Isaiah 49:1-7 (NRSV)
Listen to me, O coastlands,
pay attention, you peoples from far away!
The Lord called me before I was born,
while I was in my mother’s womb he named me.
2 He made my mouth like a sharp sword,
in the shadow of his hand he hid me;
he made me a polished arrow,
in his quiver he hid me away.
3 And he said to me, “You are my servant,
Israel, in whom I will be glorified.”
4 But I said, “I have labored in vain,
I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity;
yet surely my cause is with the Lord,
and my reward with my God.”
5 And now the Lord says,
who formed me in the womb to be his servant,
to bring Jacob back to him,
and that Israel might be gathered to him,
for I am honored in the sight of the Lord,
and my God has become my strength—
6 he says,
“It is too light a thing that you should be my servant
to raise up the tribes of Jacob
and to restore the survivors of Israel;
I will give you as a light to the nations,
that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”
7 Thus says the Lord,
the Redeemer of Israel and his Holy One,
to one deeply despised, abhorred by the nations,
the slave of rulers,
“Kings shall see and stand up,
princes, and they shall prostrate themselves,
because of the Lord, who is faithful,
the Holy One of Israel, who has chosen you.”
Isaiah 49:1-6 is the second servant poem, having the theme of the light to the nations. Listen to me, O coastlands, pay attention, you peoples from far away! The Lord called me before I was born, while I was in my mother’s womb he named me. All of this reads like Isaiah 44:1-4; Jeremiah 1:5; Psalm 139:13-16; Galatians 1:15-16. 2 He made my mouth like a sharp sword, suggesting that the servant will accomplish his mission by speech, the prophetic word. In the shadow of his hand he hid me; he made me a polished arrow, in his quiver he hid me away. 3 And he said to me, “You are my servant (‘ébed), Israel, (some think this word is a later addition) in whom I will be glorified.” The servant will be the means through which the Lord will win glory. 4 But I said, “I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity; yet surely my cause is with the Lord, and my reward with my God.” We learn that the prophet feels ineffective, yet God reaffirms his call. The servant said that he has labored in vain. He has spent his strength for nothing and vanity. All of this fits the prophetic word that failed to divert the judgment of 587. Some people think such musings could not refer to historical Israel. 5 And now the Lord says, who formed me in the womb to be his servant (‘ébed), to bring Jacob back to him, and that Israel might be gathered to him, for I am honored in the sight of the Lord, and my God has become my strength—6 he says, “It is too light a thing that you should be my servant (‘ébed) to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.” The servant invites the coastlands and the people far away to listen to him. The Lord called him before he was born. He was in the womb and the Lord named him. The Lord made his mouth like a sharp sword, He found himself hid in the shadow of the hand of the Lord. The Lord made him a polished arrow. The Lord hid him in his quiver. The Lord said to him that he is the servant of the Lord, Israel, in whom the Lord will glorify himself. Yet, surely his cause is with the Lord and his reward is with God. The Lord, who formed him in the womb to be the servant of the Lord, is to bring Jacob back to the Lord and gather Israel to the Lord, for the servant finds honor in the sight of the Lord and God has become his strength. At this point, the servant of the Lord is different from Jacob/Israel. The Lord says it is too light a thing that he be the servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and restore the remnant of Israel. Rather, the Lord will give the servant as a light to the nations, which is also the mission of Cyrus in Isaiah 42:6 so that salvation (yeshuah) from the Lord may reach to the end of the earth. II Isaiah depicts Israel as the servant of the Lord who as the elect of God has the responsibility of bringing light to of all peoples. In this way, the destiny of the people of Israel and its special relation to God have a relation to all the peoples of the world, but now in connection with the thought of election. The point here is that the lesser mission of the servant is to restore Israel to its historical identity. The greater mission is to be a light to the nations.[1]
Isaiah 49:7, in a segment that extends to verse 13, is a response to the second servant poem. 7 Thus says the Lord,the Redeemer of Israel and his Holy One, to one deeply despised, abhorred by the nations, the slave (‘ébed) of rulers,“Kings shall see and stand up, princes, and they shall prostrate themselves, because of the Lord, who is faithful, the Holy One of Israel, who has chosen you.” When we reflect upon the infinity and holiness of the Lord, the antithesis is what is earthly and human displays itself in the fact that the Lord does not just react to human acts. Rather, the “Holy One of Israel” becomes a guarantee of the hope of redemption for the exiles. [2]
The text is addressing the most basic need any of us has, the need for dignity, respect, and self-worth. God formed us in the womb for becoming a servant of the Lord. At the time of this prophecy, Israel no longer existed. The Babylonians had taken the remnant into captivity. They were not much at which to look. In the mind of the prophet, he hears Israel say that they failed, that they have labored to the will of the Lord in vain. Yet, the prophet sees something else in them. He sees their potential of becoming a servant of the Lord, and therefore a light to the nations.
