Brothers,
“Maintain justice
and do what is right.”
Isaiah opens not with comfort, but with a command. Justice is often spoken of as something God delivers — justice against evildoers or justice on behalf of the faithful. But Isaiah is speaking first of how we are to live.
Justice is a virtue: the firm and constant will to render to God and neighbor what is due. Said another way, it is simply this — love God, and love your neighbor as yourself. Isaiah begins where Christ will later begin, because truth does not change.
And then Isaiah does something astonishing. He opens the promise.
Foreigners. Eunuchs.
In Isaiah’s time, foreigners were not people of the promise. They might be allies or enemies, but they were not heirs. God had a chosen people, marked by bloodline and covenant. So when Isaiah declares that foreigners may now become sons of God, he is not offering sentiment — he is overturning assumptions that had stood for centuries.
Eunuchs even more so. A eunuch belonged entirely to an earthly master. His allegiance was exclusive and permanent. He would leave no heirs, no inheritance, no name behind him. His life was signed away in service to one lord. And yet God says: you may come and serve Me. Your former allegiance does not disqualify you. You may now worship the Eternal.
This is radical — especially because eunuchs were excluded from the Temple. Isaiah is already loosening the bond between God’s presence and physical status. He is teaching that holiness is not inherited, not biological, not institutional — it is covenantal. It is fidelity of heart.
The Jews were known as the circumcised people. Circumcision marked belonging. When the news reported that ICE was targetting peopel with gang tattoos, some people responded by saying that some people got those tattoos and didnt really belong to a gang. That is nonsense. If an actual gang member saw you with the tattoo they would demand to know how you earned it and would kill you if you had simply put one on. Circumcision is no different. Once circumcised you can not undo the act. It marked you for your life. It made you identifiable to enemies.
They were also known as Sabbath-keepers — not as we understand it today, but biblically. Sabbath observance required sacrifices to be done at the Temple. Sacrifice required priests. Priests required a Temple. When the Temple was destroyed, full obedience became impossible. The second part of Sabbath was rituals the peopel did at home, including refraining from work that was income driven.
Rabbinic Judaism responded honestly to teh loss of the Temple. A new interpretation emerged: do what you can. Thirty-nine categories of work were forbidden. Torah study was elevated in place of sacrifice. The rabbis themselves admit this is incomplete — but it is the best that can be done without a Temple. And interstingly, at the same time they proscribed a prayer, Birkat ha-Minim, which cursed those who believed in Jesus. Christians who had used synagogues to meet and pray, after 85 AD were thrown out. Christainity was now no longer confused with Judaism. Todays Jews cannot follow the Torah laws, so they lean on a super strict legalistic way of honoring the Sabbath. If God were really blessing those observances wouldn’t He have restored the Temple? Doesn’t the spread of the Christian religion and the blessing therein not demonstrate the will of God? They think not.
Isaiah already saw that this would not be the final word.
So what does this mean for us, brothers — for Christians?
It means the world must recognize us by how we live. Faith cannot remain hidden in theory. People know who we are when they see our lives centered on Christ — when they hear us speak of the Church, when they see us serve, when our charity is offered in His name, when we place others before ourselves because He commanded it. When people encounter Christians shaped by the Beatitudes, they know who we belong to — and so do we.
In chapter 57, Isaiah turns from command to promise. God speaks:
“I live in a high and holy place,
but also with the one who is contrite and lowly in spirit,
to revive the spirit of the lowly
and to revive the heart of the contrite.
I will not accuse forever,
nor will I always be angry,
for they would faint away because of me —
the very people I have created.”
Christians often say that Jesus conquered death. But we rarely grasp what that truly means.
In Isaiah’s time, you died. There was no revealed, secured promise of Heaven. Other religions speculated about glorious realms, but none could prove them. Jewish Scripture speaks sparingly about the afterlife because Judaism places its emphasis on faithfulness in this life — olam ha-ze — rather than speculation about what comes after death.
There were beliefs about olam ha-ba, the world to come, but no single authoritative doctrine. What mattered was obedience here and now.
Then Jesus died — and rose — and appeared publicly to apostles and disciples. Everything changed. Death was no longer theoretical. Eternity was no longer speculative. Human actions now carried eternal weight.
Athanasius wrote that Christ entered death not merely to escape it, but to empty it from the inside. Death was conquered not by avoidance, but by obedience. Isaiah’s words were no longer poetry. They became consequence.
And yet, brothers, we live as though they do not.
We rely on forgiveness to excuse complacency. We presume upon mercy. Augustine warned against this very thing: he said that trusting in mercy while refusing conversion is not hope — it is presumption. Mercy is meant to heal the will, not anesthetize it.
Think of God as Father.
He wants us to live with Him, and so He promises that we may — if we honor and obey Him. As a father myself, I have done the same. I love my children without condition, but I still require obedience and honor. Love does not abolish authority. It gives it meaning.
We take that relationship for granted when we sin. So do our children. We assume love will outweigh justice. And in this life, it often does. But after death, justice cannot be suspended — not because God loves less, but because He loves all.
Gregory the Great taught that judgment is not God becoming cruel, but God refusing to lie about what we have chosen. Heaven cannot tolerate disobedience, because that would establish an authority greater than the Father Himself. Injustice may persist on earth, but not in the presence of perfect holiness.
“There is no peace for the wicked.”
Those words should make us tremble. Scripture does not define a threshold for wickedness. But Isaiah 56 tells us who is welcomed: anyone — Jew, Gentile, or eunuch — who wholeheartedly follows God.
Do not risk Heaven.
Christ promises peace, provision, and care. He asks us to love our neighbor and to cooperate in His work in the world. He welcomes us with mercy and forgiveness. But if we are His people, it should be evident. And if we are faithful, a glorious inheritance awaits us — where we will finally know, and be united with, our Father.
Your brother in Christ.
The musings of Peter 