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Isaiah 52:13--53:12 · The Suffering and Glory of the Servant
Man Of Sorrows
Isaiah 52:13--53:12
Sermon
by Larry Powell
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The fourth Servant Song of Isaiah, included in our text, preaches itself. Remarkably, it provides the prophecy, biography, and epilogue of Jesus of Nazareth. We will not engage here in the arguments of higher criticism which raise sophisticated questions as to whether Isaiah was speaking of an actual person, or of Israel as a whole, or of one yet to come. We consign those arguments to the scholars whose devotion to research leads them to search out those kinds of things. We shall proceed, rather, under the assumption that our text parallels the gospels in general and the crucifixion in particular.

It is Friday of the last week. The wheel of history grinds unsteadily toward the event which shall forever divide the calendar into B.C. and A.D. Attention is centered upon the broken figure of a man who is bearing a Roman cross to the place of his own crucifixion. Curiously, the same man who had led a procession into town on Sunday to shouts of "Hosanna!" was leading a procession out of town on Friday to shouts of "Crucify him!" How had he come to this moment?

There Had Been a Betrayal

On Thursday evening, Jesus had been with his disciples in Gethsemane, gathering strength for what he knew was to come. One of the disciples was conspicuously absent, but soon to appear:

"Now Judas, who betrayed him, also knew the place; for Jesus often met there with his disciples. So Judas. procuring a band of soldiers and some officers from the chief priests and the Pharisees, went there with lanterns and torches and weapons" (John 18:3). The net was down now, and Judas had inscribed his name at the top of the first page in the book titled "Traitors." More had been betrayed there than simply the whereabouts of Jesus. Quite frankly, the authorities probably already knew where to find Jesus anyway. Numerous times they could have laid hold of him beforehand if it had suited their purposes. He had certainly been visible enough on Sunday and again early in the week at the Temple. Let us not be so naive as to suppose that the authorities could not have located him in the garden on their own.

But see how clever they were. Keeping a low profile, they had duped one of the twelve into being the villain, until even today, we name the name of Judas instead of Caiaphas, the man who had masterminded the whole charade: "It was Caiaphas who had given counsel to the Jews that it was expedient that one man should die for the people" (John 18:14). The ploy was that, if one of Jesus’ own disciples would betray him, it would appear that even his vanguard had lost faith in him. It was a bold stroke because they knew, as we know, that one tends to judge the authenticity and nature of a cause by one who espouses it. So it is that certain individuals are either attracted to the Church or repulsed from it by the behavior of those who belong.

The authorities were wise in baiting Judas. They knew exactly what they were doing. It was not so much that he had betrayed the Lord’s whereabouts, as he had betrayed the confidence and trust which had been placed in him, and had allowed himself to be used unwittingly by the forces against Christ. We must take care that we do not unintentionally find ourselves in league with Judas.

The reknowned Medieval traveler, Marco Polo, told of a vast desert near a town called Lop. The desert was inhabited by evil spirits who mysteriously lured weary travelers to their death. A lone traveler, or even one who had fallen behind a caravan, would hear his name called in a tone hauntingly familiar. Thinking it to be the voice of a friend, he would seek out the voice and ultimately perish. Perhaps we do not hear voices, but as Christians we are put upon by inclinations which we, like Judas, may carelessly mistake for opportunities. We follow them, whatever they may be, only to discover that we have been brought far from the cause of Christ. As one of his own, we have betrayed him. The greatest damage to the Church is not inflicted by those outside, but rather by those within, those whose behavior contradicts the way of Christ.

By betraying Jesus, Judas permanently inscribed his name at the top of the first page in the book titled Traitors. The page is large, however; and there is more than one page.

There Had Been a Desertion

Following the arrest of Jesus in the garden, the disciples, with the exception of Simon Peter, disappeared immediately. Strangely enough, they had not been dragged away with Jesus to stand before Annas, and apparently, they quickly decided not to press their luck by following along behind. Peter alone would make a token gesture of almost-daring, but the scriptures modify his presence by stating, "Peter followed at a distance" (Luke 22:54). His loyalty is further neutralized by the fact that he squirmed miserably under the accusation of guilt by association:

