Because it’s there.

This is the preface from the forthcoming commentary:
The Shape of Isaiah: a Covenant-Literary Analysis

The Highest of the Mountains

“Because it’s there.”

Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end, and so does the Bible. And since the Bible is a collection of books, it is full of beginnings, middles, and endings.

Having been obsessed with the literary structure of the Bible for a while now, it has become apparent to me that the Author of Scripture, God Himself, delights in having bookends. Every tract of history is a scroll attached to two wooden dowels. When a scroll is rolled up, that story is over. In some cases, an entire covenant era has come to an end.

All the host of heaven shall rot away,
and the skies roll up like a scroll.
(Isaiah 34:4)

The Levitical Law, so strange to modern ears, is so focused on sex and death precisely because these are our beginnings and endings—the bookends of every life story—and, as such, they are sacred. But we don’t have much choice in these matters. What we do have a say in is the middles of our stories, and
this explains a feature of biblical literature that is overlooked by modern minds: the point of the story is in the middle.

Every part of the Bible has a symmetrical structure, like a flock of geese flying in formation. Just as the goose in the center leads the flock, so also the main point (or “thesis”) of every biblical passage, its literary pivot, is in the middle.

So, if you want to understand the Bible, you need to get a solid grip on Genesis and Revelation. But if you want to understand the message of the Bible, you need to find the turning point at its center. As it happens, that point is not only a mountain, but indeed the highest of the mountains.

At one point, I believed that Revelation was the toughest book of the Bible. After coming to grips with it through James B. Jordan’s brilliant exegesis, I figured it was time to get a better grip on Genesis. What I discovered was that Revelation is obvious in ways that Genesis is not.

Revelation uses Old Testament “meme warfare” to lay bare the motives of human hearts. In contrast, Genesis simply describes the actions of God, men, and women, and most often leaves us to wonder about their motives. In that sense, it is a more difficult book.

In Revelation, Jesus judges between good and evil based on the testimony of two witnesses, the Law and the Prophets; but in Genesis, the reader is called to do it, based upon what little information God has previously revealed. This should be no surprise, since it is precisely what Adam was called to do—to discern the heart of God and the intent of the serpent based upon what God had, very obliquely, just said and done.

This is also why Jesus said, “Moses said… but I say…” (Matthew 5:21, 27, 31, 33, 38, 43). He was not contradicting Moses’ words but completing them by turning up the heat.

Whereas the old “childhood” era of Law focused on deeds, the new era of the Spirit focuses on thoughts. Men would still be examined by their deeds, but were now called to maturity, examining their own hearts and nipping sins in the bud before they could grow to fill God’s garden with thorns.

This contrast is apparent in the difference between the first Pentecost (the giving of the Law of Moses at Mount Sinai) and the last (the sending of the Spirit by Christ in heaven). About three thousand died at Mount Sinai and about three thousand believed and were saved when Peter preached in Jerusalem. Here is an important set of bookends, two scroll-dowels that help us to discern the shift from “external” to “internal” law, from the Law of Moses to the indwelling law of the Spirit.

But at the center of this history is the destruction of Israel under the curses of the Law, and its restoration in order to keep the promises to Abraham and David. So it seems to me that the actual pivot point is the Book of Isaiah.

Its central location in the biblical canon is the most obvious reason for this conclusion. But there are other factors that set this book apart.

Firstly, it is here that the laconic God of Moses finally seems to open up and share His heart. And once He starts talking, He doesn’t want to stop. However, the reason for this shift wasn’t a change in God’s attitude but in Man’s level of access.

While He spoke to the people in riddles and signs, the Lord spoke plainly with Moses, speaking with Him as one speaks to a friend (Exodus 33:11).

Jesus told His disciples that they would now be treated by Him as friends rather than as mere servants (John 15:15).

In the Bible, “friend” carries the connotation of a confidant, especially in regard to plans and strategy. That is why God considered Abraham to be a friend. It is also what was meant by Herod and Pilate becoming friends after the arrest of Jesus (Luke 23:12). This does not mean that they were now buddies. Rather, it meant they would be in on each other’s plans.

