The Banishment of Sorrow.
xxxv. 10. And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, &c.
I. “They shall obtain joy and gladness,” &c.—this is undoubtedly the distinctive and ineradicable hope of human nature. Is that hope a glorious, and perhaps in its effects a beneficent, delusion never to be realised? Or is it the earnest of a reality far greater than its highest imagination can conceive? The question receives contradictory answers from the two conflicting voices within the soul, as from time to time one or other gains a temporary predominance. But the Christian revelation allows no doubt on this matter for a moment, and yet it does not bid us shut our eyes to the darker phases of actual life. The picture drawn in this chapter deals with every sphere of human life. It begins with the outward: it tells how the “desert shall rejoice,” &c.; it turns, then, to the lower nature of man himself—“the eyes of the blind shall be opened,” &c.; lastly, it speaks to the spirit of man: the light of God shows a “highway through the desert of life” on which “the redeemed can walk” safely; and at the end there is a heavenly Zion of perfection, to which the “ransomed of the Lord shall come with songs,” &c.
II. When did the prophet look to see his vision fulfilled? He may well have thought first of the all but present deliverance from the gigantic power of Assyria by the redeeming arm of the Lord. Some such shadow of fulfilment there may have been, in the last gleam of unclouded prosperity which ever fell upon Judah, before its sun set in the great captivity: such shadows of fulfilment may have been felt in the history of man again and again. Isaiah unquestionably looked on to the kingdom of the Messiah as the one ideal of a perfect manifestation of God and a perfect exaltation of man. Such fulfilment Christ claimed for Himself; but it is in the actual manifestation of the kingdom of Christ on earth that the prophetic picture is realised in its fulness.
III. If the kingdom of Christ is what it proclaims itself to be, it must necessarily be, as on the Mount He proclaimed it, a kingdom of blessing. What are the two great sources of the sorrow which broods over life? 1. Over our bodily life, and the world of nature which subserves it, there is the blight of pain and suffering. 2. Spiritual evil—the blindness, weakness, sin of man himself. How does the Gospel profess to face and scatter both? By the revelation of the Cross it hallows doubly the law of suffering and death, by overruling it to good for ourselves, and by making it a condition and a means of helping the redemption of others. The Gospel deals still more decisively with the burden of sin: in this lies the essence of its redemption. “God is in Christ, reconciling the world to Himself. . . . We pray you, in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God.” This is its first message; but it is not all; “Sin,” it goes on to say, “shall not have dominion over you.” “Ye are sanctified in Christ Jesus.”
IV. But is that promise actually realised? We answer boldly, Yes. It must be remembered that by the very nature of the case the kingdom of Christ is seen by us, as yet, only to the first stages of its conflict against the powers of evil. What it can offer, as yet, is a true but only imperfect earnest of the future. In all the three phases of this prophecy, Christ asserted its power to bless the whole world. He held the reins of the forces of nature; lifted the burden of disease and resisted death; brought in the new life of His grace. He had joy, like no other joy, amid His continuous conflict with evil; and to those who were His, He gave peace in proportion as they entered into His spirit. The last conflict was but for a moment, the chill of dreariness before the dawn. “Then,” amidst some fear, and awe, and perplexity, “were the disciples glad when they saw the Lord.” It is, thank God! a matter of daily Christian experience, that, just in proportion as we are really Christ’s, the promise is realised again and again to us. There is joy in nature, and a deeper joy and peace in communion with God. Sometimes we feel that these things are the only reality in a fleeting and unsubstantial world around us. But this reality is yet imperfect; sorrow and sighing are rather kept at bay than driven away; but we have a sure and certain hope of a perfect future. Without the realisation of His peace in the present, without the sure and certain hope of the future, one hardly sees how man can care to live; one dares not think how he can die.—Canon Barry, D.D.: Christian Age, vol. xx. pp. 81–83.