Isaiah 63:7–9

“I will recount the steadfast love of the LORD,
the praises of the LORD,
according to all that the LORD has granted us,
and the great goodness to the house of Israel
that he has granted them according to his compassion,
according to the abundance of his steadfast love.
For he said, ‘Surely they are my people,
children who will not deal falsely.’
And he became their Savior.
In all their affliction he was afflicted,
and the angel of his presence saved them;
in his love and in his pity he redeemed them;
he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old.”
(Isaiah 63:7–9, ESV)

Opening Prayer

Merciful Father, we begin by remembering Your steadfast love. In all our troubles You have been with us; by Your presence You have saved us. Carry us now as You carried Your people of old. Open Your Word, warm our hearts, confront our unbelief, and fix our eyes on Jesus. Let past mercies spark fresh praise today. Lift the weary, comfort the grieving, awaken the indifferent, and glorify Your Son among us. In Jesus’ name, amen.

The Week After Wonder

I always feel as though the week after Christmas carries a bit of a somber note. The wrapping paper has been thrown away. The Christmas music fades for another year. The house holds more objects and fewer voices. Guests have gone, laughter has settled, and the rooms return to their plain, familiar stillness, carrying both the fullness of what was given and the hush of what has passed.

For some, this week brings relief. For others, it brings a kind of dull disappointment. For many of us, it brings both. We feel joy and weariness together. We feel grateful, and we feel the pinch of sadness. We shouldn't be surprised by these feelings; this is simply what it means to be human in between the “already” and “not yet” of God’s promises.

Israel understood this. They often stood in a long, gray stretch between what God had done and what they longed to see him do again. Isaiah looks back at mighty acts of God and then looks out upon a people who feel forgotten. Right there, in the in-between, Isaiah 63 teaches us how faith breathes when the bright days seem behind us and the next bright day seems far away.

The Holy Habit of Remembering (v. 7)

Isaiah begins with a deliberate choice. “I will recount the steadfast love of the LORD” (Isaiah 63:7) He does not wait until he feels brave enough to speak. He speaks because the truth is worth speaking. He takes his own soul by the hand and leads it back to what is solid.

That phrase “steadfast love” is the old, weighty covenant word, hesed. This is the Lord’s pledged kindness, his loyal mercy, his determined love that holds fast when we are tempted to slip away. Isaiah heaps words together as though he were building a small wall against forgetfulness. He speaks of praise and gifts granted, of great goodness, compassion, and abundance. He is teaching our mouths how to speak when we find ourselves living in the afterglow.

Remembering, for Isaiah, has backbone. It is not a dreamy fondness for yesterday. It is a clear-eyed rehearsal of what God has actually done, and a humble recognition of what those deeds reveal about God himself. He remembers history, and he reads it as a window into the heart of the Lord.

And he remembers as part of a people. He speaks of “the great goodness to the house of Israel” (Isaiah 63:7). He is standing inside the great story of God’s dealings with God’s people. That is one of the mercies of the Old Testament. It enlarges our view. It teaches us to see our little lives as belonging within a far larger story. It also teaches us where the story is going. Jesus stands at the climax of that long story of promise and fulfillment. The gospel authors tell us of his birth inside Israel’s history so that we learn to see our days inside his saving work.

The Sunday after Christmas is a fitting day to practice this holy habit. Before we hurry to new year's resolutions, we do well to remember the Lord’s mercies. Before we promise what we will do for God in the coming year, we should remember what God has done for us in the year that has passed. Think back through the months. Consider the provision you did not foresee, the forgiveness you did not deserve, the comfort you could not manufacture, the guidance you would never have guessed. Scripture trains us to notice these mercies and to name them aloud.

Remember Isaiah’s words: “I will recount the steadfast love of the LORD” (Isaiah 63:7). Say it at breakfast. Say it as you step out the door. Say it when the day begins to press down. Then add one concrete thanksgiving. Name the friend who called at the right time. Name the bill that got paid when you did not see how it could. Name the verse that met you in the night. Name the strength God gave you for the next right thing.

This practice matters more than we think. Forgetfulness is one of the quiet ways faith withers. So the prophet gives us a faithful first step for the in-between. “I will recount.” When we say that with honesty, we are already turning our face toward light.

Now, having set our minds to recount, Isaiah turns our eyes to the One who acted.

“He Became Their Savior” (v. 8)

“For he said, ‘Surely they are my people, children who will not deal falsely.’ And he became their Savior” (Isaiah 63:8). Isaiah reaches back to the Exodus, to that great deliverance when God broke Pharaoh’s grip, brought his people through the sea, and named them as his own.

The language is tender and strong. “Surely they are my people.” God claims them. “Children who will not deal falsely.” God speaks with a father’s hope. “And he became their Savior.” God acts. He does not watch from a distance. He takes their cause upon himself and enters the story as Deliverer.

There is a sober truth tucked inside that hopeful phrase about children who will not deal falsely. Israel did deal falsely. They grumbled and doubted and wandered. Yet God’s saving love did not begin because his people were impressive. It began because God set his love on them. Grace moved first.

