A friend of mine who is teaching Hebrew Bible this semester commented that Isaiah 9–11 is one of the most difficult passages in the Hebrew Bible to teach because, for Christians, it is impossible to read without immediately resorting to the theological interpretation rather than the historical.

These texts speak so eloquently of the coming Messiah that their already completed fulfillment—with the birth of Christ—makes attending to the content of what is promised merely a matter of translating "child" (9:6) as "Jesus," "remnant" (10:20) as "us," and "spirit of the Lord" (11:2) as "Spirit of the Lord." We skip over the threats against Israel except to the extent that we find contemporary political applications for the warnings in 10:1–2 against those who are unjust to the powerless.

The fulfillment of prophecy is not, of course, an unimportant matter. Nor would I ever suggest that it is other than essential for Christians to fight injustice. But precisely because the interpretations of these texts seem to be so wholly given in the Christian tradition, it is worth pausing to consider two moments in the text that are often given short shrift. These moments are intertwined throughout these three chapters: the content of the promise of peace and the reality of the wrath of God.

It is tempting to read these moments sequentially. First, Israel goes astray. Here, the application tends to be both historical and contemporary. Israel historically went astray, bringing down the wrath of God and the fall of the Northern Kingdom. And the contemporary church has gone astray, leading to the calling of a remnant out of Israel. Next, the kingdom of God is established. The yoke of sin is shattered (9:4) and peace reigns across the holy mountain of God (11:9). This kingdom becomes a reality with the coming of Jesus—a fulfillment that shifts the focus away from the historical Israel to the Second Coming of Jesus.

The Second Coming rather than the first? Yes, because the incontrovertible fact remains: peace does not reign on the holy mountain of God—neither on the literal mountain in Israel, nor on the metaphorical mountain in heaven, nor anywhere else in the world that we inhabit. And so the theological question—one I don’t know the answer to—of the place of God’s wrath returns. The context that we inhabit is one where "the people have not returned to him who struck them, nor have they sought the Lord Almighty" (9:13). It is perhaps unavoidable that any reader of such a text finds the wrath of God directed elsewhere than at herself. But that would be a mistake. It is precisely those who most identify themselves with God’s cause—"the elders and prominent men" (9:15)—who are threatened by God’s anger.

One way to take this text seriously is to recognize that we live in the time of the Lord’s anger. Here, again, the temptation must be avoided to read the anger of God in the context of specific historical or contemporary events, thus taking on the role of judge rather than judged. (The description of judgment in 11:3 makes it clear that the promised judge will not operate according to the ordinary human criteria available to the reader: "He will not judge by what he sees with his eyes, or decide by what he hears with his ears.") Although it is easy enough to recognize the injustice that others perpetrate, the injustice that I practice is much less clear to me. The reader is encouraged to recognize that her situation is one in which the anger of the Lord is directed against her as well as against her oppressors.

These three chapters present the complexity of the human situation in vivid imagery that has offered generations of readers a picture of the world we hope for but do not yet inhabit. It includes these promises: "The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together, and a little child will lead them" (11:6). These most implausible images speak to the universal human longing for a different world.

But even here the vision of peace is not untainted. Although "Ephraim’s jealousy will vanish" (11:13), the result is that Judah and Ephraim will band together to "plunder the people to the east. They will lay hands on Edom and Moab, and the Ammonites will be subject to them" (11:14). The prophet’s imagination does not here stretch beyond the uniting of Israel against her enemies—despite the hopeful vision of the nations gathering behind the Root of Jesse (11:10).

Although nothing can really subvert the beauty of the imagery of Prince of Peace whose government will be one of justice and righteousness forever (9:6–7), that hope is not the only message these three chapters have to offer. We are reminded that the appeal the prophet’s visions have for us is in part a factor of how distant we are from living in such a kingdom now. The distance is not so much a matter of time as it is one of the thorough brokenness of the world. "Those who guide the people mislead them, and those who are guided are led astray" (9:16). In this day, those who make unjust laws prosper and "everyone is ungodly" (9:17).

The complex situation we find ourselves in is one where we both find ourselves the targets of divine judgment and recognize the universal validity of that judgment. This judgment makes the promise even more appealing. "For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace" (9:6). "With righteousness he will judge the needy, with justice he will give decisions for the poor of the earth" (11:4)—quite literally!

This, what theologians have called the "preferential option for the poor," gives us an idea of what we can do to bring this distant kingdom a little closer (while reminding us that the coming of the kingdom ultimately rests in God’s hands rather than in ours—9:7). It is not our task to slay the wicked nor can we make it safe for a child to play with snakes. Indeed, the thorough sinfulness of the world today should make us relieved that we are not responsible for bringing the kingdom.

But we believe that the promised child already has been born and that the Spirit of the Lord descended on him like a dove from heaven (Matt. 3:16) and rested on him. Although the fulfillment of the promise of peace is still a distant dream (the "in that day" language of the prophet), and the prophet has trouble envisioning that the promise of peace could really hold for all nations, the vision of a world without injustice requires that we try to discern what we can do, no matter how little, to bring that world about. And the fact that the child has been born—not just symbolically, but quite literally—means that we are assured of the eventual fulfillment of the rest of the promise.

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