Rend The Heavens (Isaiah 63:7-64:12)
God has revealed his plans to restore Israel after their destruction. He has made it clear that he will bring in his servant to save those who are in need and provide them with immeasurable prosperity, joy, and peace. He will come and save his people.
Isaiah 62:1–2 (ESV) — 1 For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not be quiet, until her righteousness goes forth as brightness, and her salvation as a burning torch. 2 The nations shall see your righteousness, and all the kings your glory, and you shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the Lord will give.
These promises will not be fulfilled for over 700 years. During that time, God’s people will go through ups and downs. What we read in the final chapters is supposed to give them encouragement and help them endure until the promises find fulfillment.
“Remember God’s Faithfulness” (Isaiah 63:7–14)
Isaiah 63:7–14 (ESV) — 7 I will recount the steadfast love of the Lord, the praises of the Lord, according to all that the Lord has granted us, and the great goodness to the house of Israel that he has granted them according to his compassion, according to the abundance of his steadfast love. 8 For he said, “Surely they are my people, children who will not deal falsely.” And he became their Savior. 9 In all their affliction he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them; in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old. 10 But they rebelled and grieved his Holy Spirit; therefore he turned to be their enemy, and himself fought against them. 11 Then he remembered the days of old, of Moses and his people. Where is he who brought them up out of the sea with the shepherds of his flock? Where is he who put in the midst of them his Holy Spirit, 12 who caused his glorious arm to go at the right hand of Moses, who divided the waters before them to make for himself an everlasting name, 13 who led them through the depths? Like a horse in the desert, they did not stumble. 14 Like livestock that go down into the valley, the Spirit of the Lord gave them rest. So you led your people, to make for yourself a glorious name.
Have you ever looked at your life and thought, This isn’t how it was supposed to be? You held onto a promise, a dream, or even a word from God, and yet now, nothing seems to match what you expected. That’s exactly where Isaiah’s audience found themselves. These words were meant for a people who would face exile—displaced from their homeland, their temple destroyed, their identity as God’s chosen people in question. Some may have returned to the land, but the glory they had hoped for still felt far away. It’s in this context of disillusionment and despair that Isaiah speaks.
What does he say? He doesn’t start by analyzing the problem or offering a quick fix. Instead, Isaiah begins by looking back. “I will recount the steadfast love of the LORD, the praises of the LORD, according to all that the LORD has granted us” (63:7). He calls them to remember. Not the pain of exile, not the ruins of Jerusalem, but the steadfast love—hesed—of God. This isn’t nostalgia; it’s grounding. It’s a deliberate act of focusing on who God is and what He has done.
Isaiah takes them back to their story, to the Exodus, when God rescued His people from slavery in Egypt. He says, “In all their affliction he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them” (63:9). God didn’t just send help from a distance; He entered into their suffering. He felt their pain and walked with them. The angel of His presence—God Himself—was with them every step of the way, guiding them through the wilderness and into freedom.
Why does Isaiah bring this up now? Because the God who delivered them then is the same God who is with them now. Isaiah is reminding them—and us—that God’s faithfulness is unchanging. Even when the circumstances look bleak, His love and compassion remain steadfast.
But here’s the twist: Isaiah doesn’t ignore their failures. Verse 10 acknowledges, “They rebelled and grieved his Holy Spirit.” The same people God saved turned their backs on Him. Yet what did God do? He disciplined them, yes, but He didn’t abandon them. He continued to lead them “like a horse in the desert, they did not stumble” (63:13). God’s faithfulness wasn’t dependent on their faithfulness. He remained their Shepherd, guiding them for His name’s sake.
Now let’s bring this home. Imagine hearing these words as someone living in exile or someone who’s returned to a broken Jerusalem. Your temple is gone, your land is scarred, and your soul is weary. Isaiah isn’t giving empty platitudes; he’s calling you to remember the God who has been faithful through every trial, even when the people didn’t deserve it.
And what about us? Will we focus on what’s broken, or will we remember the One who holds everything together? Before we ask God to act, we must first remind ourselves of who He is and what He has already done. This is where hope begins.
Church, don’t let your current struggles make you forget God’s past faithfulness. Isaiah knew that before his people could cry out for restoration, they had to recount God’s steadfast love. And so do we.
“Confess Our Helplessness” (Isaiah 63:15–64:7)
Isaiah 63:15–19 (ESV) — 15 Look down from heaven and see, from your holy and beautiful habitation. Where are your zeal and your might? The stirring of your inner parts and your compassion are held back from me. 16 For you are our Father, though Abraham does not know us, and Israel does not acknowledge us; you, O Lord, are our Father, our Redeemer from of old is your name. 17 O Lord, why do you make us wander from your ways and harden our heart, so that we fear you not? Return for the sake of your servants, the tribes of your heritage. 18 Your holy people held possession for a little while; our adversaries have trampled down your sanctuary. 19 We have become like those over whom you have never ruled, like those who are not called by your name.
