtles, dogs and a lion cub all share the same acre of earth.

On the one hand, you've got "The Peaceable Kingdom." On the other, Pet Cemetery. Which of these comes closest to approximating the conditions under which an alligator and a chicken, or a wolf and a lamb, might coexist peacefully?

Pet Cemetery. That's right. A wolf and a lamb will lie together in peace -- if they're both dead.

Tragically, this seems to be a likely scenario for our world today, as well.

When we open Isaiah and read today's passage, it's hard to take the prophet's words seriously. He describes a utopia that is utterly disconnected with our sense of reality. The wolf and the lamb? I don't think so. The Taliban and U.S. Marine Corps? Nope. The Palestinians and the Israelis? No way, especially after the escalation of violence this past week. Peace? Not any time soon.

This is not to say that there have been no encouraging developments on the world stage. Aside from the war on terrorism, there are signs throughout the world that peace is actually breaking out. A number of political scientists are beginning to argue that wars are actually becoming LESS probable -- for at least three reasons. Here's a quick review:

First, Aging. The graying of developed countries may mean fewer wars in the future. With proportionally fewer young people to spare, many countries may be less willing to put their youth in harm's way to defend national interests.

Second, Technology. Future conflicts may be limited to disrupting electronic targets rather than killing humans.

Third, Economics. The globalization of the economy may reduce the threat of war because multinational corporations, with extensive facilities all over the world, have too much to lose. (Michael N. Nagler, "Peacemaking through nonviolence," The Futurist, May-June 2000, 67)

Does this mean that we are we moving into an era of war no more? Maybe yes, maybe no. It is interesting to note, as columnist Thomas Friedman has, that no two countries with McDonald's franchises have ever gone to war.
Food for thought.

Still, it's hard to think peaceful thoughts after September 11, especially in the midst of our nation's forceful response to acts of terrorism. Although Christians may feel an obligation to follow Jesus' command to "resist not evil" (Matthew 5:39), in this case resistance appears to be the highest moral course. As a church member said to me recently, "Use of force is the lesser of two evils. When you've got no good choices, you use the least offensive choice. You've got to live with a bad choice."

The worst response we can make today is the response of paralysis: Being stuck between two responses -- violent action or non-violent inaction -- neither of which is morally pure. To break out of this paralysis, the great reformer Martin Luther made the recommendation to "Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe and rejoice in Christ even more boldly, for he is victorious over sin, death, and the world." A realist, Luther believed that every one of us is destined to sin, no matter how hard we try to remain morally pure.

So perhaps the most faithful response to terrorism is to sin boldly, never forgetting that violence is sinful, and that true righteousness lies beyond the realm of human effort. No matter how many bombs we drop or bullets we fire, international harmony is not going to be realized by military action. War cannot, by itself, create a lasting peace, or move us beyond the Pet Cemetery view of international relations. Something else is required, something beyond the efforts of the purely human.

This brings us back to the Peaceable Kingdom, that passage which invites us to put our faith and trust in the shoot from the stump of Jesse. Today's lesson comes from a time in which the dynasty of King David, the son of Jesse, has been reduced to a mere stump, and the people of Israel are cowering in fear of the Assyrians. In the middle of this frightening and violent time, God promises to launch a new political initiative, a serenity so pervasive that it allows the wolf and lamb to share their personal space without either temptation or intimidation.

But how will it appear?

This new regime comes from a shoot -- from a bud, a sprout, a young leaf. Not from a warrior king or a conquering army, but from a fragile sprout. We know this shoot to be Jesus the Christ, the one born as a vulnerable baby in a manger in Bethlehem, the city of David.

He doesn't come to us as a Messiah with unlimited military might, even though legions of angels are at his disposal. Rather than scorching the earth with firepower, these angels are instead singing on Christmas night, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, good will toward all." The initial sign of the kingdom of God is the Prince of Peace, one who has "the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord" (Isaiah 11:2). Any other messiah is going to make an unholy mess.

According to Mahatma Gandhi, there are two kinds of power: One is obtained by threats of punishment. The other arises from acts of love. Now there is certainly a need to punish terrorism severely, as our military forces are doing today, but let's not forget about the other power available to us: The power that arises from acts of love.

I'm not speaking here of a sentimental kind of touchy-feely "love." Instead, I'm talking about a love that has practical, kingdom-building power. When Quakers broke the food blockade on Germany and Austria after World War I, they were not motivated by emotional love toward individual Germans, but by a higher sense of what makes politics work. And in fact, they seem to have been correct. Thirty years later, Quaker relief groups, and they only, were allowed to rescue Jews inside Germany, even at the height of the war. Because they did not use threats of punishment but what Gandhi referred to as "acts of love," they made an impression on the mindset of people as dehumanized as the followers of Hitler. (Michael N. Nagler, "Peacemaking Through Nonviolence," www.gmu.edu. Retrieved June 11, 2001)

So, what kind of power are we hoping for in this season of Advent? Coercive power? Or compassionate power? Maybe some of both is needed, but only compassionate power can move us from a pet cemetery to a peaceable kingdom. Only the power of love can carry us, with the help of God, to a place where there is war no more.

As we celebrate the coming of the Prince of Peace, are we doing whatever we can to bring a peaceable kingdom? Are we influencing each other through threats of punishment, or through acts of love? Are we showing concern for the poor and the oppressed of the earth? Are we speaking the truth in love, especially to those who are hurting themselves and others?

War no more. It's a beautiful vision, but it probably won't take full shape until Jesus comes in all his glory. There's just not enough righteousness and faithfulness loose in the world, and not enough people who are committed to practicing love instead of punishment. But in the meantime, in this Advent season of preparation and in the days beyond, we can graft our lives to the shoot that has emerged from the stump of Jesse, and pray for his peace to fill us and transform us.

"The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid," promises Isaiah (v. 6). Those who normally eat each other shall embrace each other, and those in conflict with each other will serenely coexist, when Christ comes to bring peace to the earth. "They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord" (v. 9).

What a glorious vision. For every one of us who has discovered firsthand what it means to "hurt or destroy," this prophecy stands before us as an object of anticipation and hope. How harmonious it will be when the nursing child plays on a viper's nest, when the struggling parent learns to love instead of punish, when the Arab and the Israeli go walking through Jerusalem together, when the threat of anthrax in office buildings is removed from the world forever.

Only then will we know war no more. Only then will the root of Jesse rule, and the peace of the Lord cover the earth.

Until then, we can take this vision to heart, and let it change our hearts forever. Amen.