Behold, I am doing a new thing, now it springs forth. Do you not perceive it? (Is 43:19)
In today’s first reading we heard a brief passage from Isaiah, Chapter 43. Isaiah here speaks in the language of poetry. His words are evocative, musical, stirring: to be savoured and pondered slowly. Clearly they point beyond themselves. We take them very seriously, because we hold them also to be true, and from God.
The apparent context here is the return of Judaean exiles from Babylon in the 6th century B.C. But that historical event, so full of disappointments, could scarcely justify Isaiah’s elevated language. So we say that these words find their true fulfilment not there, but in Christ, and only in Christ. But in Christ what Isaiah prophesied even falls short. We Christians love to note how Isaiah’s words are perfectly fulfilled, and even super-abundantly fulfilled, in him.
Our passage begins today by alluding to Israel’s crossing of the Red Sea in Exodus. We will hear the account of that in only 2 weeks’ time, at the Paschal Vigil. There this miraculous event will be referred explicitly to our baptism in Christ. Passing through the waters of baptism we escape our former bondage to the devil, to sin and to death, and we emerge as members of God’s holy people, with a land of promise to look forward to.
The Lord, says Isaiah, makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters. In the Hebrew imagination, the sea was the domain of the devil, hostile to both God and man. It represented chaos, and mortal danger. But in the beginning God effortlessly parted the primeval waters to make heaven and earth; and from the waters on earth he brought forth life. This power of God, says Isaiah, manifested also in the Exodus, is still at work in our own day.
Let me at once refer to our own situation now. Like the Israelites in Egypt, or in Babylon, we find ourselves living in a world where God is not known or honoured. By and large today we find our environment ever increasingly oppressive and burdensome. And if you ever spend much time looking at National or International News, you may well feel tempted to despond. So much folly and wickedness; so much violence, with so many innocent victims; so much poverty; so much injustice; so much suffering, so much grief. Behind us, the army of Pharoah. Ahead of us, the sea - let us say, our own inevitable death. But the Lord makes a way through the sea: and that way is Christ. In Christ we have hope. He is our hope – he alone – we have no other. In Christ we have salvation: and also in him light, and life, and truth, and goodness, and freedom, and invincible joy. In him God has truly done a new thing (cf. 2 Cor 5:17; also Is 65:17; Apoc 21:1). The things of old were all types, symbols, fore-shadowings. But Christ is God’s definitive intervention in human history. He crushes all enemies under his feet, and makes a way not just of escape but also of entrance: into heaven; into a share in his own divine and eternal Sonship; into God’s own life, and into God’s Trinitarian love.
I will make a way in the wilderness, sings Isaiah, and rivers in the desert. Wherever Christ reigns, transformation occurs. In place of conflict, enmity, despair he brings reconciliation, peace, justice. Amidst barren waste lands, beautiful Churches spring up; heavenly music emerges from the surrounding noise; wounds in the lives of individuals and in society are healed. And for the nourishment of those who belong to him, there flows a river of grace: especially the grace of the Sacraments. With them also comes the saving doctrine of the Church; her charitable outreach; her sane and wholesome teaching on human life and human death; on human love and human flourishing.
And for all the shameful failures of so many of her representatives, the Catholic Church ever continues to mediate the grace of Christ for the world. Still, today, she does all she can to bring relief to the poor, and consolation to the afflicted. She cares for the sick; rescues and loves abandoned children; promotes marriage and family life; defends the voiceless. In her, and through her, youth are educated and inspired, women are honoured, men are ennobled, good order is established.
Isaiah continues: The wild beasts will honour me. For the Fathers of the Church, these beasts represent the Gentile Nations. Let me suggest also: they could stand for anyone whose lifestyle sets them far from God. We could think, for example, of people brought up in practical atheism; people enslaved by harmful addictions; people corrupted by bad influences and bad ideologies. We could also think of people with low self-esteem; people who feel they are beyond redemption. Let them all come to Christ! The life-giving waters flowing from his side are for them also.
I give drink to my chosen people … that they might declare my praise.
Those who belong to Christ; those who live according to his law; those who drink from his saving sacraments: what is their supreme grace? what is their final end? Isaiah here tells us. Everything in our lives must point at last towards the endless praise of God; towards overflowing gratitude, and wonder, and joy; towards the giving back of love in return for love. The praise of God is the supremely worth-while activity; the height and goal of all human striving. The praise of God is already heaven on earth, and a share in the life and joy of the Angels.
So among all her many good works, the Catholic Church can never neglect this one. Under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit she raises up monasteries, which somehow summarise what the Church is ultimately for; and what Christ’s work has achieved. The practical utility of a monastery dedicated entirely to God’s praise may be minimal; but its value is beyond price. The monasteries are among the richest treasures of the Church, and her glory. So may they flourish again in our day, even amid the spiritual and moral waste land of today’s secular culture. May their prayer and their witness draw many to drink deeply from the wells of salvation. And let all Christians give unending thanks to Christ, who paid the price for all this on our behalf, at the cost of his bitter passion, and of his saving death.