Have you ever been so overwhelmed by your own failures that you didn’t even know what to say to God? It’s a humbling place to be, isn’t it? To realize that the mess you’re in isn’t just because of the world around you—it’s because of the choices you’ve made, the paths you’ve taken. That’s where Isaiah takes his audience next.
After recounting God’s faithfulness in the past, Isaiah shifts to a raw and honest confession of the people’s helplessness. He begins in Isaiah 63:15 with a desperate cry: “Look down from heaven and see, from your holy and beautiful habitation.” Do you feel the weight of those words? Isaiah isn’t just asking God to glance their way; he’s pleading for God to notice, to act, to bridge the distance that feels unbearable.
He says, “Where are your zeal and your might? The stirring of your inner parts and your compassion are held back from me.” These aren’t accusations; they’re the words of a people who feel abandoned, who can’t reconcile their current suffering with the promises of God’s covenant. And yet, Isaiah immediately grounds this cry in their relationship with God: “You are our Father, though Abraham does not know us, and Israel does not acknowledge us; you, O LORD, are our Father, our Redeemer from of old is your name” (63:16).
Do you see what Isaiah is doing here? He’s not appealing to their worthiness. He’s appealing to God’s character. Even when it feels like God is distant, Isaiah reminds the people that God is still their Father, still their Redeemer.
But then comes the confession, and it’s not pretty. “Why, O LORD, do you make us wander from your ways and harden our heart, so that we fear you not?” (63:17). This is a tough verse. It sounds almost like Isaiah is blaming God for their sin. But that’s not the case. Isaiah is acknowledging the cycle of sin and judgment that has plagued Israel for generations. God’s judgment often took the form of letting His people experience the consequences of their rebellion, allowing their hearts to grow cold as they turned away from Him. He effectively gives them over to sin (Romans 1)
Isaiah 64:5b-7 (ESV) — 5b Behold, you were angry, and we sinned; in our sins we have been a long time, and shall we be saved? 6 We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a polluted garment. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away. 7 There is no one who calls upon your name, who rouses himself to take hold of you; for you have hidden your face from us, and have made us melt in the hand of our iniquities.
The confession continues in chapter 64. “We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a polluted garment” (64:6). Think about what Isaiah is saying here. Even their best efforts to do good are tainted by sin. The phrase “polluted garment” literally refers to something ritually unclean, like a soiled cloth. It’s not just about outward behavior—it’s about the state of their hearts.
And yet, the most striking part of this passage isn’t their sin. It’s their helplessness. Look at verse 7: “There is no one who calls upon your name, who rouses himself to take hold of you; for you have hidden your face from us, and have made us melt in the hand of our iniquities.” Isaiah is painting a picture of complete and total dependence on God. They are powerless to fix their situation.
Now, let’s pause for a moment. How often do we find ourselves here? We live in a culture that prides itself on self-reliance. When things fall apart, the first question we ask is, “How can I fix this?” But Isaiah is teaching us something different. He’s showing us that true change begins when we stop trying to fix ourselves and start acknowledging our helplessness before God.
Here’s the hard truth: We can’t save ourselves. No amount of effort, no list of good deeds, no personal improvement plan can fix the problem of sin in our lives. Like Israel, our righteous deeds are like filthy rags before a holy God. That’s not to shame us; it’s to remind us of our need.
But here’s the good news: God doesn’t leave us in our helplessness. Isaiah’s confession isn’t a cry of despair; it’s a cry for mercy. By admitting their need, they’re opening the door for God’s intervention.
Think about it this way: Imagine you’re in a sinking boat. You can keep bailing water out with a bucket, but at some point, you have to admit that you’re going to drown if someone doesn’t rescue you. That’s what Isaiah is doing here. He’s putting down the bucket and calling out to the only One who can save.
Church, there’s freedom in confession. When we admit our helplessness, we’re not admitting defeat—we’re making space for God’s power to work in us. Isaiah shows us that the path to restoration begins with humility, with a recognition that we are utterly dependent on the grace of God.
So let me ask you: What are you holding onto today? Are you still trying to bail water out of a sinking boat, or are you ready to cry out to the One who can calm the storm? Like Israel, we must confess our sin and acknowledge our helplessness. And when we do, we open ourselves to the grace and mercy of a faithful God.