This is welcome news in the week after Christmas. Many of us feel the pull of fresh intentions and the sting of old failures. We remember promises we did not keep, sins we returned to, disciplines we abandoned. It is easy, in that frame of mind, to step into a new year imagining God as a patient but weary supervisor waiting to see whether we finally improve.

Isaiah will not let us think of God that way. Our safety does not rest on our grip upon him. It rests on his grip upon us. “He became their Savior.” He bound himself to his people.

In the fullness of time, this saving commitment took flesh. The angel said to Joseph, “You shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” The name itself is a proclamation. The Lord has become our Savior in a deeper way than Israel could yet see. The child in the manger is the Lord of the Exodus has come near. He saves us from guilt and condemnation, and he saves us for adoption, holiness, and joy.

If you do not know Christ, you need more than a gentle religious feeling. You need a Savior, someone who can deal with your sin before the justice of God and bring you home in peace. Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, is that Savior. Come to him. His mercy is not thin, and his welcome is not fragile.

If you do know Christ and feel crushed by your failures, hear the same comfort. You were never meant to be your own savior. Lay down the weary work of self-justification. Bring your need again to the cross. Say, “Lord Jesus, you have become my Savior. I rest in what you have done.”

When that sentence settles into the heart, it begins to warm the cold places.

If God has become our Savior, how does he stay with his people through the long stretch between past deliverance and future glory? Isaiah answers in verse 9.

Receive the Savior (v. 9)

“In all their affliction he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them; in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old.” (Isaiah 63:9)

Isaiah gathers the tenderness of God into a single verse.

“In all their affliction he was afflicted.” The Holy One does not merely notice pain. He enters it. When Israel groaned under Pharaoh’s lash, the Lord said, “I have surely seen the affliction of my people… I have heard… I know.” He knows with a heart involved. Isaiah dares to say that God shares the burden with his people.

This is Christmas. Immanuel means God with us. The infant hands that lay quiet in straw would one day be pierced. The face kissed by Mary would one day be wet with tears. The back that rested in a wooden trough would one day be pressed against a wooden cross. God comes near enough to suffer with his people, and to suffer for them.

So if this week finds you aching while the world insists you should be cheerful, you do not need to hide the ache. Bring it to the Savior who has entered sorrow and has not been defeated by it. In grief, many have spoken of the fear that God might be absent or silent. Isaiah gives us a steadier truth to hold when feelings sway. God has taken our affliction into his own story.

Then Isaiah speaks of presence. “The angel of his presence saved them.” God’s people were not given only a map. They were given God himself. In Exodus the Lord promised, “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.” The nearness of God was the rescue.

The Gospel of Matthew begins with the name Immanuel and ends with the risen Christ saying, “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” His presence is not seasonal. It does not withdraw when the decorations come down.

And Isaiah ends the verse with a picture so homely it goes straight to the heart. “He redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them.” Parents know what this looks like. A tired child trudges along until the legs will not do any more. The child stops and lifts up both arms. The parent stoops, gathers the child and the burden together, and walks on.

“He carried them.” There is gospel in that verb. Christ carried our sins at the cross. He bore our griefs and carried our sorrows. He still carries his people by his Spirit. He does not merely tell us to walk and then measure how well we manage. He strengthens what is weak, and he bears what is heavy.

Some of us live as though grace were only for the beginning of the Christian life, and the rest were left to our own strength. Isaiah tells a kinder truth. The Christian life is the life of people who are held.

“He lifted them up and carried them all the days of old.” Those days included wilderness, temptation, complaint, and weariness. They included failure and fear. Yet the Lord carried his people.

He carries his people still.

Conclusion

Though the world is returning to ordinary routines, the nativity sets are going back into boxes, and the lights are coming down, know that the Lord of the manger has not stepped away. Isaiah’s words remain true. “In his love and in his pity he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old.” He has redeemed you by his blood. He lifts you when you sink. He carries you when you cannot take another step.

If you do not yet belong to him, come today. You need pardon for sin, peace with God, and a strong arm beneath your life. Turn to Christ. Trust his atoning death and his risen life. He will not cast you out.

If you belong to him and feel your knees shaking under the weight of the year behind you and the year ahead of you, lift your eyes. Lift your hands like that tired child. Ask for what you need. “Lord, in your love and in your pity, redeem me afresh. Lift me up. Carry me, today and all my days.” He will.

And when words fail, borrow Isaiah’s:

“In your love and in your pity, redeem us. Lift us up. Carry us, today, tomorrow, and all our days.”

Come, Lord Jesus. Carry your people.

Closing Prayer

God of great goodness, write Your word on our hearts. As we go, let our lips tell of Your love and our steps rest on Your everlasting arms. In our quiet moments and everyday tasks, be our Savior still. Redeem us, lift us, and carry us until faith becomes sight. Keep us honest, keep us near Your presence, and teach us to praise You in the ordinary as surely as at the feast. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.