Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for 2017

Dos facetas abren el discurso de  Isaías y develan su rostro  en este corto pero extraordinario oráculo:

En verdad, el Señor tendrá compasión de Jacob y elegirá de nuevo a Israel. Los asentará en su propia tierra. Los extranjeros se juntarán con ellos, y se unirán a los descendientes de Jacob.  Los pueblos los acogerán y los llevarán hasta su patria. Los israelitas los tomarán como siervos y siervas en el suelo del Señor; apresarán a sus captores y dominarán a sus opresores. (Isaías 14:1-2 N.V.I).

El texto no se apreciaría en su plenitud si no consideráramos lo insólito del pasaje: Los pueblos no iban a sobrevivir la experiencia del exilio en el Antiguo Cercano Oriente.

Contra todo pronóstico el exilio representaba el exterminio y la aniquilación de la nación sobre la tierra. Por la masacre y el caos,  por la asimilación tan forzada, como no forzada. El pueblo ‘exiliado’ era un grupo étnico que estaba destinado a renunciar a toda esperanza de levantarse del exilio a manos de, por ejemplo, los Babilónicos bíblicos.

Pese a este este sombrío telón, YHWH en el libro de Isaías constantemente promete tener compasión y elegir de nuevo a su pueblo cautivo Israel / Judá. Esta afirmación es una bofetada a toda probabilidad histórica que avergonzaría al  propio poder de  Babilonia.

Sólo un señor con capacidad de sobrepasar la historia podría asegurar semejante afirmación y burlarse de toda corte humana. E incluso entonces, YHWH tendría que cumplir su promesa en la arena del espacio y del tiempo antes si su palabra fuera tomada en serio por todos, menos por aquellos desesperados que eran los cautivos de Sion.

Este giro divino de la cautividad hacia la libertad de Judá, era la primera de las dos hazañas extraordinarias del mensaje de Isaías al que me refiero. Era un retorno que afirmaba  la mano misericordiosa divina y ofrecía el respaldo al llamado del profeta sobre su mensaje de que a Judá irremediablemente tenía que regresar (en arrepentimiento) y volverse (físicamente a Sion). Aunque para ello YHWH tenía que intervenir y derramarse en su pueblo, y para ello no había otra salida. Cualquier intención o acción humana para producir este resultado por pura fuerza humana, era heroísmo fútil, una locura histórica, una breve explosión de entusiasmo que se marchitaría borrando todo registro.

En segundo lugar, las ‘naciones’ encontrarían un lugar ambiguo en esta retórica. El texto afirma que los extranjeros reunirían a Judá y a la casa de Jacob, expresiones que connotan un fuerte olor de conversión y un sentido de injerto al que ellos podrían aferrarse.

Además, ‘las gentes’—los paganos reprensibles, en su totalidad—llevarían  a Judá/Israel a su tierra y luego se volverían siervos lacayos del pueblo. Una vez más, Isaías muestra un panorama que sobrepasa toda lógica, pero se cumpliría si a YHWH se le creyera.

El lugar de las naciones en la visión de Isaías es algo debatible. Por momentos el libro nos permite vislumbrar a los no israelitas como virtualmente iguales con los mismos judaitas en la compañía de su Señor Redentor. Más comúnmente, las puertas se abrirían dadivosamente a los no judíos, a pesar de que el texto mantiene una especie de subordinación de los «gentiles» (el pueblo de las naciones no judías) a los propios judaitas que regresarían. Las circunstancias subordinadas de estos extranjeros quedan certificadas al menos en este pasaje. El lector debe conformarse con reconocer que no se cuenta con toda la información sobre cómo las naciones servirían para cumplir los designios divinos y se convertirían en siervas de Israel. Tal vez un poco. Tal vez mucho.

Sobre el tema de estos lacayos extranjeros, Isaías tendrá más que decir.

Cuando se tienen en cuenta estas características del texto, queda claro que el panorama profético no representa un optimismo prosaico e ingenuo de que las cosas saldrán bien al final.

Al contrario, Isaías nos dejaría sin aliento un mundo conocido que ahora queda deshecho. Y uno nuevo que apenas comienza.

Read Full Post »

Usualmente los oráculos proféticos de la Biblia no se leen buscando inspiración alguna. Lo espeso de sus paisajes, los cuadros dantescos, salvajes y desoladores, más bien causan perturbación en vez de brindar consuelo o inspiración. De hecho, esto es su objetivo, aunque para ello emerja de sus entrañas una lectura dura de roer.

