Isaiah 40

This past Advent and Christmas season, the Almond Tree Artist Collective has been engaged in creating works based on weekly prompts taken from Isaiah 40:1-5 which reads,

Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
  and cry to her
that her warfare is ended,
that her iniquity is pardoned,
  that she has received from the LORD’S hand
double for all her sins.

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.”
I. Comfort

When all the world has been torn down,
When all Her glory, lost,
Speak Comfort, Comfort to the town
Who to the sea was tossed.

Away in chains to Babylon
Her townsfolk, tied and led
Cast from the garden land and home
Into a living death.

We pass through sea, to foreign lands
Where accents strike our ears,
We pine by banks beached on the sand
And salt its shore with tears.

They asked of us to sing a song—
A song we sang in Zion;
We choke on words, weep for the wrongs,
The shame of Judah’s lion.

Speak, Comfort, Comfort, to my own
The Lord says, tenderly,
To Jerusalem cast down
I’ll draw her from the sea.

II. Proclaim

Proclaim to her, say it now,
Mercy comes tomorrow;
He’ll break your yoke, unhook the plough,
Wipe your tears of sorrow.

Speak Comfort, Comfort, day has come
Your ransom’s paid in full;
Your time of service is now done;
The balance paid, double.

It’s finished; Yes, there is no more—
Both debt and due are paid;
Your Hope through Achor’s valley door
Has made for you a way.

Daughter Jerusalem, my son,
Judah, come take my hand;
The blessing lost, I now have won—
Return you to the Land.

IIII. Wilderness

A desert voice, a herald cries,
Prepare, Prepare today
Come, by Him who lives yet dies
Come through the desert way.

Through death, not ‘round, your victory
Not by the coastal road—
A straight highway through desert sea,
The highway of our God.

Elijah, come and turn the hearts
Of fathers to the children;
Desire pierce with longing’s darts
Wound with love, the nations.

Make straight the way from Galilee
The land of the Gentiles,
From nations far beyond the Sea
Return from your exile.

Comfort, Comfort prepare the way—
A highway for our God;
Come by the narrow, Eastern way
Back from the land of Nod.

IV. Justice

From Euphrates’ garden banks
Pack your years of burdens
Return, Return, join with the ranks
Who take to Him their hurtings.

When you come to the desert shore
Fear not the waves of sand,
He shall level the desert floor,
Return you to the Land.

Look not to the mountain’s heights
Where others lay idle,
And give themselves to their delights,
Revelry, unbridled.

He shall bring down the proud who boast
And lift up the lowly;
He shall make of least, the most—
Make the common, holy.

But what of death’s deep, dark defile?
How can we e’er pass through?
Though our descent goes on for miles,
In life, He’ll raise unto.

The valley’s shall exalted be;
The mountains shall be lowed;
Enslaved, her captives shall be freed,
And gentle made the road.

She’ll mount on wings, shall fly amain,
Renewed, soar as eagles
The mountain way be made a plain
Those Not, now made, My People.

V. Glory

And all of them shall surely see
My Glory when revealed;
The Way that passes through the sea—
The stripes He bore that healed.

The glory I’ve to show the world
Is glory not of man,
A banquet banner, love unfurled,
Crowned head, pierced feet and hand.

Will you perceive the love I bear
Or of it be ashamed?
Shall in it boast? Cherish? Hold dear?
Lift up? Deny? Disclaim?

True, the Word the Lord has spoken,
Shall surely come to pass;
His promise shall ne’er be broken;
He shall redeem at last.

Speak Comfort, Comfort, tenderly,
Your Lord shall bring you home;
He shall not burden but gently lead
The mothers with their young.

© Randall Edwards 2023

The Incense

This sonnet is based on Isaiah 6:1-8, and is part of a new series on Isaiah titled, Full of His Glory.

I have always been brought up a bit short by the coal touching Isaiah’s lips and his subsequent eagerness to be sent. I can’t get over how painful I imagine it.

Much is made in my circles of the atonement made for Isaiah’s sin and the conviction that the coal must have come from the altar of sacrifice in the Temple’s courtyard. But Isaiah’s explicit mentioning of Uzziah at the beginning leads me to believe that the altar of incense inside the Sanctuary is what he has mind. Though I hold firmly to justification by faith, it seems that there is more going on than the battles of atonement theories.

In Isaiah more generally, but here too, the all too often malady of giving lip service to God while having a heart that is far from him seems to be more at hand. Even here, Isaiah’s preaching will fall on ears that cannot understand and be set before eyes which cannot perceive. Judah’s problem is in the heart. So this brings me back to Isaiah and his lips, and mine if I’m honest.

Burning coals and lips do not go together, but what if the image is not one of atonement but of sanctification. What if Isaiah is the incense who when ignited by God’s Spirit sends up the offering of prayer and praise –rising to heaven and suffusing everything around with the fragrant message of God’s word? What if Isaiah’s heart has been ignited in holiness and zeal and love? That he would rush forward and say, Send Me! Send Me! makes much more sense. So, here’s to Isaiah and hearts set aflame to make lips smoke with prayer and praise.

If it’s helpful, you may listen to me read the sonnet via the player below.

In the year that King Uzziah died I
Saw the Lord seated in His Temple high
Above where he speaks, makes the threshold shake
At the sound of his voice and glory’s weight.

And I shake too and break, for I am one
Who has seen the Holy. I am undone.
Unclean in heart my lips lie, lay claim
To the greedy loves of self, pride, and fame.

But from the altar where Uzziah sinned,
Comes heat and fire born on wings and wind.
I, the incense, the coal touches my lips,
Ignites his word, prayer smokes, calling grips
With grace. My heart aflame, he calls to me
To proclaim His favor, set captives free. 

© Randall Edwards 2020. This poem is for Christ’s church. If it is helpful, please feel free to copy or reprint in church bulletins, read aloud, or repost. I only ask that an attribution be cited to myself (Randall Edwards) and this blog (backwardmutters.com).

artwork: Marc Chagall, Le prophète Isaïe, 1968–1968.