Submit Entirely to His Will (Isaiah 64:5–12)
Isaiah 64:5–12 (ESV) — 1 Oh that you would rend the heavens and come down, that the mountains might quake at your presence— 2 as when fire kindles brushwood and the fire causes water to boil— to make your name known to your adversaries, and that the nations might tremble at your presence! 3 When you did awesome things that we did not look for, you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence. 4 From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him. 5 You meet him who joyfully works righteousness, those who remember you in your ways. Behold, you were angry, and we sinned; in our sins we have been a long time, and shall we be saved? 6 We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a polluted garment. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away. 7 There is no one who calls upon your name, who rouses himself to take hold of you; for you have hidden your face from us, and have made us melt in the hand of our iniquities. 8 But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand. 9 Be not so terribly angry, O Lord, and remember not iniquity forever. Behold, please look, we are all your people. 10 Your holy cities have become a wilderness; Zion has become a wilderness, Jerusalem a desolation. 11 Our holy and beautiful house, where our fathers praised you, has been burned by fire, and all our pleasant places have become ruins. 12 Will you restrain yourself at these things, O Lord? Will you keep silent, and afflict us so terribly?
When all hope feels lost, when you’ve acknowledged the mess you’re in and realized there’s nothing you can do to fix it, what’s left? Isaiah gives us the answer: you plead. You cry out with every fiber of your being for God to come down and intervene. That’s exactly what Isaiah does in chapter 64, beginning with one of the most vivid and desperate cries in all of Scripture: “Oh that you would rend the heavens and come down” (64:1).
Do you feel the weight of those words? This isn’t a polite request. This is the cry of someone who knows that unless God tears through the heavens and steps into their brokenness, there is no hope. Isaiah is asking for nothing less than a divine rescue—a dramatic, unmistakable intervention from God Himself.
Isaiah continues, “that the mountains might quake at your presence, as when fire kindles brushwood and the fire causes water to boil” (64:1-2). He’s reaching for images of God’s power that shake the earth. Why? Because the people need to be reminded of who God is. They need to know that the God they are crying out to is not weak, distant, or indifferent. He is the God who made Mount Sinai tremble, the God whose voice splits the cedars and whose presence consumes like fire.
But notice something crucial: Isaiah doesn’t stop at asking for power. In verse 3, he recalls how God acted in ways that were unexpected: “When you did awesome things that we did not look for, you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence.” Isaiah is pointing to God’s history of surprising His people, intervening in ways they never anticipated.
And here’s the heart of it: verse 4 says, “From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him.” This isn’t just about God’s power; it’s about His character. God acts on behalf of those who trust Him. He doesn’t abandon those who wait on Him in faith.
But Isaiah doesn’t sugarcoat the situation. He acknowledges the gap between God’s holiness and Israel’s sin. In verses 5-7, he confesses again that the people are unclean, their hearts hardened, their righteousness like filthy rags. He paints a picture of desolation: no one is calling on God; the land is in ruins; and God’s face seems hidden. It’s a raw, honest picture of a people who know they are undeserving of God’s intervention.
So why does Isaiah keep pleading? Because he knows something about God’s nature. Look at verse 8: “But now, O LORD, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.” Do you see the shift? Isaiah moves from lament to surrender. He acknowledges God’s sovereignty—the Potter has every right to shape the clay as He pleases. But he also appeals to God’s care. The Potter doesn’t discard the clay; He shapes it into something beautiful.
This is where the plea for intervention becomes deeply personal. Isaiah isn’t just asking for a show of power; he’s asking for restoration. He’s asking God to take what’s broken and reshape it. And his appeal is grounded not in Israel’s worthiness but in God’s identity.
Finally, Isaiah closes with a bold cry for mercy: “Will you restrain yourself at these things, O LORD? Will you keep silent and afflict us so terribly?” (64:12). It’s not a demand; it’s the plea of a child who knows they’ve disobeyed but trusts their Father’s love.
Now, let’s pause and bring this home. Have you ever been in a place where all you could do was plead with God? Maybe it was in the middle of a crisis—when the diagnosis came, when the relationship fell apart, or when the weight of your sin finally hit you. Pleading isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s an act of faith. It’s saying, “God, I can’t fix this, but I trust that You can.”
Isaiah’s cry for God to “rend the heavens” finds its ultimate answer in the gospel. Think about this: at the baptism of Jesus, what happens? Mark 1:10 says the heavens were “torn open,” and the Spirit descended like a dove. God tore through the barrier and came down in the person of His Son. And on the cross, when Jesus died, the veil in the temple—another barrier between God and humanity—was torn from top to bottom.
Church, the intervention Isaiah pleaded for has already come. God has come down. He came in the person of Jesus to save us, not just from the ruins of a city but from the ruin of sin and death. And through His Holy Spirit, He continues to intervene in our lives, reshaping us into something beautiful, just like the Potter with His clay.
So here’s the question: Are you willing to plead with God? Are you ready to cry out, not just for help, but for Him to come down and transform your heart, your life, your circumstances? Isaiah teaches us that our God is not distant. He’s not indifferent. He’s the God who hears the cries of His people and acts for those who wait for Him.