Profecía sobre el desierto del mar. Como torbellino del Neguev, así viene del desierto, de la tierra horrenda.  Visión dura me ha sido mostrada. El prevaricador prevarica, y el destructor destruye. Sube, oh Elam; sitia, oh Media. Todo su gemido hice cesar. (Isaías  21:1–2 N.V.I.).

Isaías 21 es pues parte de ese grupo de llamados ‘oráculos contra las Naciones’, dirigido contra Babilonia la opresora de Judá. La pequeña y frágil Judá encontraría algo de consuelo en ello, por su manera de invertir las estructuras de poder en su entorno. Semejantes denuncias muestran que los perros grandes no mandan, a pesar de su presunción. El profeta se  atreve a sugerir, en contra de las evidencias, que ningún poder humano es invencible.

Los versículos citados despliegan una característica particular de los oráculos proféticos, los cuales de manera sutil hacen un terrible reclamo: existe una línea de inevitabilidad que los rebeldes de cualquier clase pueden violar. A pesar de la paciencia larga del YHWH, a ese punto todo ha sido dicho y el juicio pronto se ejecutará.

Los traductores luchan por capturar la repetición representada en las dos frases en cursiva. En lo personal, he pasado tiempo tratando de encontrar una versión de la Biblia que intente reflejar esta misma idea como un juego de palabras reiterativa. Al menos en ingles la NRSV lo hace bien:  the betrayer betrays and the destroyer destroys (el traidor traiciona y el destructor destruye Hebreo: הבוגד בוגד והשודד שודד).

Por su lado, el libro neotestamentario,  Apocalipsis toma prestada esa misma  técnica, quizás mostrando su deuda con el libro de Isaías. Esto no debería extrañarnos en un libro tan saturado del espíritu isaiánico, tan convencido de que el nombre ‘Babilonia’ sirve perfectamente bien para identificar cualquier poder que aplasta bajo sus pies a los pequeños de YHWH.

Otra secuencia de lamentos de condenación idénticos encontramos aquí: (“cayó, cayó, Babilonia”, Isa. 21.9 // ” Ha caído, ha caído la gran Babilonia”, Apocalipsis 18.2) complementa este ritmo de reiteración.

 Si alguno lleva en cautividad, va en cautividad; si alguno mata a espada, a espada debe ser muerto. Aquí está la paciencia y la fe de los santos (Apocalipsis 13:10 N.V.I.)

Lo ineludible es algo que no se muestra con frecuencia en el relato bíblico en cuanto al trato que tenía YHWH con su pueblo y su gente. Por el contrario, se muestra una relación abierta, cargada de  promesas y deseos impregnados de buenas aspiraciones para los protagonistas humanos.

Pero hay un punto, los oráculos proféticos nos instruyen, después del cual no hay vuelta atrás. Es el punto en que oponerse a la voluntad divina se torna voluntarioso y completo. En ese momento, la suerte ha sido echada y la destrucción es inevitable.

Dios no lo quiera.

Read Full Post »

When the Old Testament prophets go satirical on us, it is no laughing matter.  That is, any mirth that their ironic verbal assaults elicit—and some of it is quite funny also to modern eyes—is meant to wake up their hearers to the fact that created reality has been transgressed. And will soon, or sometimes eventually, be set right.

In the passage that follows, it is the Babylonian oppressors’ gods who are heartily mocked.

Bel bows down; Nebo stoops; their idols are on beasts and livestock; these things you carry are borne as burdens on weary beasts. They stoop; they bow down together; they cannot save the burden, but themselves go into captivity.

Listen to me, O house of Jacob, all the remnant of the house of Israel, who have been borne by me from before your birth, carried from the womb; even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save. (Isaiah 46:1–4 ESV)

The sophisticated verbal play is almost too rich to be explained in translation. But let’s try.

These two short prophetic paragraphs (so the Hebrew ‘Massoretic Text’ considers them) play on themes that Isaiah sustains, turns inside out, and explores, much as Bach explores the capacity of given sound in a Baroque fugue.

Here are a few of those themes as they appear in the lines I’ve quoted.

