The Voice: Mining Scripture

Isa 1

2 Hear, O heavens, and listen, O earth;
for the Lord has spoken:
I reared children and brought them up,
but they have rebelled against me.
3 The ox knows its owner,
and the donkey its master’s crib;
but Israel does not know,
my people do not understand.

Isa 63

15 Look down from heaven and see,
from your holy and glorious habitation.
Where are your zeal and your might?
The yearning of your heart and your compassion?
They are withheld from me.
16 For you are our father,
though Abraham does not know us
and Israel does not acknowledge us;
you, O Lord, are our father;
our Redeemer from of old is your name.

Recently I was confronted by these two Isaiah passages. They came to my attention separately and unexpectedly. Yet such was the timing they seemed to collapse into one. As if one followed the other without sixty chapters separating them. Perhaps it was the time of the year: the approach of Advent. So, the Christmas feel of Isaiah 1 captured my attention. Perhaps it was what I was doing at the time: writing about the Lord’s Prayer (Matt 6:9–13). So, the title of “Father” in Isaiah 63 captured my attention.

Initially they confronted me with how they spoke in concert and in contrast to each other.

Both texts cry “You don’t know me!” God says it to his children in Isaiah 1. God’s children say it to him in Isaiah 63.

Both texts call for witnesses. God calls the heavens and earth as witnesses in Isaiah 1. The people call heaven as a witness in Isaiah 63.

The people do not acknowledge God in Isaiah 1. The people do not acknowledge each other in Isaiah 63.

Taken together both texts speak of isolation. The worst kind. Taken at face value they speak of souls that are bereft. Forsaking God (Isa 1) and forsaking each other (Isa 63); and left in a forsaken state.

A lot happens between Isaiah 1 and Isaiah 63, and at risk of reducing the message of the prophet, there is something unnerving holding these texts side-by-side. They track the corrosion of the divine-to-human relationship in Isaiah 1, to the corrosion of the human-to-human relationship in Isaiah 63. Maybe something of the Love-the-Lord-your-God (aka Isa 1) and Love-your-neighbour (aka Isa 62) tension is going on here. We cannot truly live claiming to honour one without the other (Matt 22:34–40; 1 John 4:20).

For me, the confronting voices of Isaiah 1 and Isaiah 63 somehow mingled with the coming Christmas season.

Isaiah 1 not only calls the heavens and earth as witnesses, it calls the ox and the donkey (Isa 1:3). These unassuming animals show better instincts concerning their master than those who were created to know better. Every Christmas, these two witnesses appear on Christmas cards or on reproduced art work of the great images of the birth of Christ. They are included in such art pieces as an expression of the message of Isaiah 1:2–3. Look for them. Most, if not all, of the nativity scenes have the ox and donkey present. Standing near the manger as witnesses that know the master who feeds them, and with the implied challenge: “Do you know your Master?”

Initially, this was the extent of the confrontation of these two Isaiah passages for me, until two or three days later. It was then I went down a salt mine in Poland (in case you are wondering, as a tourist not as a slave). At 110 metres below the surface, we were led into a large mined space which was a chapel. And there the Isaiah passages confronted me with power. Centuries ago, miners in their spare time carved out this cathedral-esque space. The salt walls were lined with carved images and figures of the life of Christ. Yet what seemed to dominate was not the crucifixion and resurrection but his birth. There, high on one wall, was the depiction of Isaiah 1:3: the ox and the donkey. Carved out figures from the salt of the earth. The ox and donkey standing proudly humble at the head of the manger with the infant Emmanuel inside. There they stood illuminated by the light coming from Christ. Not even the shepherds and wise men were as close.

So there, deep under the earth (“Listen O earth” Isa 1:2), they stood unexpectedly symbolising the prophet’s message of nearly 3000 years ago. “Do you know your Master?” I just didn’t expect to be confronted by such a physical representation of Scripture in the depths of the earth. But it didn’t stop there.

Beneath the carved-out figures of animals, shepherds, magi, Mary, and Joseph, was an extended scene. Dominant. Detailed. Unrelenting. Uncensored. Graphic. Gruesome. It was the slaughter of the infants (Matt 2:16–18). The placement and the length of it meant it acted as the foundation for the nativity scene. Whether that was the intended message, I’m not sure. Yet there it was. The birth of Christ, with ox and donkey in attendance, resting on the literal and symbolic violence humanity is capable of.

Now, far beneath the earth, the mingling of the Messiah, the madness of Herod, and the message of Isaiah spoke crisply and clearly.

The day before my wife and I had visited Auschwitz-Birkenau. A place witnessing to the fact that the madness of a Herod is still possible. A witness to the fact that slaughters can still take place. A place which creates a vacuum that needs to be filled with the voices of prophets. Especially that of Isaiah 1 and Isaiah 63. For these two prophetic cries collapse into heaven-crying-to-earth and earth-crying-to-heaven. Humanity going from the rebellion of Isaiah 1 to the revelation of Isaiah 63.

“The ox knows its owner,
and the donkey its master’s crib;
but Israel does not know,
my people do not understand.”

“For you are our father,
though Abraham does not know us
and Israel does not acknowledge us;
you, O Lord, are our father;
our Redeemer from of old is your name.”

Isaiah 1 and Isaiah 63 collapsed into “Our Father in heaven” with his “kingdom come,” and his “will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

So, this Christmas, may we pray the words Jesus taught, for those who cry . . .

Look down from heaven and see,
from your holy and glorious habitation.
Where are your zeal and your might?
The yearning of your heart and your compassion?
They are withheld from me. (Isa 63:15).

. . . that this Christmas – “hallowed be your name.”

 Geoff New is Dean of Studies at the Knox Centre for Ministry and Leadership (Dunedin). He is a trainer for Langham Preaching in South Asia. He also leads Kiwimade Preaching. His doctoral research explored the impact of utilising Lectio Divina and Ignatian Gospel Contemplation when preparing sermons.