The same God who tore the heavens and came down for Israel is the God who came down for you in Jesus. And when we plead with Him, we’re not trying to convince Him to care—He’s already proven that He does. Our plea is simply an act of surrender, trusting that the Potter knows what He’s doing, even when we don’t.
“Recognize the Answer in Christ”
So, where does this leave us? We’ve followed Isaiah’s journey—remembering God’s faithfulness, confessing our helplessness, and pleading for His intervention. But the beauty of this passage is that it doesn’t leave us in longing. Isaiah’s cry for God to “rend the heavens” has already been answered in Jesus Christ.
Let’s pause and consider the magnitude of what Isaiah longed for. In 64:1, he begged for God to tear open the heavens and come down in power. This wasn’t just about seeing miracles—it was about seeing the presence of God enter the brokenness of the world in a tangible way. And that’s exactly what happened when Jesus stepped into history.
In Mark 1:10, as Jesus was baptized, the heavens were torn open, and the Spirit of God descended on Him like a dove. It was the moment when God declared, “This is my beloved Son.” Think about what that means in light of Isaiah’s plea. God didn’t just come down in fire or earthquake; He came down in flesh, walking among us, fully experiencing our affliction. Jesus became the ultimate fulfillment of Isaiah’s longing.
But it doesn’t stop there. Isaiah confessed that even Israel’s righteous deeds were like filthy rags. Isn’t that where all of us find ourselves? No matter how hard we try, we can’t clean ourselves up enough to stand before a holy God. The polluted garments Isaiah spoke of have been exchanged for robes of righteousness, bought with the blood of Christ.
And then there’s the Potter and the clay. Isaiah acknowledged that God is the one who shapes His people, that we are the work of His hands. But what does the New Testament teach us about this? In Colossians 2:11-12, Paul writes that in baptism, we are spiritually circumcised—not by human hands, but by God’s powerful working. This is where transformation happens. The Potter takes what is broken and marred by sin and reshapes it into something beautiful.
The connection to Acts 2 is also unmistakable. On the day of Pentecost, Peter’s sermon cut his audience to the heart, and they cried out, “What shall we do?” Do you hear the echo of Isaiah’s plea? “Will you keep silent, O Lord? Will you restrain yourself?” And what was Peter’s answer? “Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.”
This is where the application becomes real for us. Isaiah’s cry for God to come down, to save, and to restore is answered when we respond to the gospel. When we confess our helplessness, repent of our sins, and submit to God in baptism, we are united with Christ. The Spirit of God—the very presence Isaiah longed for—dwells in us, reshaping and renewing us day by day.
But here’s the challenge: Are we willing to respond? Isaiah’s audience faced the temptation to focus on the ruins around them instead of the God who could restore them. We face the same temptation. Maybe you’re overwhelmed by the brokenness in your life, your family, or even the world. Maybe you feel like you’re too far gone, like your sin is too great. But Isaiah reminds us that the God who tore the heavens to come down is the same God who enters into our brokenness today.
The lesson for us is clear: We must see our situation for what it is—broken, marred by sin, and helpless without God. We must confess that we can’t fix it on our own. And we must plead with God to come down and transform us. The good news is that He already has. Jesus is the answer to Isaiah’s plea, and His Spirit is the answer to ours.
So what will you do? Will you hold onto the ruins, or will you surrender to the Potter? Will you keep trying to fix yourself, or will you trust the One who has already torn the heavens to save you?
The invitation is clear. Turn to Christ. Repent, be baptized, and let the Spirit of God do what only He can do—make all things new. Isaiah’s longing is our reality in Christ. Now it’s up to us to respond.
Conclusion
We began today with the image of Isaiah’s people—exiled, broken, and longing for God to act. They had seen destruction and experienced the consequences of their sin. And yet, Isaiah taught them to pray, not as people without hope but as people who could remember a God who had never abandoned them.
He called them to recount God’s faithfulness, even when it felt like a distant memory. He urged them to confess their helplessness, recognizing that no amount of effort or striving could fix what was broken. And he led them to plead for God’s intervention, not because they deserved it but because God is a Father who hears the cries of His children.
What Isaiah’s audience only longed for, we now know: God has come down. In Jesus, He tore open the heavens, entered into our affliction, and made a way for us to be restored. Through His Spirit, He continues to shape us like a Potter with His clay, molding us into something new.
So, where does this leave us? It leaves us with a choice. Will we hold onto our ruins, or will we turn to the God who restores? Will we try to fix things on our own, or will we surrender and plead for His intervention?
Church, the cry of Isaiah is the cry of every heart that longs for redemption. And the answer has already come. Jesus is the fulfillment of this prayer, and He stands ready to meet us in our brokenness, to restore what sin has marred, and to give us hope that endures.
Let this be our prayer today: “Come down, Lord. Shape us. Restore us. We are Yours.” And as we leave this place, let that prayer guide not just our words, but our lives. Let’s pray.