First, the historical moment would seem to prove the powers of the Babylon gods, even to dismiss any discussion in the face of their self-evident power. The Babylonian nation, after all, reigns supreme. It imagines itself a kind of unipolar superpower, as we might say today. Its princes are kings, Babylon boasts, its great king the very definition of the invincible will to power. The Isaianic language of elevation comes into play here, where ‘high’ means glory and authority and ‘low’ means defeat and incapacity.

In this light, Isaiah’s claim that ‘Bel bows down’ and that ‘Nebo stoops’ turns circumstances on their head. The prophet’s counter-evidential thought is either knowing and provocative—perhaps the prophet discerns more than we …—or simply delusional.

Second, the twin Isaianic ideas of weight and weariness are here deployed artfully and, in my view, powerfully. Let me attempt to unpack this in as orderly a way I can without draining the imagery of its flowing potency.

Satirically, Isaiah suggests that the physical representation of the Babylonian gods are simply too heavy to be carried around without the people exhausting themselves in the process. That is, these gods do not help their people. Rather, their human worshippers are reduced to hauling around their idols with energy they themselves do not have in excess. This kind of religion, the prophet claims, is exhausting, a claim that Taylor Swift might make of a maddening on-again, off-again relationship.

The verbal components that make this satire possible are the most commonly used word for bearing (נשא), the related word for burden (משא), an exquisitely deployed word for loading and carrying (עמס), and—finally—the potent (in Isaiah’s hands) word for being weary (עיף).

Now let’s look again at the passage, this time with commentary interspersed in italics:

Bel bows down; Nebo stoops; their idols are on beasts and livestock; these things you carry are borne as burdens on weary beasts. (Here the great gods of Babylon are reduced to heavy material objects that the people wear out their valuable pack animals by forcing them to carry.)

They stoop; they bow down together; (Who does? The gods? The beasts of burden? Most likely it is the latter, struggling, straining, complaining under the burden.) they cannot save the burden (more on this in a moment), but themselves go into captivity.

Listen to me, O house of Jacob, all the remnant of the house of Israel, who have been borne by me from before your birth, carried from the womb; even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save.

Ah, and now we see that in Isaiah’s ears it is YHWH who bears, who carries his own people! He does not subject them to the weariness of hauling around inert gods, but bearing them on wings like eagles so that even the weary themselves will find new strength.

So does Isaian satire shine a light on what’s really going on at a time when Babylon and her gods reign triumphant and Judah skulks about as one of that nation’s many expiring victims.

Let’s look at just one more word-play in this stunning passage.

Those idol-laden beasts of burden, if this reading is correct, cannot ‘save the burden’. The word translated here as ‘save’ is profoundly familiar in the Isaianic context of exile and return, of subjugation and subsequent redemption. It is the Hebrew verb מלטHere, it would seem, worn-out, stumbling beasts cannot save the burden of the idols under whose dead weight they are driven onward. But just a few verses later, we read of YHWH’s claim that ‘I will carry and save.’

This four-verse extract from the book of Isaiah is a gem of prophetic satire, which can be admired on literary grounds for its pervasively intelligent nuance. Yet it has been preserved, read, and treasured because it speaks of still deeper things: Dead, deluded religion wears a nation out. YHWH, by contrast, bears his own.

The Christian reader may find that the words of a subsequent prophet spring to mind:

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. (Matthew 11:28–30 ESV)

It would take nothing from these latter words, nor from their speaker, if one were to speculate that Isaianic satire—treasured, reflected upon, perhaps even memorized—lay at the core of Jesus’ summons to a certain merciful lightness.

Read Full Post »

Sometimes a nickname goes deeper.

A second naming bears peculiar force upon the life of the one named, as on those who surround him and speak his name.

You may be ‘Doug’, but if your softball buddies call you Yer honor, the latter says more about your persona than the former.

If you’ve been tagged by some later-in-life shame, people may not speak the new name you’ve been given, but a scarlet letter may forever precede your entrance into any room, announcing your arrival. Fortunately, not all life-given names are misery-driven. Some are glorious.

