Sing, Barren Woman

A woman sits alone in a tent that is far too big for her. There are no children's voices, no toys in the corner. And someone comes to the doorway and says: start singing. You are going to need more room.

These words come from the book of Isaiah, spoken to God's people in a dark time. Jerusalem has fallen. The temple is in ruins. Many of the people have been taken into exile far away in Babylon. They feel like their story is over, as though God has walked away from them for good. In the ancient world, a woman who could not have children often felt ashamed and empty, and a wife sent away by her husband felt rejected and alone. Those are the pictures God uses for his people now. Barren. Desolate. Forsaken. And then he speaks.

“Sing, O barren, you who did not bear. Break out into singing, and cry aloud, you who did not travail with child. For more are the children of the desolate than the children of the married wife, says the Lord.” Sing? Before anything has changed? Yes. Then God gives instructions, like someone preparing for a family that is about to grow. “Enlarge the place of your tent. Let them stretch out the curtains of your dwellings. Don't spare. Lengthen your cords and strengthen your stakes.” Your family will spread out to the right and to the left. Desolate cities will be full of people again.

“Fear not,” God says, “for you will not be ashamed.” You will forget the shame of your youth and the sorrow of being alone. Why? “For your Maker is your husband. The Lord of hosts is his name. And the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer. The God of the whole earth he shall be called.” Then God speaks honestly about what has happened. For a small moment I have forsaken you, he says. In a flash of anger I hid my face from you for a moment. The exile was real, and it was a consequence. But listen to what comes next. “With great mercies I will gather you. With everlasting kindness I will have mercy on you, says the Lord your Redeemer.”

Then God reminds them of Noah. After the flood, he promised that the waters would never again cover the earth. That promise has held. So now he makes another. “I have sworn that I would not be angry with you, nor rebuke you. For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed, but my kindness shall not depart from you, neither shall my covenant of peace be removed, says the Lord who has mercy on you.” Think of the biggest, most solid thing you know. A mountain. God says: even if that moves, my love for you will not.

We have very old evidence of these words. In nineteen forty-seven, in a cave near Qumran by the Dead Sea, shepherds found clay jars holding ancient scrolls. One of them, now called the Great Isaiah Scroll, contains the whole book of Isaiah, all sixty-six chapters, and was copied around the second century before Christ. It is over a thousand years older than the Hebrew manuscripts scholars had before. And these promises of chapter fifty-four are there.

Sing, barren woman. You can read it in Isaiah chapter fifty-four, verses one to ten. God told people who felt finished to sing, and to make room for a bigger family. Christians remember these words at Christmas, when God's love came close, and a family wide enough for every nation began to grow. So here is a question to carry with you. God said his kindness would not depart even if the mountains did. What makes you feel forgotten, and how does this promise speak to it?