A Desperate and Glorious Dependence Text: Isaiah 64:1-5
Introduction: The Right Kind of Emergency
We live in an age of manufactured crises. Our political discourse, our news cycles, and our social media feeds are all driven by a constant, low-grade hum of panic. Everything is an emergency, which means that nothing is. When every problem is treated as the ultimate threat, we lose the capacity to recognize a true crisis when we see one. And the central crisis of man, the one from which all our lesser anxieties are spawned, is the chasm that exists between a holy God and a sinful people.
The prophet Isaiah, speaking for a covenant people who have run their account with God deep into the red, understands the nature of this true emergency. This prayer in chapter 64 is not a polite request for a modest blessing. It is a desperate, full-throated cry for a divine invasion. It is the prayer of a man who knows that the only solution to his people's ruin is for God Almighty to rip the heavens open and come down. It is a plea for theophany, for a direct, mountain-melting manifestation of the presence of God.
Modern evangelicalism is often far too tame for a prayer like this. We want a God who is manageable, a God who improves our lives, a God who can be neatly fitted into our three-point sermons and our five-year plans. But Isaiah is praying for a God who makes the mountains quake. He is praying for a God whose very presence sets the world on fire. This is not the prayer of a man who wants God to tinker with his circumstances. This is the prayer of a man who knows that the only hope is for God to obliterate the current reality and establish a new one. This is a prayer for the end of the world as they knew it, and the beginning of a new one. And it is a prayer that God, in the fullness of time, was delighted to answer, though not in the way they might have expected.
This passage teaches us the grammar of true revival. It begins with a right understanding of God's awesome power, moves to a right remembrance of His past faithfulness, and culminates in a devastatingly honest confession of our own sinfulness. It is only when we see these three things in their proper proportion that we can ask the final, critical question: "And shall we be saved?"
The Text
Oh, that You would rend the heavens and come down, That the mountains might quake at Your presence, As fire kindles the brushwood, as fire causes water to boil, To make Your name known to Your adversaries, That the nations may tremble at Your presence! When You did awesome things for which we did not hope, You came down; the mountains quaked at Your presence. For from ancient times they have not heard or given ear, Nor has the eye seen a God besides You, Who acts in behalf of the one who waits for Him. You meet him who rejoices and does righteousness, Who remembers You in Your ways. Behold, You were angry; indeed we have sinned, We continued in them a long time, And shall we be saved?
(Isaiah 64:1-5 LSB)
A Cry for Divine Intervention (v. 1-2)
The prayer begins with an audacious, almost violent, request.
"Oh, that You would rend the heavens and come down, That the mountains might quake at Your presence, As fire kindles the brushwood, as fire causes water to boil, To make Your name known to Your adversaries, That the nations may tremble at Your presence!" (Isaiah 64:1-2)
Isaiah is asking God to tear the sky apart. The heavens, in the ancient mindset, were the fixed, solid dome that separated the realm of God from the realm of man. Isaiah is not asking for a gentle visit. He is asking God to shatter the barrier, to invade our space with His unmediated glory. This is the language of Mount Sinai, where the mountain smoked and trembled because the Lord descended upon it in fire (Exodus 19:18). The prophet understands that what Israel needs is not a better king or a new program, but a direct encounter with the living God.
The imagery is that of irresistible, consuming power. God's presence is like fire igniting dry brush, like fire bringing a pot of water to a rolling boil. It is instantaneous, transformative, and cannot be stopped. This is a polemic against all the impotent gods of the nations. Their gods are manageable. Their gods can be carried around. But the God of Israel is the one who carries His people, and His coming is a world-altering event. The purpose of this awesome display is not for Israel's comfort, but for God's glory. "To make Your name known to Your adversaries."
This is a profoundly evangelistic prayer, but it is evangelism through holy terror. The goal is that the nations would "tremble" at His presence. We have so domesticated the fear of the Lord that we often treat it as a synonym for "mild respect." But the Bible is clear: the beginning of wisdom is a genuine, knee-knocking fear of the Almighty. When God shows up, the first result is not a warm feeling; it is the realization that you are undone. This is what the world needs. It does not need a tamer God; it needs a clearer vision of the God who is a consuming fire, so that it might flee to the only refuge from that fire, who is Christ Himself.
Remembering the Awesome God (v. 3-4)
The prophet grounds his audacious request in God's past actions. He is not asking God to do something out of character, but rather to act consistently with how He has revealed Himself before.
