A Portrait of the Suffering Servant - Isaiah 53
Is there a more vivid picture in all of the Old Testament than the portrait painted by Isaiah in Isaiah 53? The old prophet takes a hold of the paint brush, and the Hand of the Holy Spirit directs his hand to the questioning color of black. Isaiah 53 begins with a question. In some ways this question could have been asked by any of the prophets, as their prophetic utterances generally fell on ears that refused to hear.
“Who has believed what we have heard?
And to whom has the Arm of the Lord been revealed?” (vs. 1)
The old prophet discards the used paint brush, reaches for a new one, once again, the Spirit of the Almighty directs his hand on to the palette to a very light shade of green, he then moves to the canvas and paints, what appears to be a “root out of dry ground” (vs. 2), so tender, you would think that the scorching sun and strong wind from the south would wither it into nothingness. Then, there was his brush strokes, honestly the least impressive you had ever seen, a 5-year-old could have done a better job.
Keeping the same paint brush, and still directed by the Hands of the Almighty, the old artists hand's moved back to palette and then moves through every other shade of green, until the tip of the brush resembled what would proceed from the mouth of someone with a high fever. As he moves to the canvas, what came forth went from bad to worse, it was as sickening as the combination of all the green colors, actually, it was worse. You found yourself despising (vs. 3) what was appearing before you on the canvas. No longer able to “look” (vs. 2), you “turned away from” (vs. 2) the painting. It was hard to imagine there ever being any “value” (vs. 3) at all in this painting.
Then something mysterious began to take place on the canvas. From the deep recesses of the background of the living form on the portrait, a cross began to move, though unnoticed up until now, you had a sense it was there all along, but now it was moving from the background to the forefront. It was an Old Rugged Cross with deep crimson blood appearing towards the top, bottom, and on the ends of both cross beams. At the center of the blood-stained bottom and at the center of the blood stains on both the crossbeams, nails, thick nails, nine inches in length, instantaneously appeared, and a stream of blood began to flow from each of the nail pierced holes. Even more mysteriously, small holes began to appear at the top of the cross, with blood beginning to drip in small droplets, as if thorns were being thrust deeply into the cross. Soon, blood was flowing there as well.
The four streams of blood joined into one great stream of blood. So great a stream, that it completely encompassed the fading form on the portrait, until His life crumbled, then completely disappeared under the weight of the wrath of the Almighty, thrust upon Him through the iniquities that were laid on His weakened shoulders. What was at one time a living form, forsaken by God the Father, shouted, “It is finished!” (John 19:30), and took one final breath, before the last bit of life left His broken body.
To the left, a grave, prepared for the scum of the earth appeared, in the grave, room was made for the broken form. Then, suddenly to the right, appeared a tomb for the wealthy, hewn out of a large rock. It was there the Body was placed. It seemed fitting, for while He was completely engulfed under the weight of the iniquities of all of mankind, He Himself had never acted in “violence and had not spoken deceitfully” (vs. 9).
Now gazing intently at the dark ugly canvas, the Face of the Most High God, the God of the universe appears, and on that Face, you see great pleasure, as if He were “pleased to crush” (vs. 10) the now lifeless body, that was enclosed in the tomb of the wealthy.
Overcome with… well you weren’t actually sure what you were overcome with, but for the next three days, your eyes were glued to the canvas, not able to turn to the left or the right, you just stared at the canvas. Somehow you sensed there was more to come. Then, early in the morning of the third day, before the sun had even risen, out of the midst of the dark ugly portrait on the canvas, a light begins to shine forth. Did I say shine? Let me change that, it wasn’t shining, it was flowing, flowing like a mighty flood from the very spots where the crimson blood flowed just three days earlier. And as it flowed, that mighty flood cleansed, completely and totally cleansed, the ugly iniquities of all who gazed upon it.
At the same moment, the chest of the lifeless form on the canvas, began to expand and contract as if breath was flowing into the lungs. The eyes, once closed, opened, and the large stone that had been placed in the opening of the tomb, rolled away, releasing from the confines, the now living One, risen joyfully and triumphantly, never again to taste death, having once “willingly submitted to” (vs. 12) it. Now, the “righteous Servant” (vs. 11) Who had become the “Lamb being led to the slaughter” (vs. 7), reigns victorious. The portrait, once so ugly, your eyes turned away in disdain, was now so infinitely beautiful, you never wanted to turn your eyes away.
Isaiah 53