But now hear, O Jacob my servant, Israel whom I have chosen! Thus says the Lord who made you, who formed you from the womb and will help you: Fear not, O Jacob my servant, Jeshurun whom I have chosen. For I will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground; I will pour my Spirit upon your offspring, and my blessing on your descendants. They shall spring up among the grass like willows by flowing streams. This one will say, ‘I am the Lord’s,’ another will call on the name of Jacob, and another will write on his hand, ‘The Lord’s,’ and name himself by the name of Israel. (Isaiah 44:1–5 ESV)

This ‘servant’ oracle bears with it continuities from early servant-speak. The thirsty desert path back to Zion becomes well-watered. YHWH’s Spirit, which an early servant oracle placed upon the servant, is here poured out upon the servant’s descendants.

There is also development of servant themes. The servant is now clearly identified as Jacob, and as chosen Israel, as beloved Jeshurun (an identification that is repeated in verse 21). Identity remains enigmatic, but we now have this anchor.

It is the extension of the restorative promise to coming generations that elicits from the prophet his most shimmering poetry. Speaking of the offspring to come, they shall spring up among the grass like willows by flowing streams.

And then, this second naming, this probing of deepest identity, this provision of a verbal handle for what is most new, most splendid, least imaginable in the dusk of captivity:

This one will say, ‘I am the Lord’s,’ another will call on the name of Jacob, and another will write on his hand, ‘The Lord’s,’ and name himself by the name of Israel.

It is not the last time that the book of Isaiah and New Testament promise that derives its energy from it will speak of second naming. It is merely the first whisper of awe-fused rebirth that follows in the wake of YHWH’s most unimaginable feat of goodness.

Whaz’yer name?

Read Full Post »

We first meet the enigmatic ‘servant of the Lord’ as we step over the threshold of Isaiah 42. Yet for the reader of Isaiah he bears a family resemblance. This is because what is said of the servant here carries echoes of thoughts and language that have proven important to the book of Isaiah over the long run of forty-one chapters that have led to this first encounter of a direct kind.

‘There is something about him …’, one might muse. ‘Have I met this person somewhere before?  Who does he remind me of …?’

Behold my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my Spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations. He will not cry aloud or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a faintly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice. He will not grow faint or be discouraged till he has established justice in the earth; and the coastlands wait for his law. (Isaiah 42:1–4 ESV)

If I speak of ‘my servant’ (Hebrew: עבדי) as an individual or as a person, I do so not in order to prejudge the question of his identity but rather to reflect the text’s own treatment. Of the many things disclosed about this puzzling persona, let me call out a few that stand out in this first ‘public presentation’.

First, the text insists on YHWH’s sustaining hold on the servant. The servant is not only empowered by YHWH; he is very much maintained in his mission by YHWH’s sustaining presence. We’ll see more of this at another moment, but it would be an oversight not to mention it here.

Second, the servant is an agent of justice (Hebrew: משפט), a theme with deep roots in Isaian soil. Three times in this four-verse oracle, the theme recurs. Perhaps as a result of YHWH’s placement of his Spirit upon the servant, the latter will bring forth justice to the nations. Then, in a strikingly accentuated re-emphasis, he will faithfully (or ‘really‘) bring forth justice. And, finally, the servant’s vigor will not be diminished until he has established justice in the earth.

Third, there appears in these verses an exquisitely Isaian double application of the terminology of the notions of bruising and quenching. The first statement concerns the servant’s consideration of those who are weak or compromised in some material way. Following the claim that the servant will not stalk noisily through the streets, the text turns to his treatment of the weak:

A bruised reed he will not break, and a faintly burning wick he will not quench.

Yet no sooner than this claim has been made than the text races on to clarify that this tenderness says nothing about the servant’s own weakness. Repeating the very same Hebrew vocabulary for bruising (רצץ) and fainting (כהה) in reverse order to their first appearance, the oracle asserts that:

He will not grow faint or be discouraged till he has established justice in the earth

The fact that the English Standard Version (ESV) varies its translation of כהה from ‘bruised’ in the first instance to ‘be discouraged’ in the second veils this subtle double deployment of identical language, but it is there to be seen by the Hebrew reader. Finally, this introduction of the servant may well feed into the case that can be made that Isaiah envisages a place of blessing rather than mere condemnation for ‘the nations’, even if that blessing is found by a path that weaves its way through YHWH’s heated-up justice. The coastlands, we are told, wait for or hope for the servant’s justice, which is in point of fact the justice of YHWH himself. Significantly, this places the nations’ redemptive journey alongside the route of Israel/Judah’s own hard and hopeful journey.