"When You did awesome things for which we did not hope, You came down; the mountains quaked at Your presence. For from ancient times they have not heard or given ear, Nor has the eye seen a God besides You, Who acts in behalf of the one who waits for Him." (Isaiah 64:3-4)
The "awesome things for which we did not hope" refers to the Exodus and the giving of the Law at Sinai. These were acts of salvation that were entirely beyond Israel's expectation. They were slaves in Egypt, and God came down. They were a disorganized mob, and God came down and gave them a constitution. The mountains quaked then, and Isaiah's logic is simple: "Do it again, Lord." Our faith is not a leap in the dark; it is a step into the light of God's revealed character. We pray based on the precedent He has already set.
Verse 4 is a magnificent declaration of God's uniqueness. No other religion, no other worldview, has a God like this. The gods of the pagans are projections of human desires and fears. They must be placated, bribed, and appeased. They are fundamentally reactive. But the God of the Bible is a God who "acts in behalf of the one who waits for Him." He is the great initiator. He is the one who works salvation not because we deserve it, not because we have manipulated Him, but because He has chosen to do so for His own name's sake.
The apostle Paul quotes this very verse in 1 Corinthians 2:9, but he applies it to the gospel. "But as it is written: 'Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him.'" Paul tells us that this ancient prayer for God to rend the heavens and come down was ultimately and finally answered in the person of Jesus Christ. In the incarnation, God did rend the heavens. In the cross and resurrection, God did something for which we did not dare to hope. He acted in behalf of those who could do nothing but wait for Him in their sin.
The Collision of Holiness and Sin (v. 5)
The prayer now pivots from the awesome character of God to the wretched character of His people. This is the crisis point. This is where the rubber of theology meets the road of our own rebellion.
"You meet him who rejoices and does righteousness, Who remembers You in Your ways. Behold, You were angry; indeed we have sinned, We continued in them a long time, And shall we be saved?" (Isaiah 64:5)
Isaiah first states the principle of covenant blessing. God is the one who meets with, who enters into fellowship with, the one who joyfully walks in righteousness. This is the way the covenant is supposed to work. Obedience brings blessing and fellowship. But as soon as the words are out of his mouth, the reality of their situation crashes in upon him. "Behold, You were angry." Why? "Indeed we have sinned."
This is not a vague, generic confession. It is specific and damning. "We continued in them a long time." This was not a momentary lapse. This was a settled pattern of rebellion, a high-handed, stiff-necked, persistent treachery against their covenant Lord. They knew God's ways, but they chose their own. They knew what pleased Him, but they did what pleased themselves. And the result is the holy and just anger of God. God's anger is not a petty, human tantrum. It is the settled, righteous opposition of His holy character to all that is unholy and corrupting. It is the reaction of a good God to the presence of evil.
And this leads to the great, hanging question that summarizes the entire human dilemma. Given who God is, awesome, holy, and just. And given who we are, inveterate sinners who have persisted in our rebellion for a long time. Given this massive, unbridgeable gulf, the question is not "how can I have my best life now?" but rather, "And shall we be saved?"
Can this situation be fixed? Is there any hope? From a human standpoint, the answer is a resounding no. We have sinned. He is angry. The case is closed. If salvation depends on us, we are lost. If we have to build the bridge back to God, it will never be built. This is the necessary despair that must precede true salvation. You must come to the end of yourself. You must see that your sin is not a small problem, but a treasonous rebellion that has continued "a long time." You must look at the holiness of God and the depth of your sin and ask, with genuine desperation, "Is it even possible for someone like me to be saved?"
The Answer in the Gospel
The Old Testament asks the question, and the New Testament provides the glorious answer. "And shall we be saved?" The answer thunders back through the corridors of redemptive history: Yes! But not because God overlooks our sin. Not because His anger was unappeased. But because God Himself did something for which we did not hope.
God did rend the heavens and come down. He did not come down in fire on a mountain, but as a baby in a manger. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. The unapproachable God became approachable in Jesus Christ. The God whose presence makes the mountains quake allowed Himself to be touched by lepers and embraced by children.
And on the cross, God made His name known to His adversaries in the most unexpected way. At Calvary, the fire of God's righteous anger against our sin, the wrath that we deserved for having "continued in them a long time," was poured out. But it was not poured out on us. It was poured out on His Son. Jesus stood in our place and absorbed the full force of the divine fury. The awesome things for which we did not hope were accomplished there. God met the one who does righteousness, His own perfect Son, and in Him, He meets with us.
Therefore, the question "And shall we be saved?" is answered with a definitive "Yes, in Christ." The way we are saved is not by ceasing to be sinners, but by clinging to the Savior who acts in behalf of those who wait for Him. He waits for us to come to the end of our own striving, our own righteousness, and to simply fall before Him in desperate and glorious dependence. He is the God who rends the heavens, and He is the God who saves sinners.