In Chapter 53 of his book, Isaiah rises to the heights of his prophetic calling, and provides an extended description of future events that passes beyond anything else recorded in the Hebrew Scriptures. It is a message that causes wonder and astonishment to those who receive it and contemplate its inspired utterances – for the things written here could have come only through divine revelation.
The prophet is setting forth a depiction of a Servant who would arise from the dynasty of David – but he does not describe a royal figure who comes trailing clouds of glory. Isaiah sees him pre-eminently as a Sufferer, one who is despised and rejected by those to whom he was sent. In fact, the career of the Servant was so extraordinary in its heights and depths that it causes complete amazement to all who learn of it, causing even the kings of the nations to be struck dumb!
As he is pondering these things, the prophet suddenly interrupts his message to make an exclamation filled with dismay. He foresees that what he is saying about the Servant would actually reach beyond the bounds of human credibility, and might appear as a fable or an idle tale. The question he then asks is permeated with deep sorrow, as if he were personally present when the Servant lived and preached, and had witnessed his rejection:
Who has believed our report? And to whom hath the arm of the Lord been revealed? (Isaiah 53:1)
The “arm of the Lord” is Isaiah’s favored metaphor to denote the omnipotence of God at work in salvation history. Here, in the Servant, it would be exhibited in an incomparable display for the redemption of His people: Yahweh would indeed “make bare His arm,” as a warrior draws back the robe of his garment when about to loose his bow. But this divine power behind the Servant would not be recognized by his contemporaries, who would neither perceive it for themselves nor believe it when declared to them, and so be lost in the maze of their blindness and deafness.
But the use of this oracle by the evangelists and apostles in the writings of the New Testament shows that the early church regarded it as a detailed description of the character, suffering, and glory of the Messiah. The fact that Isaiah uses the personal plural “our” in describing the report suggests that he was not alone in predicting a suffering Saviour, that other prophets had also brought this message. In fact, the very first announcement of the Deliverer, the Protoevangelion, had borne witness to this truth.
In the Garden of Eden, after the Fall, a radical disintegration of the human person had taken place, together with a subjection to powers of darkness. It was a situation which men and women were themselves helpless to remedy, yet God had immediately manifested his mercy in the promise of a Deliver, a Champion, who would come forth from the human race to undertake a battle on behalf of his people. Although he would triumph in this conflict, there is more than a hint of great personal cost, and his endurance of mortal pain and weakness.
God unfolds his plan to Israel
As God continued with his program to bring forgiveness and reconciliation to the world, he chose one small race, whom he called “the least of all peoples.” It was from the womb of this nation, Israel, that he purposed to bring forth the Redeemer who had been on his heart and mind from eternity past. In a myriad of ways, he then began to unfold the mystery of his redemptive plan to this people, and prepare them for the Messiah who would emerge from their midst, and especially for his unparalleled sufferings.
Their national history began with the Exodus, a narrative which had at its heart the blood of the Paschal Lamb, and the scarlet thread of atonement was thereafter woven through all the institutions and ordinances of Israel. The Levitical laws that were given at Sinai, the elaborate rituals and festivals, the blood of animal sacrifices poured out on the temple altar, the pleadings of the prophets and heartbroken laments of the psalmists – all these gathered up the central themes of Israel’s worship.
Israel was chosen by Yahweh purely out of his love toward them, yet frequently through her long history the people turned away from God and spurned the covenant in which they had bound themselves to him. At times they soared to unequalled spiritual heights, and at other times fell into abysmal transgression, laying bare the terrible nature of sin as resistance to Yahweh’s goodness and grace. Yet the constant marvel of the Old Testament story is that God’s purpose of love toward Israel could never be deflected or turned aside. In patient, unwearied commitment, he trained them on “the wheel of history and judgement,” bringing them through repeated cycles of failure, exile and restoration.
Israel, the Divine Show to the world
This was a matchless saga, that played itself out over the centuries through “the most harrowing and profound historical experience the world has ever known.”1 It was in this process that Israel became a divine show to all the world, revealing the enmity of humanity in its persistent self-will before God, and the heavenly forbearance which continually worked to reveal the way of blessedness and peace. Finally there became imprinted on their hearts and minds the true understanding of holiness and righteousness, of mercy, truth and justice, and the hope of a righteous leader, an exalted figure who would combine in himself the offices of prophet, priest and king.