So does Isaiah’s ‘servant of the Lord’ establish his first impressions. This agent of divine justice, operating by YHWH’s own strength and provision, tirelessly extends justice far and near without rolling over the weak and needy in the process.

Isaiah’s development of servant’s persona  has scarcely begun. Already, it is rich, suggestive, unsettling, and puzzling.

 

 

Read Full Post »

For all the hints and transitions that have appeared heretofore, it is in the 40th chapter of the book of Isaiah that restoration and return burst upon the scene in full, resplendent color. The mysterious voice crying out both summons and announces that all obstacles to this impossible will be removed.

A voice cries: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.’ (Isaiah 40:3–5 ESV)

For a mountain guy like this reader, a devotee of the winding country road, the prophet’s imagery takes some getting used to. There is no romance of the wilderness kind in it. Its purpose is to establish that no obstacle to the redemption of YHWH’s people will be countenanced.

The new desert highway will be a straight one. There is no time to lose in tracing elegant curvatures across the desert.

The valleys shall be lifted up and the mountains and hills brought low. The people must return home without the afflictions of gravity or the derelict valley floors slowing them down.

The text’s author has determined that straight and level best depicts YHWH’s unlikely resolve in this case. Nothing shall constrain. Nothing shall delay. YHWH’s second-chance mercy upon his people is his purpose and—to reference another Isaianic turn of phrase—it shall stand.

There is more here, if we are to inspect this declaration through eyes that have been trained to the nuances of Isaianic rhetoric. The verbs of verse 4 grow familiar to the reader of Isaiah.

Every valley shall be lifted up (Hebrew: נשא), and every mountain and hill be made low (Hebrew: שפל); the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. (Isaiah 40:4 ESV)

This dialect of lifting up and making low flourishes in Isaiah’s rhetoric. The critical observation is that it speaks most often of the altitudes of the human heart. It is the language of moral scrutiny, the vocabulary which the prophet deploys to speak of arrogant and humble people and the promises of  YHWH to ‘lower’ the former and ‘lift up’ the latter.

An example or two may help us here.

The haughty looks of man shall be brought low (שפל), and the lofty pride of men shall be humbled, and the Lord alone will be exalted in that day.

For the Lord of hosts has a day against all that is proud and lofty, against all that is lifted up (נשא)—and it shall be brought low (שפל); against all the cedars of Lebanon, lofty and lifted up (נשא); and against all the oaks of Bashan; against all the lofty mountains, and against all the uplifted hills (נשא); And the haughtiness of man shall be humbled (שפל), and the lofty pride of men shall be brought low, and the Lord alone will be exalted in that day (Isaiah 2:11–14, 17 ESV)

I have highlighted only the precise cross-over in language. If we were to extend our exercise to the level of conceptual cross-over, the overlap would be still more evident.

And again, in chapter five:

Man is humbled, and each one is brought low (שפל), and the eyes of the haughty are brought low (שפל). (Isaiah 5:15 ESV)

These two selections are merely a pair among many.

It appears highly likely then, that when the prophet speaks of topographical obstacles being taken out of Judah’s way as they contemplate what it would mean to go back home, he is signaling that the opposition of people and their machinations against YHWH’s purpose for Judah’s remnant will be rendered inert. If the application of this imagery to human beings does not exhaust its capabilities, it at least focuses it.

There is another detail that seems to align with this understanding. In verse four, it is every mountain and hill that shall be made low. The italicized word translates Hebrew גבעה (giv’ah). This is related at least aurally and probably also etymologically to two of the characteristic Isaianic words for arrogance or haughtiness: גבהּ / (gava[c]h) and גבהות / gavhut). In fact, in 2.11 (quoted above), it is explicitly the haughty looks (עיני גבהות) of man shall be brought low (the now familiar שפל).

YHWH’s prophet is indeed ‘speaking to the heart of Jerusalem’, just as the text summons unnamed addressees to do. If Judah is to embrace YHWH’s restorative mercies, her people must first come to accept that the nations are like dust on a scale to him. No one external to YHWH’s new conversation with his people shall prevent the good thing that he has determined for them.

This is like telling the ant that the huge-footed elephant has nothing to say about its future. It was nearly impossible to believe back then. It taxes our credibility today, as the text reverberates in our soul and defies our littler Babylons.

