There is something about this season that brings a strange mixture of emotions to the surface.
The lights go up, the music plays, the world seems to sparkle,
but not all the feelings that rise to the surface are sparkling ones.
December has a way of putting joy and sorrow right next to each other on the table.
And maybe that's part of what makes Advent such a sacred time.
It's honest. It refuses to pretend.
You see, we celebrate the birth of Jesus with beauty and wonder.
We celebrate His arrival, His coming near.
But the longer I walk with the Lord, the more I realize that in order to fully understand
the manger, we also have to understand the mission.
And Isaiah tells us the mission long before Bethlehem ever glowed with starlight.
Long before Jesus ever cried as an infant, Isaiah told us He would cry as a man.
Advent is joyful, yes, but Advent is also weighty. Advent reminds us that the child who came into the
world came for a purpose, and that purpose would cost him everything. So today we're slowing down
with one of the most profound verses in Scripture, a verse that is easy to quote, easy to admire,
but difficult to fully absorb. Isaiah 53.3
He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.
A single scarlet leaf on snow.
That's how I picture this verse.
Beauty and bleakness, color and cold.
A story of suffering and a story of redemption.
This is the Messiah Isaiah saw.
This is the Savior who came to us.
This is Jesus, the man of sorrows, who became our joy.
And this is Verses We Missed.
Welcome. Welcome to Verses We Missed. I'm your host, Steve Webb, your OG Godcaster.
Every week, we explore the quieter parts of Scripture, the verses we tend to skip past or read too quickly,
or the ones that carry entire worlds inside just a handful of words.
This is your midweek breath of Scripture and Grace.
And today, as we celebrate this Advent season,
we turn not just to a Christmas verse, but to a Christmas truth,
one that runs underneath the whole story,
like a scarlet thread woven through every page.
Isaiah 53 tells us who Jesus would grow to be,
but it also tells us what kind of God he has always been.
Isaiah wrote these words about 700 years before the birth of Christ,
seven centuries before Bethlehem, seven centuries before shepherds heard angels,
or a star shone over a stable, or Mary held the Savior in her arms.
700 years.
And yet Isaiah describes Jesus in her life as clearly as the Gospels do.
He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.
That doesn't sound like the opening line of a Christmas card.
It doesn't sound like the way we like to picture the baby in the manger.
But Isaiah isn't trying to discourage us.
He's preparing us.
because sometimes the most hopeful thing God ever did was step into our suffering.
God wanted us to know through the prophet Isaiah that the coming Messiah would not be distant,
not detached, not insulated from the world he came to save. He would feel. He would hurt.
He would experience sorrow, not occasionally, but constantly. He would be acquainted with grief,
the way a close friend knows another. This is the same Jesus who came in the manger.
Let's linger with that phrase for a moment, a man of sorrows.
Not a man who occasionally experienced sorrow. Not a man who avoided sorrow. A man familiar with
sorrow, shaped by sorrow, intimate with sorrow. If the scarlet thread of redemption runs through
the scriptures, then the scarlet thread of suffering runs through the life of Jesus.
Think about his life. He was born into poverty. He grew up under oppression. He watched injustice
his whole life. He knew loneliness, exhaustion, hunger, betrayal. Before he ever carried a cross,
he carried grief. Before he ever wore a crown of thorns, he wore the heaviness of rejection.
Before his hands were pierced, his heart was. We often think of Jesus' suffering as something
that happened near the end of his early life. Isaiah says, no, he lived it. From birth to death,
he walked in a world that needed him and yet did not want him. And here's the miracle. He chose
He willingly stepped into a world that would misunderstand Him, dismiss Him, and ultimately
reject Him. He came because sorrow was the soil where redemption would grow.
Advent is a season of waiting, of hoping, of longing. But it is also a season of remembering.
We remember that Jesus did not just arrive. He entered into something. He entered into
our humanity. He entered into our grief. He entered into our darkness to bring light.
Too many people feel pressure to look joyful during the Christmas season. But Isaiah 53.3 tells us that
God is not intimidated by your sadness. He is not uncomfortable with your sorrow. He does not
require you to be cheerful in order to draw near to you. Because the Messiah himself was a man who
knew sorrow deeply. And that is the hope of Advent. The hope is not that Jesus came to erase sorrow
instantly. The hope is that Jesus came to carry it. He came to enter it. He came to redeem it.
Joy is not the absence of sorrow. Joy is the presence of Jesus in the middle of it.
Let's look again at Isaiah's words. He was despised and rejected by men.
Why? Not because he did anything wrong. Not because he failed. Not because he was weak.
He was rejected because he was righteous in a world that loved darkness. He was despised
because he dared to bring healing where people clung to their wounds. He was dismissed because
his kingdom did not look like theirs. And then Isaiah says, a man of sorrows and acquainted with
grief. Those words describe Jesus' experience, but they also describe his heart. He knows what
it feels like to be overlooked. He knows what it feels like to be misunderstood. He knows what it
feels like to lose someone. He knows what it feels like when the world does not match the hopes you
carried into it. Christmas is not the story of God arriving into a perfect world. It is the story of
God arriving into a broken one. The light shines brightest in the dark. Let me ask you something.
Is there some place in your life that sorrow still lingers? Where grief still echoes? Where
rejection still stings? Where do you feel unseen? Where do you feel misunderstood? Where do you feel
alone. Isaiah 53.3 tells you something that no other religion in the world can say with honesty.
Your God understands you, not from a distance, but from experience. He is not the God who avoids
sorrow. He is the God who walks into it. He is not the God who says, cheer up. He is the God who
says, I've been there. But he is not only the man of sorrows. He is the giver of joy. The joy that
does not deny pain, but transforms it. The joy that is not shallow, but deep. The joy that is
not temporary, but eternal. This is why we celebrate Advent. This is why we kneel at the manger.
This is why the scarlet thread runs from Isaiah to Bethlehem to Calvary to the empty tomb.
The man of sorrows became our joy.
Let's pray.
Father, thank you that you sent us a Savior who is not distant from our pain, but familiar with it.
Thank you that Jesus experienced sorrow, not so we would feel guilty for ours, but so that we would never face it alone.
Thank you that he carried grief, rejection, loneliness, and heartbreak, so he could lift our burdens and redeem our wounds.
Help us, Lord, to see the hope inside this verse.
Help us to remember that joy is possible not because sorrow disappears, but because you entered it.
In this Advent season, give us hearts that rest in your compassion
and eyes that see your presence even in difficult places.
We thank you for Jesus, the man of sorrows who became our joy.
And it's in his name we pray. Amen.
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This is a weekly show released every Tuesday
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So it's waiting for you Wednesday morning, your midweek breath of scripture and grace.
As you go, may you remember that the man of sorrows walks with you if you know him as your Savior.
If you don't know him, I would be happy to talk with you about him.
Email me at steve at lifespringmedia.com.
May his presence turn your sorrow into strength, and may the hope of Advent fill you with peace and joy.
May God bless you richly.
My name is Steve Webb.
Bye.