From Wrath to Weeping: When God’s Heart Breaks Over His People
What’s Isaiah 63 about?
This chapter is like a split-screen movie – we see God as a bloody warrior coming from Edom in the first scene, then suddenly shift to a heart-wrenching prayer where His people are crying out for mercy. It’s about justice and tenderness, wrath and weeping, all wrapped into one of Scripture’s most emotionally complex chapters.
The Full Context
Isaiah 63 lands us right in the thick of what scholars call “Trito-Isaiah” – the final section of this prophetic masterpiece. Written during or shortly after the Babylonian exile (around 540-500 BCE), this chapter emerges from a community that’s been through the wringer. These are the latter chapters (56-66) of Isaiah, often referred to as Trito-Isaiah, addressing a people who’ve experienced both the devastation of exile and the mixed blessing of return to a homeland that barely resembles what their grandparents remembered.
The chapter breaks into two distinct movements that feel almost jarring when read together. The first six verses present this mysterious figure emerging from Edom with blood-stained clothes, speaking of treading the winepress alone. Then verses 7-19 shift completely to a communal lament – a prayer that oscillates between remembering God’s past mercies and pleading desperately for Him to act again. It’s like watching a movie that cuts from an action sequence to a therapy session, but somehow both scenes belong to the same story of God’s people grappling with His justice and love.
Grammar Geeks
The opening question “מִי־זֶה” (mi-zeh, “Who is this?”) uses the same interrogative structure we see in Song of Songs 3:6 and Song of Songs 8:5. It’s the Hebrew equivalent of a dramatic close-up – “Who is this coming?” – demanding our attention before revealing the answer.
What the Ancient Words Tell Us
The Hebrew text opens with this cinematic question: “מִי־זֶה בָּא מֵאֱדוֹם חֲמוּץ בְּגָדִים מִבָּצְרָה” – “Who is this coming from Edom, with crimson-stained garments from Bozrah?” Right away, we’re hit with wordplay that would have made ancient readers pause. Edom means “red,” and here we have someone coming from there with crimson (chamutz – fermented, dyed deep red) garments. It’s like saying “Who’s this red-stained figure coming from Redland?”
But here’s where it gets interesting – the word “חֲמוּץ” (chamutz) doesn’t just mean “red.” It can mean “leavened, fermented, dyed crimson” – suggesting something that has undergone a process, something that’s been worked on and changed. This isn’t just splattered paint; this is the deep staining that comes from serious work.
The reference to Bozrah is loaded too. Bozrah means “sheep fold” or “fortress,” and remarkably, the emblem of a winepress was stamped on coins from Bozrah during Roman times. The region was famous for its vineyards, which sets up the winepress imagery that dominates the passage.
Did You Know?
The area of Seir (Edom) was well known for its grape vineyards, and Bozrah’s coins actually featured winepress emblems during Roman rule. When Isaiah’s audience heard “Bozrah,” they would immediately think of wine-making – making the bloody garments imagery hit even harder.
What Would the Original Audience Have Heard?
To a post-exilic community struggling with disappointment, this opening scene would have been electric. They’re asking the same question we might ask when we see someone emerge from a difficult situation: “What happened in there? And why do you look like you’ve been through a war?”
The figure’s response – “אֲנִי מְדַבֵּר בִּצְדָקָה רַב לְהוֹשִׁיעַ” (“I speak in righteousness, mighty to save”) – would have been both thrilling and troubling. Here’s someone claiming to speak with divine authority about both justice (tzedaqah) and salvation (yasha). For people who felt abandoned by God, this warrior figure represents everything they’ve been hoping for.
But then comes the explanation that makes everyone uncomfortable: “I have trodden the winepress alone, and from the peoples no one was with me” (Isaiah 63:3). This work of judgment belongs to Jesus Christ and He alone, but the original audience would have heard this as God Himself taking on the work of justice when no one else would or could.
The shift to prayer in verse 7 would have felt like whiplash – suddenly we’re not watching this cosmic confrontation but joining in a communal lament. It’s the difference between watching the news and calling your mom when you’re scared.
Wrestling with the Text
Here’s what keeps me up at night about this chapter: How do we reconcile the warrior God of the first six verses with the God being begged for mercy in the rest? The text doesn’t smooth this over for us – it lets the tension stand.
The prayer section (verses 7-19) is raw in ways that make comfortable faith squirm. They’re essentially saying, “Look, we know You’re holy and we’ve messed up, but we’re still Your people and You promised to care for us. So where are You?” It’s the kind of honest desperation that most of us have felt but been too polite to actually pray.
“Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is argue with God about His apparent absence while still calling Him ‘our Father.’”
The Hebrew word “הַבֵּט” (habbet) in verse 15 – “Look down from heaven and see” – is the same urgent imperative used when someone desperately needs attention. It’s not a polite request; it’s closer to “Hey! Down here! Pay attention!”
How This Changes Everything
This chapter demolishes our neat categories about God’s character. We want Him to be either the warrior or the merciful father, but Isaiah 63 insists He’s both – and that we need both aspects even when they make us uncomfortable.
The winepress imagery isn’t just about divine wrath; it’s about the messy, necessary work of producing something good from something that needs to be crushed. Like a man treading grapes in a winepress, YHWH is represented as treading down peoples in expression of his anger, and as the treading of grapes yields juice, so the crushing of the peoples has purpose.
Wait, That’s Strange…
Why does the chapter end so abruptly with “Oh, that You would rend the heavens and come down!” (Isaiah 64:1)? It’s like a cliffhanger that leaves us hanging – which might be exactly the point. Some prayers don’t get tidy resolutions.
The beauty of this chapter is that it gives us permission to hold both truths: God is the one who executes justice even when it gets messy, and God is the one we cry out to when we’re desperate and scared. We don’t have to choose between fearing Him and running to Him.
Key Takeaway
God’s wrath and mercy aren’t opposite sides of His character – they’re both expressions of His love for justice and His people. Sometimes the most faithful response is to tremble at His holiness while still crying out for His help.
Further reading
Internal Links:
External Scholarly Resources:
- The Book of Isaiah, Chapters 40-66 by Joseph Blenkinsopp
- Isaiah 40-66 by John N. Oswalt
- The New International Commentary on the Old Testament: Isaiah
- https://www.preceptaustin.org/isaiah_631-6_commentary
- https://enduringword.com/bible-commentary/isaiah-63/
Tags
Isaiah 63:1, Isaiah 63:3, Isaiah 63:15, Isaiah 64:1, divine justice, wrath of God, mercy, prayer, lament, Edom, Bozrah, winepress, Messiah, warrior God, post-exilic, Trito-Isaiah, theodicy, divine judgment, salvation