 

 

 

 

 

Read Full Post »

The Bible is not a book of syrupy pieties.

It would never have survived these many centuries if it were not for its idiosyncratic qualities, one of which is a persistent and stark realism.

When Judah’s King Hezekiah steps as unlikely protagonist into the bridging portion of the book of Isaiah, where the main linkage between Judah’s anticipation of exile and eventual restoration from exile is established, he would not be mistaken as a spokesman for orthodox biblical faith. He simply is what he is, in all his glory and all his tragedy. For some readers, he stands in as an icon of the nation itself.

Regardless of how such details are settled, Isaiah’s depiction of his coming to terms with death bears a dismal tone. The sudden ordinariness of the images is striking.

I must depart; I am consigned to the gates of Sheol for the rest of my years. I said, I shall not see the Lord, the Lord in the land of the living; I shall look on man no more among the inhabitants of the world. My dwelling is plucked up and removed from me like a shepherd’s tent; like a weaver I have rolled up my life; he cuts me off from the loom; from day to night you bring me to an end; I calmed myself until morning; like a lion he breaks all my bones; from day to night you bring me to an end.

Like a swallow or a crane I chirp; I moan like a dove. My eyes are weary with looking upward. O Lord, I am oppressed; be my pledge of safety! What shall I say? For he has spoken to me, and he himself has done it. I walk slowly all my years because of the bitterness of my soul. (Isaiah 38:10–15 ESV)

The sufferer of long illness or one who has borne up under prolonged delay before death will not struggle to find her own experience in Hezekiah’s words.

Hezekiah cannot speak, in this moment, of legacy, of faith, of expectation. Rather, ‘from day to night’—unremarkably and without fuss—he imagines himself departing life as he has known it.

There is no more drama to the king’s expected demise that there is to a shepherd breaking camp for the next pasture over or a weaver wrapping things up at the end of his day.

Contemporary readers may find a certain thin comfort in the ordinariness of death. It is ‘just a part of life’, as we attempt to persuade ourselves.

Hezekiah does not see things so cheerily.

Realism indeed.

 

Read Full Post »

Chapter 35 of the book of Isaiah initiates a bridge of sorts between the large section of the book that precedes it and the section or sections that follow. This short chapter is intensely lyrical, profoundly hopeful, and unshrinkingly exuberant.

As any large bridging element must do, it features themes that are familiar to us from glimpses we’ve enjoyed in the darker first section, themes that are developed widely and at times wildly in the chapters that follow.

Consisting of only ten verses, chapter 35 demands quotation in full.

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad; the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus; it shall blossom abundantly and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the Lord, the majesty of our God.

Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who have an anxious heart, ‘Be strong; fear not! Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you.’

Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then shall the lame man leap like a deer, and the tongue of the mute sing for joy. For waters break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; in the haunt of jackals, where they lie down, the grass shall become reeds and rushes.

And a highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Way of Holiness; the unclean shall not pass over it. It shall belong to those who walk on the way; even if they are fools, they shall not go astray. No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. And the ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain gladness and joy, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. (Isaiah 35:1–10 ESV)

The chapter is a hymn to the return home of an exiled community that by all rights should have perished in captivity, as exiled peoples of the day were expected to cooperate in doing. It takes up and luxuriates in themes that have become the best-known tropes for readers of Isaiah. In so doing, it hints that those early glimpses of such promise are to become agenda-setting and panoramic in short order.

At the risk of singling out just one or two of these themes, the chapter transforms the death-dealing barrier between here and there that is a desert into a security-assured highway back home. All that is dead and dry blooms and waters. What once murdered the innocent with its savage heat now beautifies their path home and hydrates their dry tongues.

Yet it is a particularly tender turn of phrase that I wish to highlight here:

Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who have an anxious heart, ‘Be strong; fear not! Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you.’

This declaration shows that the news of return—brilliant and catalyzing as it looks from our distance—was not necessarily to be welcomed by those who had made their discouraged peace with exile. Such people, who deserve our sympathy, are possessed of ‘weak hands’ and ‘feeble knees’ that will require some strengthening if Return is to become more than a promising song. The devil ya’ knows, after all, looks better than the one ya’ don’t.