As we arrive at the dawning of our own era, it is to discover the people of Judea once again groaning under a yoke of foreign bondage. This is a familiar situation, but it is now the iron kingdom of Rome which holds the Jewish people in thrall … yet an undying hope was burning in their hearts: that the moment had surely arrived when a Davidic Messiah would come forth, a Maccabeean warrior king, who would raise the nation to the universal homage promised them. At this pivotal moment appeared Jesus of Nazareth, presented to the nation on the banks of Jordan by John the Baptist, in words that sum up all the previous forecasts of the Deliverer: “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.”
The most characteristic mark of the message that Jesus began to preach is that it is a gospel – good news – and in this he differed markedly from his great Forerunner. There was no mention of an era of judgment, of an axe being laid to the root of the tree, or of unquenchable, chaff-burning fire. Rather it was the evangel of the Kingdom that he proclaimed to men and women in synagogues, in towns and villages, in desert places and in the temple. “The time is at hand,” he announced, the Kairos time, the dawning of a new epoch, and the “report” (Matthew 4:24) of him went out through all the land. Accordingly, he was thronged by multitudes, who were astonished by the authority with which he taught them, and eager to drink in his every word.
A surprising Messiah
This was despite the fact that, at first glance, he appeared to have none of the distinguishing characteristics of the Messiah, and was wreathed about with no aura of wealth, position, or worldly advantage. His humble birth, his emergence from a lowly village (“Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?”), and his ministry in Galilee, far from the holy city of Jerusalem – none of these things seemed to befit so illustrious a person. Nor was there in his preaching any word of military conquest, the overthrow of Rome, or the destined glories of God’s chosen people. Rather, he spoke of the hiddenness of the long-expected Kingdom of heaven, which steals its way into the hearts like a farmer sowing seed in a field, and of the patience and meekness of those who would inherit its blessedness, who were learning to love and forgive, to turn the other cheek, and to bless their enemies.
The centerpiece of Jesus’ teaching was the Beatitudes, those sayings that completely overturn the world’s standards and values. “Blessed are those who are poor, hungry, mourning, and persecuted” he said to the crowds who had gathered to him on the mountain. He acknowledged the craving in men’s hearts for greatness, but demolished their understanding of what constituted true eminence: “He who would be great among you, let him be last of all and servant of all … unless a man becomes like a little child, he cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.” These were words that shattered all earthly ideas of power and prestige, and sounded a death knell to the hopes which stirred the hearts of the people.
Even the Baptist was shaken by doubt. Having been imprisoned by the political overlords, and longing passionately for justice, he sent a message to Jesus from his grim place of confinement: “Are you the One that should come, or do we look for another?” And Jesus sent back his reply: “Go back and report to John what you hear and see: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor.”
The Gospels are filled with stories of Jesus’ gentleness and grace, as he went about unweariedly doing good, healing the sick and setting free those oppressed by demonic powers, actions which demonstrated his overflowing compassion. He conversed with men and women of every station of life, entering with a deep sympathy into their interests and needs, their perplexities and sorrows. His first recorded miracle took place at a village wedding, at other times he was to be found conversing with a Samaritan woman at a well, with centurions and Pharisees, with religious leaders such as Nicodemus, with tax collectors and sinners. He became the companion of his disciples, walking with them the length and breadth of the land, sharing their fellowship and eating at their tables, never ceasing to communicate to them his truths, though they so frequently misunderstood him. His every look, word and gesture attested that he was meek and lowly in heart, and revealed the tenderness of the love with which he longed to draw the people to himself.
The revelation of a seeking God
One of the words most frequently found upon Jesus’ lips was the invitation, “Come.” It prefaced some of his most unforgettable pronouncements:
Come after me and I will make you fishers of men (Mark 1:17); Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28); If any man thirst, let him come to me and drink (John 7:37); Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world (Matthew 25:34).
His invitation was extended not only to the morally upright or externally righteous, for he had come also to woo to himself the unjust, the lepers, the social outcasts. In this way, he revealed the love of a heavenly Father, a seeking God, who yearned over the prodigal and himself went out to search for him and bring him home. This pity for the sinner struck a note which was unprecedented in Greek and Roman piety: “a new and sublime contribution to the development of religion and morality.”2 And so all sorts and conditions of humanity drew near to Jesus, attracted by the irresistible charisma of his presence, to hear discourses of grace such as they had never heard spoken before, in words that brought “life and truth.”