It can be so difficult for us to find our sense of place in the great schemes of things. All of us have limits provided by family, community, and culture. We also have limits we impose upon ourselves. We often struggle to find our sense of worth and dignity. Do we matter? Does what we want, desire, and hope for, matter to anyone? Among the beautiful promises of the bible is that God has shaped each of us for a purpose. God has a vision for the vision for the world. We have the opportunity of becoming part of that vision by becoming a servant of that vision. Each of us has a role to play. Although we are only part of that long-term vision that will outlast our all too brief lives, we are a part of something majestic that God is doing. We must not downplay that part. Although we may at times become discouraged, we can find renewed hope and confidence in that vision.
More often, though, many of us who become aware of having a special purpose realize this only gradually, and sometimes, only in retrospect. In the last century at the age of 86, George Herbert Palmer, who'd been a professor of philosophy at Harvard for all of his career and had also taught in the divinity school there, published a small autobiography in which he discussed the things he felt he'd accomplished and the many personal difficulties he'd faced. But he ended by talking about the opportunity he'd had to do useful work over the years in helping more than 15,000 students with their education. He concluded his book with this statement: "As I see these things rising behind me they do not seem of my doing. Some greater power than I has been using me as its glad instrument."
Thankfully, not all of that awareness comes only days before we die! Sandra Gibson, who graduated in 2008 from Ashland (Ohio) Theological Seminary with a degree in clinical pastoral counseling, writes about a "retrospective lens" that periodically enables her to catch a glimpse of how some of the seemingly random dots of life connect. "I suspect that one of the nicest gifts God gives us in our journey," writes Gibson, "is a retrospective lens on life. We don't always get clearly marked blueprints or maps, but we do get a connect-the-dots picture if we pause to look back over our shoulders." And sometimes what we see is how the "dots" of our lives have shaped us to be able to deal with something else that comes along. We may feel, for example, with some gladness or at least gratitude, that we were born to be a parent to a child who seems to need parenting even more than most. Or we were born to help a loved one through a dark valley. Or we were born to accomplish a certain task. Or perhaps, in the midst of some great crisis, we discover that we have certain skills that we've picked up over the course of our lives that have made us ready to meaningfully help others in the crisis.
We may not use the language of being born for some role. We may not speak of God naming us. We may not even characterize ourselves as God calling us. But if, at some point, it comes to us that we are in the place that we need to be because we can do some good there, it is worth considering whether that may indeed be evidence of a call from God.
And if that happens, then we have the choice of whether we will put our energies into this thing for which we were born. Dag Hammarskjöld was the secretary-general of the United Nations from 1953 until his death in 1961 in a plane crash while en route to negotiate a cease-fire in an African conflict. He had worked tirelessly in the causes of peace in many trouble spots around the globe. After his death, friends found his personal diary in his New York apartment, eventually publishing it under the title, Markings. One thing he said in that book was this: "We are not permitted to choose the frame of our destiny. But what we put into it is ours."
Is that not a way of saying that while we may be born for some purpose, it is still up to us what we do about that purpose? Alice Flaherty is a neurologist at Massachusetts General Hospital who describes her work as a calling. In fact, she tells about a time in medical school when she became so convinced she was in the right profession that it filled her with "an exaggerated, perhaps even pretentious, feeling of duty and joy." And she says that she still feels a little of the same emotions every time she turns on a new stimulator in a Parkinson's patient and sees the person go from a frozen condition to walking nearly normally.
