Isaiah’s Long View of Comfort
Today is Shabbat Nachamu, the Shabbat of Comfort. We read one of Isaiah’s most beautiful oracles of consolation. What kind of comfort does the prophet offer? Not the promise that things will be easy, but the promise that—if we take the long view —together we are stronger than any tyrant.
When I was a very young mother, I used to call my own mother for advice.
When my infant wouldn’t sleep, I called my mother. (At the time I was living in the U.S. in a state with no maternity leave and a city without public transit.) I said, “Mom! What should I do? I can’t work and drive like a zombie all day long!”
Mom said, “Don’t worry. It’s a stage. And it will be over soon.”
When one of my teenagers was suspended from high school, I told my mom what they did. And she said, “Yup. Sounds like a teenager!”
During the fourth month of one pregnancy, I worried that I might be miscarrying. I called my mother.
She said, “Look, you’re seeing the midwife today.”
And I said, “But what will I do if I have a miscarriage?”
And Mom said, “You’ll grieve and then you’ll try again. You are only the millionth billionth person to be going through this.”
Obviously, there is a pattern in my mom’s responses. Each time, she said, “Let me show you the long view. And you will see that it’s going to be okay.”
Was I comforted?
I don’t know.
But I do know how much I miss my mom.
She was the wisest, smartest, funniest, oddest, and most loving person I have ever known. And now she lives in my mind and heart as the archetype of the Greatest of All Time.
Maybe that’s why I love the prophet Isaiah so much. Isaiah often imagines God as our Divine Mother. She calls us her children and reminds us that, like a nursing mother, she could never forget us. Our names are engraved in the palms of her hands.
In the passage we read today, she comforts our worries. She shows us the long view of history.
Let’s focus on the last six verses.
Don’t you get it? God dwells above the khug, the circle, of the earth, and those who dwell on earth are like khagavim, grasshoppers. God brings princes to naught and makes the rulers of the earth as nothing. Scarcely are they planted, scarcely sown, when God blows upon them, and they wither. Lift up your eyes on high and see: Who created these? The One who brings out their host and counts them, calling them all by name. Because God is great in strength, mighty in power, not one fails to show up (Isaiah 40:21-26).
Listen to this great play on words! God looks down from the khug, the horizon that circles the earth. To God, the little creatures encircled within the khug are like khagavim, grasshoppers. Even the tyrants! Tyrants might try to lord it over creation, because they see the world as a resource for their own enrichment. They might establish dynasties to keep wealth within their families. In Isaiah’s world, that wealth usually rested on land and agriculture.
But, in God’s long view, these tyrants themselves are no more than annual crops. They sprout for a season, then they wither and die. And God can cut short even that brief span, by calling on the khagavim, the grasshoppers, the tiniest ones, to organize into a swarm of desert locusts.
The transformation from grasshopper to desert locust is a powerful, real-life metaphor. Normally, grasshoppers prefer personal space. They avoid touching other grasshoppers. But when drought becomes severe, they crowd into the last few moist places. They can’t move without rubbing up against one another. Their stress level rises. Their bodies harden. They develop a group mind and fly off together in search of food. When millions, sometimes billions, of locusts rise and fly 80 miles together across the Red Sea, you know nothing can stop them.
Just marvel at this for a moment. When these grasshoppers are stressed, they do not turn on each other. Instead, they come together. Their goal? To feed everyone, to make sure no one is left behind.
What a message!
Isaiah could have channeled it this very week. Our generation has its tyrants, too. They are good at destroying democracies. One of their favorite techniques is to divide us through culture wars. Too often, we take the bait. While we are distracted, they work together to divide the spoils. Sometimes we don’t see it until it’s almost too late.
Why? Because we don’t have a God’s-eye view.
So, Isaiah brings us a message from our Divine Mother.
“I’ve seen these tyrants before,” she says. “They sprout, and they blossom. And when they are in full bloom, you feel helpless. Like a tiny grasshopper hopping at the feet of a giant. But listen! I am calling you by name. You, and you, and you. Remember that you are my children. You are a family. And when you remember, you will come together. You will rise up, and care for each other. No one will be able to stop you. Then the tyrants will wither. And you will flourish in the lush green fields again.”
“Comfort, comfort, my children. I could never forget you. Remember that you belong to me and to each other. Do your part.”
And that is Isaiah’s comfort. Not a promise that things will be easy. But a promise that the Holy One of Blessing holds us—and together we are stronger than any tyrant who hopes to divide us.
Originally presented as a sermon at Congregation Beth Israel, Vancouver, July 25, 2026