The point here is that the Book of Isaiah calls the common people to draw near to God in their hearts in a new way. The text invites them to approach beyond the outer court of sacrifice and praise into the Lord’s inner court as His wise men—His advisors—for good or ill. Just as Abraham, Moses, and David reached this level of access after many trials of faith, so the men of Israel were now summoned as elders into the war room of their God.

The Lord said, “Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do…?” (Genesis 18:17)

The walls were lined with weapons, and God Himself was dressed for battle (Isaiah 59:14-20). But unlike the threats delivered to Hezekiah (Isaiah 37:14), the Book of Isaiah was not merely a scroll spread out upon the king’s “round table.” The Lord of Armies had covered an enormous four-horned workbench, carved over centuries from Abrahamic oak, with a living, breathing, map of the nations. Illuminated by the seven lights of the Spirit (Daniel 5:5; Revelation 1:12-13), it revealed to all Israel what He was about to do, and why.

As the scope of His intentions sank in, and they looked at Him in terror, the determination in His voice softened to a fatherly tone, and, (did they just catch a glimpse of a tear in the divine eye?) He asked His audience to critique His plan.

And now, O inhabitants of Jerusalem
and men of Judah,
judge between me and my vineyard.
What more was there to do for my vineyard,
that I have not done in it?
When I looked for it to yield grapes,
why did it yield wild grapes?
(Isaiah 5:3-4)

As He did with Moses for the Tabernacle, David for the Temple, and John for the New Jerusalem, the Spirit led them through the blueprint in heaven before the cloud led them through the battle on earth.

Secondly, Isaiah is set apart from the surrounding biblical landscape by its sheer arduousness. As a unique invitation into the mind of God, no other book in Scripture digs to such depths or reaches to such heights.

Although the prophets served as legal witnesses against Israel and the nations, this text is not the spiritless dissertation of a pedantic lawyer. Yahweh takes the reader’s hand and lifts him up into His chariot of fire.

The problem for readers—and even scholars—is that our literary lungs cannot cope with the extremes of the abyss and the stars, let alone the speed and agility with which the prophet rushes to and fro like a mighty wind across the earth in between. He mystifies us like Moses, outruns us like Elijah. And even when he speaks plainly and slows to a plod, his dogged perseverance seems beyond human endurance.

Ever since I read it as a new Christian, in my eyes the Book of Isaiah has always been the Mount Everest of Scripture. And after tackling Genesis and Revelation, this book has proven to be more difficult than both combined. Its meaning and motive are clear, but its sublime nature renders it obscure in a unique way—it is light from a mountain hidden in the clouds.

He made darkness his covering,
his canopy around him,
thick clouds dark with water.
Out of the brightness before him
hailstones and coals of fire
broke through his clouds.
(Psalm 18:11-12)

This might explain why even my chosen mentors, brilliant interpreters who have made it their mission to conquer the Bible’s hardest parts, have passed over it in reconnaissance trips but never scaled its perilous slopes step by step.

With the tools gained from these men, and over a decade of practice on the lower slopes, I figured it was time make the ultimate “there-and-back-again” journey.

The tools worked, and the internal logic of the book has, I believe, been laid bare, along with the meaning of its oddities and arrangement; but I can say that the prophet gave me a run for my money in ways that no other Bible book has.

The only way to work out its arrangement accurately was to “parse” the structure of every stanza. I learned this the hard way. By the time I got to the end of the book, I realized that my work on some of the earlier sections was a little sloppy. For instance, some passages that I had diagrammed as sevenfold were actually tenfold. Some areas of the mountain have required two or three passes to map precisely, but in every case the method has been utterly vindicated.

Initially, I was not going to include the word-for-word parsed stanzas in the commentary. That sort of analysis takes things to a whole other level of ingenious subtlety, and commenting on the deliberate placement of every word or phrase is tedious for most readers.

However, I eventually decided that “showing my workings” would not only bolster my case for the “beginnings and endings” as I have diagrammed them here, but also aid the reader in discerning the rhythm of the text.