But she also explains that that same feeling turns into a torment when she knows she has betrayed it. As an example, she tells of one of the worst days of her residency, when a superior insisted that she perform a painful procedure -- one which she felt was unnecessary -- on a dying patient who begged her to leave him in peace. "In the end," Flaherty says, "the patient, the nurse and I were all sobbing as I executed the procedure. Thinking of that night still fills me with shame."
As we move through life, it's good to take time to consider whether we have some sense of being named by God, of being born to some role, or simply of being the right person in the right place at the right time -- which can be one form that God naming us as his own takes.
I saw Mother Teresa on TV in January of 1987. She was at a news conference. One of the reports said, "Many people call you a modern-day saint. What do you think of being called that?" Her response: "We are all called to be saints. I am called to be a saint in what I do with my life. You are called to be a saint in what you do." I doubt if many reports are accustomed to receiving that kind of challenge. But I wonder, do we dare to believe that we can be saints in whatever we do?
A Christian therapist was talking with a person who had terrible feelings of guilt because of what the person had done in the past. He asked, "What is your mental image of Christ?" The patient said: "I guess as a baby. Or maybe as somebody dying on a cross. A real loser." The doctor asked if he thought he could picture Jesus as someone who loved him. He responded that he wanted to but could not seem to do it. He did not understand why he resisted. The therapist then said: "You probably feel unworthy." The patient nodded yes. The doctor said: "You are worthy. God was born in a manger and died on a cross for you. That means you are worth a lot to God."[3]
Until we view ourselves as worthy to God, I wonder if we will ever get to a place where we can offer ourselves freely to God, to the church, to others, with all our gifts and talents. One study done of churches that grow said that theology, denomination, location, do not mean as much as another characteristic. Churches that grow are more loving than churches that do not.[4]
One of the great stories of literature is The Man of La Mancha. In the stage play, Don Quixote meets a prostitute named Aldonza. He tells her that she will be his new lady, and that she will receive a new name: Dulcinea. She rejects his offer. He keeps affirming her and declaring her to be what he believes she is. At the end of the play, someone rapes Aldonza. She is crying and hysterical on stage. The Man of La Mancha again calls to her, "My Lady, Dulcinea." She says: "Don't call me your lady; I was born in a ditch by a mother who left me to die. I am only someone men use and forget. Don't call me a lady. I'm only Aldonza. I am nothing at all." She leaves the stage with Don Quixote calling after her, "But you are my Lady Dulcinea!" Soon, he lays dying of a broken heart. A lady, a Spanish queen, kneels beside her. He wonders who she is. "Don't you remember? You called me your lady. You gave me a new name. My name is Dulcinea!"[5]
Now, let us consider the identity of the people of God.
When we examine honestly the history of the church, we see much that ought to distress us. The church simply does not live up to its potential. It often fails to be an effective witness. It often fails to offer effectively the Christian message. I have read this somewhere: the best reason to become a Christian is the witness of other Christians; the greatest blockage to people becoming Christians is other Christians. The traditional message of the church, that we are sinners, is all right as far as it goes. However, we are not telling people anything they do not know. We all know that we fall short of our own ideals, let alone the ideals the church or society or family. We are always falling short.
If we are honest about our lives, we can see the many ways in which we have failed to be the person called us to be. Some of those times will occasionally bring tears to our eyes and the words, “Please forgive me,” on our lips. We never finish when it comes to becoming effective servants of the Lord.
When we work with people, it is rare that anything ever gets finished, done, accomplished. If we are going to talk, with the prophet, about God calling us, then we had better talk, with the prophet, about failure. A person who has spent her life working with teachers, helping them to be better teachers, said to me, "Good teachers must be in love with the task of sowing the seed, not reaping the harvest.” Pastors, parents, Sunday School teachers, health care givers, just about any disciple, must be in love with something more significant than immediate, visible results because our goals are so high, the work of God so mysterious, the plans of God for the world so grand, that the harvest doesn't occur until years after the sowing. God called us here. The work is God's, not ours. We are not to seek validation for what we do in our time frame, demand results as we measure results. The harvest, after our sowing, is God's harvest, in God's own good time.
We need to talk about what we can become, not so much because of us, but because of God. God saw that God could work with this nation, even if it felt itself as a failure, to the point where it could become a light to the nations. God looks at the church, God looks at each of us, and sees that seem potential to make a positive contribution to the lives of others.
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