Now Peter was sitting outside in the courtyard. And a maid came up to him, and said, "You also were with Jesus the Galilean." But he denied it before them all saying, "I do not know what you mean." And when he went out to the porch, another maid saw him, and she said to the bystanders, "This man was with Jesus of Nazareth." And again he denied it with an oath, "I do not know the man." After a little while the bystanders came up and said to Peter, "Certainly you are one of them, for your accent betrays you." Then he began to invoke a curse on himself and to swear, "I do not know the man." (Matthew 26:69-74)

The Nazarene was alone now. No last desperate charge was mounted to effect his rescue, no gathering of protestors to demonstrate against a developing crime, not even a voice crying in the distance. Let us produce another journal titled Deserters. Beginning at the top of the first page, write in the following names: Simon Peter, James the son of Zebedee, John the brother of James, Andrew, Phillip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, James the son of Alphaeus, Thaddaeus, and Simon the Canaanean. The name of Judas has been written elsewhere.

We do not know the names of the sunshine patriots who had waved palm branches wildly on Sunday, nor of those who stood on the front lines along the street, nor the "many" who spread their garments on the road (Mark 11:8), nor "those who went before and those who followed crying out, ‘Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord’ " (Mark 11:9). Is it not somehow significant that not a single name from the multitude has come down to us? No new recruits, no additions to the messianic band? It is even more significant that of the multitude, not a solitary member of the Passion Sunday celebrants is recorded to have uttered a "mumbling word?"

There was, however, one outside chance that an advocate might emerge from the company of the Pharisees. Early in Jesus’ ministry, "there came a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews. This man came to Jesus by night" (John 3:1, 2). Nicodemus was curious about the ministry of Christ, perhaps even sympathetic; but in order to preserve his standing among his peers, he came to Jesus secretly. There is no record of subsequent meetings between the two, although John records that Nicodemus did question the integrity of the Pharisees on one occasion when they had been quick to pronounce judgment upon Jesus: "Does our law judge a man without first giving him a hearing and learning what he does?" (John 8:31). Their scolding reply turned up the heat on his insecurity: "Are you from Galilee too?" Clearly, he must measure his words, or better still, hold his tongue altogether.

Nicodemus was present when Jesus was stood up before the high priests. But he opened not his mouth. Nicodemus, the outside chance, bridled his conscience and secured his position. He also added his name to the list of "Deserters." Jesus was totally alone. It was as he had said: "The hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, every man to his home, and will leave me alone" (John 16:32). He was in that moment "a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, and as one from whom men hide their faces" (Isaiah 53:3).

There Had Been a Conspiracy

Actually, there had been numerous conspiracies, but they had all been directed toward the same objective: the elimination of the Nazarene. From the beginning, the religious authorities had hounded him, peddled their sanctimonious propaganda against him, and piously padded their case by continually harping about his flagrant infractions against the law. They had long since carried the conflict beyond innuendo and subtleties. The lines were clearly drawn, but whatever was to be done must, in the end, be dispatched with some semblance of respectability. Simply put, two things would be required: (1) a go-between, and (2) an execution, carried out under the guise of legality. Judas was the perfect front man. No need to employ an opportunist to fabricate a damaging rumor. No need to resort to character assassination in order to convince the people that hypocrisy was being committed against their own law. An inside job would do nicely. Simply dignify the gesture of the man from Kerioth with a small remuneration - not so much for his leading them to the garden, but rather for the spectacle he would create.

Had there been a newspaper, the authorities would most certainly have seen to the headlines:

DISCIPLE WEARIES OF NAZARENE’S DECEPTION, HEROICALLY EXPOSES HIM AS FALSE TEACHER

Regarding the matter of legal proceedings, they simply went through the motions. Jesus appeared first before Annas, who questioned him about his disciples and the nature of his teaching. When Jesus respectfully replied that the answer to both questions was already common knowledge, an official struck him across the face (John 18:22).

Next, he appeared before Caiaphas and the whole company of the Sanhedrin. Matthew records that many false witnesses came forward to testify against him and finally, in frustration, Caiaphas attempted to settle the matter once and for all by posing the ultimate question: "Are you the Son of God?" he demanded. Jesus replied, "It is as you say." Convinced now that Jesus had condemned himself by his own words, they spit in his face, struck him with their fists, and slapped him (Matthew 26:67). Luke adds that even the soldiers participated in the brutality, blindfolding Jesus, striking him with their fists, and demanding that he prophesy which of them had struck him (Luke 22:63).

