April 2, Good Friday (Isaiah 52:13-53:12; John 18:1-19:42)

Reading Isaiah on Good Friday gives us a lens, even a midrash, on the way we tell the story of Jesus’ death. Some see the line as bold and solid, that when he wrote of one who suffers for Israel, Isaiah was foretelling the holy life, vicarious death, and redeeming resurrection of Christ Jesus. Some see the line more as a looser kind of lasso that draws in useful images from a set of beautiful poems in Isaiah and elsewhere (see Daniel 12) about what we’ve come to call the Suffering Servant. The Suffering Servant is said to undergo innocent pain and even death and then be glorified for the sake of God’s people. This is a vision that gives hope in exile and reassurance of a new day ahead.

Since Bernhard Duhm first proposed in the late 19th century that Isaiah 52–53 is one of four poems by an author writing at the end of Israel’s Babylonian exile, the suffering of this figure has been the aspect that has caught the most attention. Here Christians have found a messianic vision to claim: of an innocent one whose suffering would bring forgiveness, salvation, and new glory. This has been a powerful lens through which to see the Passion of Jesus, capturing meaning in the story of unjust crucifixion, death, burial, and resurrection. This roots the story in history and evokes a depth of feeling that gives ballast as we tell of God’s saving grace in the death of Jesus. Our appreciation only widens as we learn ways faithful Jews have read this poem differently over the centuries. We have inherited a quiver of moving images here. (For a helpful review of interpretations of this passage, see Marc Brettler and Amy-Jill Levine’s article in the April 2019 issue of Interpretation.)

Yet there’s one image in that quiver that we might pass over too quickly. It offers a vision that helps us see Christ’s suffering through the prophetic window of his ministry and not just his Passion—teaching us a new economy, where poor shall be rich; a new politics, where last shall be first; a new aesthetic, where what the world sees as ugly will be cherished as divine; a new pedagogy, where wisdom will be afforded to the young; and a new rhetoric, where those with power will be surprised by truths without eloquence coming from sources without authority.