What was the wellspring of the vast sympathy Jesus evinced toward the men and women that he encountered? Surely, one might think, it was his apprehension of the potential greatness of each human soul. Among teachers and philosophers who have appeared on the stage of history, none ever had a higher view of man than Jesus, none ever issued such challenges, or uttered such promises. He saw in each person the imprint of divinity, and recognized their creation Imago Dei, no matter how stained their character, and regardless of their station in life. His eyes penetrated beyond the outward signs of disease and distress to the inmost being, where he perceived a priceless treasure, an immortal and spiritual nature waiting to flame into divine life, power and beauty.
The apocalyptic encounter with Jesus
Yet Jesus did not downplay the grievous impact of sin. As his gaze pierced the souls of those who came to him, darkness was uncovered, and the secrets of men’s hearts were unveiled. It was from the heart, Jesus insisted, that the things come which defile a person, from this innermost seat of power that evil actions originate. The righteousness he was calling for did not consist in mere outward conformity to certain rules; true perfection of character was rather a matter of a purified, sanctified heart, on which God’s laws could be written. Those whom Jesus encountered found it was impossible to escape or evade his words, as the ultimate issues that concerned them were brought into the light. The Kingdom of God was present in his person; before him, therefore, defenses must come crumbling down, and each individual find themselves exposed to the searching gaze of the ultimate Judge.
This meant that each of the encounters of which we read in the Gospels was apocalyptic. Wherever he went, the presence of this towering figure created disturbance and conflict, but he maintained a steadfast serenity despite the storms that raged around him. To those who continued to follow him he gave the assurance of the grace of God which had come to them, with its royal invitation to a share in the divine life. And yet, as Jesus’ ministry progressed, it became more and more evident that he possessed none of the expected characteristics of the Messiah for whom the people waited with such feverish impatience. He seemed to purposely divest himself of all the attributes which stirred their hopes, sternly damped down messianic fervor, and deliberately dashed the shining hopes of his generation. We see the disciples shaken and perplexed as their preconceived notions were shattered. “Who is this Man?” was the awe-struck query which issued from them after seeing the display of his power over the raging sea. This is the question that might burst forth from any one of the individuals we meet in the Gospel episodes.
Jesus’ self-awareness and vision
The infrequent admissions which give a glimpse into his own innermost heart reveal the staggering nature of Jesus’ own self-awareness. “No one knows the Father save the Son,” he averred. This is One who knows all the secrets of the universe, who believes that ”all things” have been delivered into his hands, who is not just speaking the word, but is himself the Word, the Logos, whose majestic “I Am” sayings unfold the richness of the divine life in which he shared.
Jesus’ mind was dominated by the consciousness of having come from God, and of existing in a unique relationship with him, having been sent by him on a mission of redeeming love that was without parallel in the history of the world, indeed, the cosmos. He possessed a vision that drew him on and consumed him, of an enterprise which exceeded the most lofty aspirations of those who preceded him: to save a world hopelessly lost in darkness and subject to evil dominions, and restore all peoples and nations to the true worship of God. This would take place through his own singlehanded endeavor, the most costly and arduous work ever undertaken, the ultimate example of self-giving love.
This, then, was the passion that stirred Jesus’ heart: the task of raising men and women to a participation in the divine life and glory, to see each soul cleansed and sanctified, transformed into the image of stainless purity and beauty for which it was created. Therefore he speaks of transcendent purposes, such as would hardly enter the mind of man: of drawing all men to himself, of giving his flesh for the life of the world, and bestowing everlasting life beyond the grave. This was One who, in contrast to the demagogues and tyrants who attempted to bend history to their own purposes, sought to bring life, light and joy to countless citizens of the earth. Nonetheless, he came with the claim for complete loyalty and obedience, and the assertion that it was a person’s reaction to him determined that one’s eternal destiny. Despite meeting with opposition and scorn, his purposes and faith continued unshaken; while his only weapon for conquering the hearts of men remained that of self-sacrificial love.