The following morning he was led before Pilate. Pilate raised only two questions; "Are you the King of the Jews?" and "Are you a Galilean?" When Jesus answered in the affirmative to both questions, Pilate sent him to Herod on the grounds that Jesus should properly be judged under Herod’s jurisdiction. Herod raised many questions, but Jesus did not answer. It was as Isaiah had said centuries before;

He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth. (Isaiah 53:7)

Herod and his soldiers mocked him, dressed him in an elegant robe, and sent him back to Pilate.

There had been four highly irregular trials. Contrary to the law, no advocate had been appointed in Jesus’ behalf. False witnesses had been hired to testify against him. A "court" had convened (illegally) at night to hear a capital offense and another had taken place (illegally) on a feast day. No one bothered to challenge the irregular proceedings. Moreover, not a single voice was raised along the Via Dolorosa to point out that the required 24-hour period between sentence and execution had been violated. The authorities had needed two things: (1) a go-between, and (2) an execution, carried out under the guise of legality. Both were awkwardly accomplished, so that the conspiracy had achieved its objective.

There Had Been a Choice

It was a custom at Passover that the governor would release a prisoner, the choice being left to the people. According to three of the gospels, Pilate stood Jesus beside a notorious insurrectionist named Barabbas and asked the crowd to determine which of the two should be released. Goaded on by the chief priests, the crowd immediately declared their choice: "Give us Barabbas!" Pilate then asked them, "And what shall I do with Jesus?" Loudly came the reply: "Crucify him!" And so it was that Barabbas was relased while Jesus was beaten and handed over to be crucified.

A story has been told of a prominent, highly-respected man of impeccable character who threw himself in front of a team of runaway horses to save the life of a street urchin. Bravely, with no thought for his personal safety, the man had dashed into the street and, with a desperate lunge, managed to shove the lad safely out of the path of the frightened team. Onlookers were moved to tears as they looked upon the mangled, lifeless body of the man who had been a friend to them all. With the passing of years, the little boy grew to be a liability of the community. He was vile, belligerent, and considered the property of others to be his own. Frequently, the townspeople would remember the sacrifice of the noble man who had saved the swaggering youth as a child, and remark to each other, "He gave his life for that?"

We must wonder if, when events turned to bring truth into clearer focus, there were not those who would observe Barabbas along a city street and, recalling the sacrifice of Christ, whisper one to another, "Jesus gave his life for that?" May God forbid that our own lives should prompt such a question.

There Had Been a Submission

Let the record show that Jesus of Nazareth, of his own volition, submitted himself for all that of which we have spoken. Willingly, "He poured out his soul to death" (Isaiah 53:12). In the garden he had said, "My betrayer comes, arise and let us go" (Mark 14:42). Observe that he did not say, "Let us go the other way," but rather, "Let us go to meet him." At his arrest, one of the disciples drew a sword and was ready to do battle, but Jesus calmly said, "Put your sword away; I could summon twelve legions of angels to be at my disposal, but it must happen this way." Without a struggle, he accompanied his captors.

It is Friday of the last week. Attention is centered upon the broken figure of a man who is bearing a Roman cross to the place of his own execution. He had come to this moment because there had been a betrayal, a desertion, a conspiracy, a choice, and a submission. But he had also come to this moment because the course of his life had made such a moment unavoidable. Possibly even in his dreams, the scriptures he had memorized from childhood played and preyed upon his mind, so that sleep itself could not subdue the messianic theme:

For he grew up before him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground: he had no form or comeliness that we should look at him. He was despised and rejected by nien; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. (Isaiah 53:2, 3)

Simon of Cyrene was forcefully jerked from the crowd of spectators to help Jesus bear his cross. The procession was moving too slowly to suit the Romans. The North African was strong and fresh while the Nazarene was exhausted and unable to stand, much less shoulder his cross. Simon would do. At last, they came to Golgotha and there they crucified him between two criminals. From nine o’clock in the morning until three o’clock in the afternoon, he would endure the slow death.

Again, our text preaches itself;

... he poured out his soul to death and was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sins of many, and made intercession for the transgressors. (Isaiah 53:12)

We have spoken of a terrible day. We have assumed all that we have not said about the life and ministry of Jesus as we have followed the gathering shadows. We have allowed an Old Testament prophet to tell a New Testament story. And in the end, as generations continue to ask, "What does it all mean?" we shall call upon the Old Testament prophet a final time to provide the epilogue:

Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that made us whole, and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all. (Isaiah 53:4-6)

CSS Publishing Co., Inc., On His Way, by Larry Powell