Isaiah 40:1-11 - December 3, 2023

“Comfort, O Comfort my people…” 

This is a fairly famous line from Isaiah. Hymns, compositions, and oratorios have been written based on that line. The words bring us a message of consolation and hope. It helps us to see that God is compassionate and comforting. Comfort, O Comfort my people! 

But why would these simple words be so famous, so comforting? There must be something going on, there must be a need… The astute among you may have already picked up that we are in chapter 40 of the book of Isaiah. That’s like jumping in 2/3s of the way through a movie. Comfort is indeed needed for a reason. 

So, let’s review the first part of Isaiah for a minute to see how we got here. 

Isaiah’s prophetic voice calls people to a divine reality check. His prophecies hit hard, making the people all hot and bothered with warnings of impending doom. Of course, there was a little bit of sweetness to go along with the warnings - glimpses of a hopeful future. 

For example, Isaiah calls for repentance. Otherwise, there will be destruction, a wiping away of the people. And indeed, the Assyrians came in, leading the Israelites into exile, away from their homeland. 

Then hope: A king! A king who withstands the onslaught of war. Jerusalem defies all odds and survives. But even this king starts to get a big head about who really was in charge. And Isaiah warns again, threatens again, pleads for change again. 

Most of the first 39 chapters of Isaiah are warnings and consequences for not heeding the warnings. Our Isaiah Bible Study often lamented how often things were going to get “cut down” or “trampled underfoot” as we worked our way through those 39 chapters. It seems like just a bunch of bad news. 

But then, comfort. (Both in our lesson and in the Bible Study!)

Comfort for Israel. Comfort for God’s own people.
Comfort in the midst of all that is going on. Comfort that the punishment will end. Comfort that the penalty has been paid. Much of the first part of Isaiah yearns for redemption; much of the Old Testament yearns for redemption. Here in chapter 40, Isaiah declares that redemption has come. 

And to further emphasize that salvation and redemption and comfort have come, we get the next part of the text: “A voice cries out, in the wilderness, prepare the way of the Lord…” And while we as Christians immediately move to John the baptizer, if we put on our Jewish ears, the ears of those initially hearing this text, the word “wilderness” has to jump out. Because “wilderness” is so much more than just a jungle or a desert or any place where wild animals might get you. 

No, “wilderness” has great significance and plays a huge role in the Israelites’ history. They wandered in it for 40 years after the greatest moment in their history - the Exodus. So, whenever “wilderness” pops up in the Bible, all that salvation history comes right along with it. All the magnitude and weight of the Exodus, all of God’s saving of God’s people are brought to mind in “wilderness.” We recall the promises to God's people then; we remember God’s actions then. 

And now… now, we see that God is coming to the wilderness, that a highway should be made, but not for us to come out. It’s for God to come in. It’s a highway for God’s new action, God’s new exodus. 

“And the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all people will see and experience it.” There is comfort for now, and there is promise for the future. Promise that God has not and will not forget us or leave us or the world as it is. And it isn’t just a promise for us - it is a promise for all - all people will see and experience it together. 

And that gets further emphasized in the next few verses: “All people are grass… the grass withers, the flower fades…” We wither, we fade; all wither and fade. We fail, we fall. We’re weak, we die. There’s this inability for us to stand strong for long - like flowers, like grass… we all fade away. We come up short in comparison to God’s word. Because God’s word stands forever. 

So, this promise, this hope, this comfort?
None of it depends on we who fade away, but all of it is based on God’s word, God’s solid, ever-present word. It’s a word of comfort amid turmoil. It’s a word that, like in Genesis 1, creates something out of nothing. It’s a Word that puts on flesh and lives among us in Jesus. 

Because the Lord comes with might. With strength. With power. God’s arms rule, but God’s arms also embrace and comfort. God comes in strength, but not with a strength that destroys or punishes. God shows strength in gentleness - in ways like a shepherd. God gatherers the sheep together, gently, amazingly, lovingly. 

Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. 

It is comforting to hear that despite all that has gone on - all that is going on - God still identifies us as “my people.” God continues to be our God, and God has not abandoned us. 

It is comforting to know that God wishes to speak tenderly. These are words of compassion, not condemnation or judgment. 

It is comforting to know that there is grace in the release from punishment, debt, and sin. 

It is comforting to know that God comes to be with us - that a highway is prepared for the Lord to come to us, not us having to trek through the wilderness to find God.

It is comforting to know that God plans for our future, that God will feed the flock as a shepherd does; that God will gather us and carry us and lead us. 

It is comforting to know that God is coming. And in Jesus, God came. And God promises to come again. And that even now, God is here. 

In this Advent season, we hear this promise from a God whose word does not fail or fade away. We have this everlasting promise of comfort, of love, of wholeness. We have this promise that even when we feel cut down, trampled underfoot, or cast into a foreign wilderness, God comes to us, and God finds us, just like God always does. And God does it with a comfort that can draw us back, draw us out of wherever sin and chaos and separation have taken us - back into the strong, loving arms of God. Comfort, O comfort my people. 

And we see that promise now in bread and wine, in water and song - in stuff that seems just like ordinary things. But along with those things comes God’s word, God’s word which will stand forever. The meal is a place where we who are like grass get a taste of the grace that will last forever. The font is a place where we are assured that God’s love for us never fades. The songs we sing proclaim God’s comfort that will stand forever. 

In the midst of (and even in spite of) our world and our lives and our hurt, God continues to speak, to act, to bring comfort - not just then, and not just now, but always. No matter what. Even in our frail lives, the word of our God stands forever. 

God gives us comfort. God gives us hope. God gives us Jesus. In a manger. In bread and wine. In community. In song. In comfort. In grace, love, and forgiveness. In more ways than we know.