Isaiah 43:1-7 Commentary

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One of the blockbuster movies from this past holiday season for a movie adaptation of the musical, Wicked, the story of The Wizard of Oz as told by the “wicked” witch of the West.  In both the original musical and this latest spin-off, the presence of the Wizard looms large.  He is lauded with mythology and magic but, it turns out, reality is more complex and he doesn’t match the hype.  This morning’s Hebrew Scripture text is an opportunity to “look behind the curtain” of the awesome God revealed in Psalm 29.  The Isaiah text works to link the great and fearsome voice of God in the Psalms with the tender voice of blessing in Luke 3.  In this case, the God revealed, while complex, does not disappoint.

Commentary:

In Psalm 29, we hear “The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars into pieces, strikes with flashes of lightening, shakes the desert, twists the oaks, and steps the forest bare.”

This is a breath-taking God. Fearsome, even. Here, says David, is a God whose voice reverberates through your whole body like a roll of thunder. The voice of the LORD snaps great cedars in half, as though they were pencils between God’s fingers.  The voice of the Lord resettles the sounds of the desert according to God’s delight.

The precedent for this powerful voice is set in creation. “And God said, ‘let there be light,’ and there was light.” And then “God said, ‘Let there be an expanse between the waters to separate water from water. So God made the expanse…and it was so.”

Over and over again.

“God said…and it was so.”

And then in the Gospel text, we hear God’s voice again.  But different.  “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.” Gentle. Full of love. Affirming and blessing a tender relationship.

Isaiah 43 helps us bridge the gap and to discern the God behind the voice. Because, while we do worship and acclaim a God who speaks the world into existence, maintains it with divine might and will someday come to perfect God’s Kingdom.  A thundering, tree-snapping, desert-shaking, bold of lightening voice of God is more likely to cause us to cower than to come near.

In fact, it is not an uncommon story to hear in the pastor’s study.  The voice of God sounds very much like the heavy-handed preacher of one’s childhood. Austere. Severe.  Wagging a long, bony finger from the pulpit, condemning a quaking 6-year-old soul.

In the broader context of Isaiah, there is no escaping the fact that God is calling God’s people to repentance.  You might imagine them tucking their heads, scuffing their sandals in the dirt, guilt written all over their faces.  What are the implications of God’s anger at sin in general and their sin in particular? I wonder what the voice of God sounded like to Israel as they heard the weight of Isaiah’s prophecy crashing down around them.

In response to our fears, God speaks again in Isaiah 43. A beautiful consolation, bubbling up in the first seven verses of Isaiah. What most commentators refer to as “an oracle of salvation.”  What does the voice of God sound like here?

“Fear not.”

The two “fear nots” in this passage as especially important, not only for their calming surface value but for the history they invoke. In Genesis 15, when God first covenants with Abraham, the first words uttered by the voice of God are “Do not be afraid, Abram.” Again, to Isaac, the voice of the LORD speaks in a dream, saying, “I am the God of your father, Abraham. Do not be afraid, for I am with you.” And, at last, with Jacob, God again says, “I am God, the God of your father, do not be afraid to go down to Egypt…”

Over and over again, the reverberating voice of the LORD is muted to the soft undertone one uses when approaching an injured animal or an overwrought toddler. “Fear not.” And you can almost hear the people of Israel’s collective sigh of relief.  And God’s assurance of love continues through the text.

The God who does the breaking and shaking, the striking and twisting is the same God who lovingly rescues Israel and jealously calls and protects her. Forever and always, God’s promise stands. God speaks an eternal promise, a promise made to the patriarchs. A promise that will be fulfilled in the one who, rising from the waters of baptism, hears the words, “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”  God’s promise continues in the church today.  A promise that, again and again, soothes the chosen people by reminding us that punishment can never overtake God’s choosing and God’s loving care.  WE are God’s children.  Whom God loves.  Despite all the evidence we could bring against ourselves, in Christ God says, “with you I am well pleased.”

But note what this does not mean.  The waters of baptism are in no way a guarantee that choppier waters will never come.  But rather, “when you pass through the waters…when you pass through the rivers…when you walk through the fire.”  Just like the Israelites fleeing Egypt, the people of God at all times and in all places will find themselves caught between Pharaoh’s army and the unforgiving currents of the Red Sea. Yet, God promises to be with us and, even more, God promises that we belong to God.

It’s a scandal, really, that the voice of God would speak to us just as the voice of God speaks over Jesus in the waters of the Jordan.  “You are mine.”

The mighty God who shakes the cedars is holding onto us. Through the storm-tossed sea. Through the river rapids. Through the flames.  Thanks to Psalm 29, we can trust his grip.

The loving God who blesses Jesus rising from the waters of baptism, speaks these same words of blessing to us because of Jesus.  “You are mine.”  Thanks to Luke 3, we can trust his grip.