But hands and knees are not the only deficient body parts among captive Judah. The text reaches out to those who have an anxious heart (so ESV). A more literal reading might produce this:

Say to the hurried of heart (alternatively, ‘the racing of heart‘), ‘Be strong; fear not!  (Hebrew: נמהרי־לב)

To some readers, this rather poetic diagnosis will sound instantly familiar.

YHWH’s promise comes to anxiety-ridden, racing-hearted captives. It becomes good news to the adrenaline-rushed, panic-attacked little ones, the cowering and the self-sheltering. It dares them to reconsider the terms they have negotiated with their terrifying world and to accept a new and rather boisterous name, one with a slightly in-your-face confidence over against the jackals and bandits who used to patrol this road: the Redeemed.

Read Full Post »

Because the first step toward a body’s healing is an accurate diagnosis, the physician is forgiven for laboring on with his details to the point of our fatigue. So do Isaiah’s prophetic oracles press again and again into the behaviors that are the very stuff of national illness. If Israel/Judah is to be healed, the prophet Isaiah insists, she must assent to understanding the mortal affliction that has brought her low.

She must see. She must hear.

For they are a rebellious people, lying children, children unwilling to hear the instruction of the Lord; who say to the seers, ‘Do not see,’ and to the prophets, ‘Do not prophesy to us what is right; speak to us smooth things, prophesy illusions, leave the way, turn aside from the path, let us hear no more about the Holy One of Israel.’ (Isaiah 30:9–11 ESV)

Isaiah’s rhetoric brings children to the fore on two accounts. First, in the dark diagnoses of the book’s earlier chapters, when adults who should know better are described as willful children.

Second, when the book’s redemptive promise comes to full bloom, a now adult Israel—having imagined herself a woman bereft of children—is stunned to see how many children return to her from afar.

In the passage just quoted, the ‘children’ are YHWH’s ‘rebellious people’, impatient with any word that might curtail their freedom to self-destroy, whether that word be instruction or correction.

Though here they make no effort to silence the seer and the prophet, they would coopt his message. They would turn the sharp and surgical edge of Yahwistic faith—an instrument whose blade is all about life and healing—into the soft coziness of religious self-absorption.

Whether silencing the prophet or buying out his message, the result is the same.

Rebellious children give the orders, in Isaiah’s survey, while those to whose word they ought to submit are ordered about like entry-level employees. The commands come in perfect chiasm (even here the prophet is an artisan), staccato-like:

Do not see!

Do not prophecy to us what is right!

Speak to us smooth things!

Prophecy illusions.

We prefer, too often, to have our piety in this way.

Absent some force, we would have the prophet be our comforter, our entertainer, our self-image coach.

Only because YHWH is willing to subject his own to pain in order that they might fall into redemption does our hope remain alive. And we with it.

Read Full Post »

The Book of Isaiah is shot through with the dual theme of weariness and rest.

YHWH is seen as the one who offers rest to the weary, most typically in the context of return from exile and repose within one’s own natural space. The subtext is of a willfully agitated people who will not receive what is given—that which is kindly offered to them by YHWH—and instead will be shoe-horned out of their place and scattered to nations that have no regard for the weary homeless.

Even the eventual placement of returning captives in the land that had once been lost to them is regularly phrased via a verb that bears the resonance of ‘causing to rest’ (Hebrew: נוח).

Israel/Judah’s chosen idols are seen to be heavy to carry, thus weary-making. Yet YHWH bears his returning children, or causes them to be borne by others, back to their land in a way that renders weariness a fading memory. Indeed, such people shall rise up on wings like eagles, they shall run and not grow weary, they shall walk and not faint.

How strange, then, to find in the midst of a harsh Isaianic judgement oracle that the terrible plight of YHWH’s people in exile is distilled down to a refusal to rest, a chosen deafness against the offer of repose. The prophet suggests that it is only Judah’s alien captors who will finally talk sense into YHWH’s rebellious children, even if in truth it is YHWH himself who borrows their strange babbling in order to do so.

For by people of strange lips and with a foreign tongue the Lord will speak to this people, to whom he has said, ‘This is rest; give rest to the weary; and this is repose’; yet they would not hear. (Isaiah 28:11–12 ESV)

Since the book of Isaiah and the canon in which it stands as a pillar allows one to extend this dynamic beyond its historic origins and into the borders of our own ongoing wrestling with God and the world in which he has placed us, one might ask:

How then have we become this nervous, this shattered, this far from home?

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »