Isaiah in the Streets

I call out to Isaiah: اخرج من الكتب القديمة (ukhruj min al-kutub al-qadīmah), come out of the old books as they came out. The world needs you now.

Mahmoud Darwish said it under the siege of Beirut, in 1982, watching human flesh hung from the walls over the openings of the Old Testament. He knew what most of us still do not: that the scroll does not stay on the shelf. The prophet steps off the page. Each time the Gospel of Luke is proclaimed, Isaiah walks the streets of any empire that is using his book to justify injustice. The suffering slave, the mešullam (Isaiah 42:19), from the root ש־ל־מ (šin-lamed-mem), the one at peace, made whole through submission, comes out of the scroll without relent to face every generation each time the empire thinks it has buried him, and in every generation he is heard again, standing in the Decapolis, proclaiming what great things God has done (Luke 8:39).

This is the test Luke puts to you, first at Gerasa, and then at the Commission of the Twelve.

The Shepherd arrived on the contested shore, the Decapolis, ten cities imposed by Rome on Syro-Arabian nomadic land, and he did what the mešullam does. He drove the legion of Rome into the sea (Luke 8:32-33), the way Moses drove Pharaoh’s chariots into the sea (Exodus 14:27-28), and the people of the city did exactly what the wilderness generation did at the meat-pots of Egypt (Exodus 16:3; Numbers 14:2-4). They said: “Leave us alone. We were better off in slavery.” They begged the Shepherd to go (Luke 8:37). And he did. The boat pulled away from the shore of Gerasa, and that boat was ἀποτινάσσω (apotinasso), the sandal shaken at the threshold of the entire region, the verb נטשׁ (naṭaš), from the root נ־ט־שׁ (nun-ṭet-šin), written across the water (1 Samuel 10:2; Jeremiah 12:7), the dust of the God who marches forward, deposited on the coastline of a city that loved its bondage. “I have forsaken my house. I have abandoned my heritage” (Jeremiah 12:7). The Gerasenes were cowards, and the Shepherd honored their cowardice the way the text always honors cowardice: he left them to it.

But he did not leave the city.

He sent the found man back.

The Shepherd shook the dust and sent the prophet back into the city that had just been sealed with it. ὑπόστρεφε εἰς τὸν οἶκόν σου, καὶ διηγοῦ ὅσα σοι ἐποίησεν ὁ θεός (hupostrephe eis ton oikon sou, kai diegou hosa soi epoiesen ho theos), “return to your house, and describe what great things God has done for you” (Luke 8:39). That ὑποστρέφω (hupostrepho) is the root ש־ו־ב (šin-waw-bet), the turn God commands into the place where his name has been denied. Abraham returning from the valley of kings (Genesis 14:17). Moses returning to the mountain still breathing the stench of the calf (Exodus 32:30-31). Gideon returning to the camp (Judges 7:15). The found man is deployed into Greco-Roman imperial territory, as the suffering slave made whole through submission, and his presence in that city is a standing rebuke. A living testimony of mercy refused and judgment invited. He is Isaiah coming out of the old books. He is the mešullam walking the streets.

The Gerasenes were blind with the blindness of Isaiah 6: “He has blinded their eyes and hardened their heart, lest they see with their eyes and turn” (Isaiah 6:9-10; cf. John 12:40; Matthew 13:14-15). That is the blindness God imposes on the arrogant so that his judgment is total for the sake of the poor’s deliverance (Isaiah 61:1-2; Luke 4:18-19). The refusing city is blind in that sense. They saw the legion go into the sea but could not see what was staring them in the face.

But the found man was blind with the blindness of the suffering slave in Isaiah 42: “Who is blind but my slave, or so deaf as my messenger whom I send?” (Isaiah 42:19). The mešullam. He did not see; he trusted that God saw on his behalf. He did not speak for himself; he spoke what Jesus sent him to speak (Luke 8:39). He carried nothing into the streets of the Decapolis except the command of the one who had found him.

This is the commission Luke 9 delivers to the Twelve.

συγκαλεσάμενος δὲ τοὺς δώδεκα (sunkalesamenos de tous dodeka), “having called the Twelve together,” ἔδωκεν αὐτοῖς δύναμιν καὶ ἐξουσίαν (edoken autois dunamin kai exousian), “he gave them power and authority,” καὶ ἀπέστειλεν αὐτοὺς (kai apesteilen autous), “and he sent them out” (Luke 9:1-2). With no staff. No bag. No bread. No money. No second tunic (Luke 9:3). Why? Because the suffering slave carries nothing. Because the mešullam does not defend himself. Because his Father said, “Be still, I am the one who fights for you, not you” (Exodus 14:13-14). Because if the Twelve carried a bag, they would be carrying David’s crutch: the five smooth stones in the shepherd’s pouch (1 Samuel 17:40); if they carried a second tunic, they would be hedging against the Father’s provision (Matthew 6:25-33); if they carried bread, they would be trading in the coin of the city they were sent to judge. They are sent as the found man was sent: empty-handed, blind in the blindness of trust, deployed into contested territory as the living proclamation that the Lord’s Shepherd has arrived.

And at every threshold, one of two things happens. The household receives them, μένετε (menete), “remain” (Luke 9:4). What Paul commands as στήκετε (stekete, Galatians 5:1), ὑπομονή (hypomone, Romans 5:3-4), what the Qurʾan names صمود (ṣumūd) from the root ص-م-د (ṣād-mīm-dāl) (Qurʾan 112:2), this is your test, this is your Decapolis, this is the house where the prophet is received, or the house refuses them, and they ἀποτινάσσετε τὸν κονιορτὸν (apotinassete ton koniorton), they shake the dust (Luke 9:5), as the Shepherd shook it when the boat pulled away from Gerasa, the אָבָק (ʾabaq), from the root א־ב־ק (ʾalef-bet-qof), of Deuteronomy 28 (Deuteronomy 28:24). The cloud of the feet of the marching God in Nahum (Nahum 1:3). The plague-powder of Exodus 9 (Exodus 9:8-9). Deposited on the doorframe of the house that refused. The refuser نبذوه وراء ظهورهم (nabadhūhu warāʾa ẓuhūrihim), from the root ن-ب-ذ (nūn-bāʾ-dhāl), who casts the Book behind his back (Qurʾan, Sūrat Āl ʿImrān آل عمران “The Family of ʿImrān” 3:187; cf. Sūrat al-Baqarah البقرة “The Cow” 2:101). Two gestures, one movement. The Book behind the refuser’s back. The dust behind the messenger’s sandal. Both remain, recorded as evidence against those who reject the prophet until the Hour.

The dust on the threshold and the prophet in the house are the same testimony. The dust is the judgment that severs the refusing city from its false peace. The prophet is the judgment that walks the streets of the city that refused, until the poor of that city hear and turn. Mercy is not leniency against judgment. Judgment itself is hope (Isaiah 26:8-9). Judgment is what cuts off your false hope in the sons of men (Psalm 146:3), the Satan who rules human institutions (2 Thessalonians 2:4, 9), so that in your darkness you can be found by the fierce light of God’s voice (John 1:5; cf. Qurʾan, Sūrat al-Nūr النور “The Light” 24:35). The dust falls and the prophet walks, and both are the arm of the Lord that Isaiah names (Isaiah 53:1), revealed to whomever will believe the report (John 12:38).

This week I discuss Luke 9:5.