Every line has a beginning, a middle, and an ending. Reading the text in this way reveals its living “pulse.” Every stanza breathes in and breathes out, forming and filling to bless, or destroying and emptying to curse. The Word never returns void.

So, while each passage is explained, only certain “choice” stanzas will get the same treatment. That leaves the reader to not only enjoy the actual text with the “music” of its original word order intact, but also to use the tools provided and demonstrated here, practicing the method on small segments during their own expedition up and down the mountain.

Like each passage, each stanza was composed according to a standard biblical literary grid, so pondering how the author has done this each time is a work of meditation akin to turning a cut diamond and watching its facets catch the light.

While the commentary is not something the reader can rush through, the treatment of each portion is only a few pages long. This makes it easy to tackle one portion a day and meditate upon it. The analysis then becomes a unique sort of devotional—a devotional that is higher, deeper, and broader than any you’ve read before.

One reason for choosing the Book of Isaiah (which has been a killer of a trek!) is that so much of this wonderful book is ignored, abused, or misunderstood. As a young friend commented, “I’m reading it, but I’m not understanding it.”

This work is not a replacement for the many excellent commentaries that are part of our Christian heritage. Instead, it is designed to be a guide and a companion, a map and an instructor that will teach you skills that will help you greatly in your reading and study of all Scripture.

This journey will change you. It will give you the lungs you need for the heights and depths, the to-and-fros and there-and-back-agains of the entire Bible. And the wind in your lungs will be the Spirit of God as He breathes and inspires.

Since the composition of every book, passage, and stanza of Scripture is governed by the same literary “algorithm,” becoming proficient in its use will make you omnipresent in the Bible—everywhere at once, without moving.

The other reason for analyzing this Everest of a prophecy is “Because it’s there,” but perhaps not in the way you might think. Stacy Bare, a returned veteran, writes:

During a speaking tour of the United States, after a failed attempt to climb Mount Everest, George Mallory was famously asked why he was attempting to scale the world’s highest peak. His reply, or a paraphrase of it, because we don’t know if he actually said these words, has been repeated by adventurers of all stripes justifying their objective:

“Because it’s there.”

We drop it in an offhand manner, but we rarely understand the true context of his remark. People didn’t understand when he first spoke it, nor have they in the millions of times it’s been repeated since.

It sounds so glib and care free, almost condescending in its response to the journalist who asked the question. Mallory was part of the elite and perhaps if he had to explain beyond three words why he wanted to go, the journalist wouldn’t understand anyway. He’d never entered into the realm of profound spiritualism that Mallory had, nor would he understand the work ethic or suffering required.

But the journalist should have understood the critically important context of Mallory’s history: He was a British veteran, fresh from the horrors of World War I. Mallory had gone to war and come home to find his old life gone, many of his old friends dead or transformed by the trauma of the war. Before the war, he knew exactly where he fit in society, but now, everything had changed and he seemed to have no place at all. And like so many who survived this great, horrible war, like so many who have survived wars, he went in search of direction and meaning.

I think Mallory went to climb Mount Everest because it was there when so much else in his life no longer was. The mountain provided a focus. It gave him reason to live when, following the unspeakable experience of the trenches, there may not have been anything else to live for. Why not climb?¹Stacy Bare, “What Everest Climber Really Meant by ‘Because It’s There,’” Adventure Journal, March 28, 2017.

The Book of Isaiah was there for Judah and Israel before the exile, but it was ignored, abused, and misunderstood.

When they returned from Babylon, humbled, wiser, and grateful to be alive, Isaiah was still there, immovable as a mountain, wilier than ever in its mists and tempests, and even more formidable in its shining vindication.

In contrast to their idolatrous fathers, the remnant saw the world as God sees it—with enlightenment from the brilliant peak of God’s mountain instead of the dim glow from a witch in a ditch.

By God’s providence, in the middle of His Word, revealing its direction and meaning, this book also remains for us, steadfast and forever. Whatever tribulations history brings, whatever the world, the flesh, and the devil steal from us, we brace ourselves and climb Isaiah “because it’s there.”

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