“This combination of the spirit of humanity in its lowliest tenderest form, with the consciousness of unrivalled and divine glories is the most wonderful distinction of this wonderful character.”3 Jesus’ whole life was a continuous and perfect manifestation of divine love and holiness, and there were those who when they saw Him recognized Him as the Redeemer of Israel. But as time went on enthusiastic crowds melted away. It is clear that many of the Jews knew that Jesus was the Messiah, and yet rejected him because He was not the kind of saving figure they desired. Their consciences revealed to them their sin and need, but they clung to the rituals which assured them of divine favor, unable to comprehend the illimitable good news of a God who was not waiting for them to seek reconciliation through punctilious gestures, but himself had come to effect the restoration to fellowship and communion.
The revelation of Messiah’s destiny
Even the disciples of Jesus, who were drawn to him by the Father, misconceived the nature of his mission, as most clearly illuminated by the episode which took place at Caesarea Philippi. It was there that Jesus asked his disciples the most crucial of all questions: “Who do you say that I am?” and received the greatest of all answers, Peter’s affirmation: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” As soon as Jesus, on the wings of that answer, began to unfold to them the destiny that awaited him, that of suffering and death, there was an immediate revolt of their hearts and minds. “Be it far from Thee, Lord,” remonstrated Peter. He was absolutely unable to connect Messiahship with such a fate; he had been taught from his earliest days to think of the role in terms of victory, conquest, and power.
The eyes of the disciples had not been opened to penetrate his divine incognito, for he had come not as the radiance and glory of the divine majesty, nor chosen the heights of worldly honor. Although, as the Letter to the Philippians makes clear, he was eternally equal with God, he had descended in humble obedience to the heavenly Father, masking his divine glory under the form of a lowly human servant in order to carry out his vocation to death on the cross.
Who, then, believed Isaiah’s report?
Was there anyone, then, who believed the report that Isaiah and the other prophets had brought?
To those who had loved him and followed him, Jesus had brought the intimation of a world and a truth beyond human imaginings and reason, for which their hearts were prepared by the centuries of worship and struggle their people had lived through. Their encounter with him had revealed the divine thirst in their souls: they were seeking another and a higher world, which was impossible for them unaided to discover. God has written eternity into the heart of every human being, and the intuition of the human imagination is that nothing timebound can ever bring us satisfaction, for we were made for something greater, immortal and everlasting. As Augustine says in his famous statement, “You have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.”
The profundity of the encounter with Jesus had awakened the hearts of the disciples to these ultimate truths. That such a Man had lived; this was glory beyond telling; and that such a Man had been slain; that was evil beyond telling. But, for some of them, the impossible horror of Good Friday, the extinguishing of all their earthly hopes, was leading them to a transcendent new dimension and awareness: that even the dead Christ is to be preferred to everything else in the world.
The disciples who mourned their crucified Lord were faintly beginning to recognize that he who came to them in so much love was more than man. They did not know yet that this love could burst the bonds of the grave; but they had met him, walked and talked with him, and nothing could ever be the same again. That he had gone out of the world meant that joy was stilled, and no light remained in life. Thus Mary of Bethany had poured out her precious ointment at the feet of Jesus, thus came Nicodemus with his vast weight of spices to anoint his body, thus stood the women mourning at the grave, thus came Mary Magdalene in the early morning to the tomb, so overcome by grief that she barely acknowledged the angels who sat at the head and feet where the body of Jesus had lain.
“Strange time for adoration, you say, to worship in the depth of sorrow – it is indeed an arduous thing. Will I stand in God’s house by night? Will I love Him in His own night? Will I stand beside Him in His dying moments with Mary and the beloved disciple? Will I be able with Nicodemus to take up the dead Christ? Then is my worship complete and my blessing glorious. My love has come to Him in His humiliation. My faith has found Him in His lowliness. My heart has recognized His majesty through His mean disguise, and I know at last that I desire not the gift but the Giver. When I can stand in His house by night I have accepted Him for Himself alone.”4
- Torrance, T.F., Incarnation: The Person and Life of Christ, 2008, InterVarsity Press, p 46.
- C.G. Montefiore, quoted in Barclay, W., The Mind of Jesus, 1960, SCM Press Ltd, p 110.
- Channing, W.E., “The Character of Christ,” in Ashley, J.M., A Year With Great Preachers, 1871, Regent Press, London, p 280.
- George Matheson, quoted in Cowman, L.B.E., Streams in the Desert, 2006, Zondervan, p 360.