"Look to the One Isaiah saw, the One lifted up for your salvation!" Wednesday of Trinity 17 2025

15. October 2025
Wednesday of Trinity 17
John 12:37–43

These things Isaiah said when he saw His glory and spoke of Him. Nevertheless even among the rulers many believed in Him, but because of the Pharisees they did not confess Him, lest they should be put out of the synagogue; for they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God (Jn 12:41–43).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Isaiah saw the Lord. He saw Him high and lifted up, the train of His robe filling the temple, the seraphim crying out, “Holy, holy, holy.” And Isaiah didn’t die. He lived to tell about it. He lived to preach what he saw — the glory of God made flesh, the Servant of the Lord who would be pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities.

Isaiah saw Christ before Bethlehem, before Calvary, before the empty tomb. He saw His glory — and he also saw what that glory would cost. Because the glory of God isn’t the glitter of gold or the shine of human success. It’s not a spotlight or applause. The glory of God is a crucified man, hanging between two thieves. The glory of God is blood, sweat, and the sign above His head that reads, “King.” That’s what Isaiah saw — and he said so. But nobody wanted to hear it.

God sent Isaiah to preach to a people who would not listen. He told him that from the start: “Go. Preach. But they will not hear. They will not turn. Their hearts will be hard, and their eyes will be blind.” Imagine that. You’re called to preach a message that won’t be received, to a people who won’t believe, to a nation running headlong into ruin. That’s Isaiah’s ministry. And Jesus says the same thing in today’s Gospel: Even after all the signs, all the miracles, all the teaching — they still did not believe in Him.

Why? Because unbelief isn’t just ignorance. It’s rebellion. It’s not that they didn’t know; it’s that they didn’t want to know. They didn’t want a Messiah like this — a suffering one, a humble one, a crucified one. They wanted glory, but not His kind of glory. And that’s where Isaiah’s words cut deep. “He has blinded their eyes and hardened their hearts, lest they see and understand and turn and I would heal them.” Those words sound harsh. They sound unfair, even cruel. Why would God blind eyes or harden hearts?

But listen carefully. Jesus isn’t saying that God delights in condemnation. He’s saying the opposite. The “lest” there is not God’s rejection — it’s His lament. “Lest they turn, and I would heal them.” That’s what He wants to do: to heal. But they won’t have it.

God desires all to be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth. He stretches out His hands all day long to a disobedient and contrary people. He puts forth His Lamb to take away the sins of the whole world — not just the polite or the religious, not just the ones who seem promising — the world. He opens His arms wide on the cross, and the world looks away. He gives His life for the world, and the world prefers its death.

That’s the tragedy of unbelief. It’s not that God withholds grace; it’s that people run from it. And if we’re honest, we know the temptation ourselves. Because there’s a little Pharisee in every heart — the one who wants control, who wants recognition, who wants to keep God in His corner until He becomes inconvenient.

Look at the next verse: “Nevertheless many even of the authorities believed in Him, but for fear of the Pharisees they did not confess it.” They believed — but not enough to say it out loud. They loved the glory that comes from man more than the glory that comes from God. That’s where this text turns from “them” to “us.” Because we know exactly what that’s like. We believe in Jesus — but not always enough to confess Him when it costs us something. We’d rather be liked. We’d rather be safe. We’d rather fit in.

And the fear that silenced them still silences us. The craving for approval, the addiction to reputation, the hunger for acceptance — it’s the same disease. We want the glory that comes from man: a good opinion, a word of praise, a nod of respect. We want to be seen as good people, reasonable people, modern people. But the Gospel will not let us stay respectable. The cross ruins that.

Because the cross is the end of pretending. It’s where all our borrowed glory dies. At the cross, there’s no room left for self-importance or image management. It’s the death of ego and the burial of pride. That’s why it offends. That’s why they hated it. And that’s why, sometimes, we keep quiet about it. You can believe in secret for a while — but you can’t stay silent forever. Faith wants to speak. Faith wants to confess. And when it does, the world will notice. It always has.

That’s why Jesus warns: if you confess Me before men, I will confess you before My Father; but if you deny Me before men, I will deny you before My Father. That’s not a threat; it’s reality. There’s no neutral ground between the glory of God and the glory of man. You can’t serve two glories any more than you can serve two masters.

The glory of man fades. The glory of God endures. The glory of man is likes and followers and applause. The glory of God is forgiveness and freedom and eternal life. The glory of man is skin-deep and short-lived. The glory of God is hidden under suffering, revealed in the crucified Christ.

And yet that’s the glory that saves you. That’s the glory that covers your shame and silences your accuser. That’s the glory Isaiah saw when he cried, “Woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips,” and the seraph touched his lips with a burning coal and said, “Your guilt is taken away, your sin is atoned for.” That’s the glory that shines from the cross into your darkness and says, “It is finished.”

You see, this isn’t a story about them — about ancient Pharisees or stubborn Israelites. It’s about you. It’s about every heart that hesitates to believe, every mouth that trembles to confess, every soul that longs for approval but is starving for truth. We all want the glory of man. But the glory of man cannot save you. It cannot forgive your sins. It cannot raise you from the dead.

Only Christ can. Only His word endures forever. Everything else — your status, your reputation, your pride — will burn away. But His Word will not. His mercy will not. His promises will not. And that’s what frees you. You are free to stop chasing the world’s approval. Free to stop fearing rejection. Free to confess Christ openly, boldly, gladly — because you already have the approval of God. He has declared you righteous in His Son. He has called you His child. You have nothing left to earn, nothing left to prove, nothing left to fear.

So do not be surprised if the world ignores you, mocks you, or shrugs at your confession. Do not be surprised if they put you out of their synagogues, their circles, their systems. Isaiah knew it. Jesus knew it. The apostles knew it. And still they preached. Still they confessed. Still they spoke the truth.

Because the truth endures when the world forgets. The Word stands firm when everything else falls. And the glory of God — the crucified, risen, forgiving Jesus — is still shining, still calling, still healing, still saving. So look to Him. Not to the crowd. Not to the opinions of others. Look to the One Isaiah saw, the One lifted up for your salvation. Look to His cross, His wounds, His mercy. That’s the glory that matters. That’s the glory that lasts.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin