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Isaiah Volunteered for the Mission Every Other Prophet Had Avoided

God asked who would go. Isaiah stepped forward before he heard the terms. What God told him next was not reassurance.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Open Call
  2. What God Said Before Saying Yes
  3. The History of Prophets Who Went First
  4. The Consolation That Made the Rebuke Bearable

The Open Call

Isaiah was sitting in his study hall when he heard a voice from above that was not addressing him. It was a question put into the air: Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?

He stepped forward immediately. Here I am. Send me.

He had not heard what the mission was. He had not asked. The standard credential for prophetic calling was refusal: Moses listed his inadequacies, Jeremiah protested his youth, Jonah ran for a ship going the wrong direction. Reluctance was the sign of understanding what was being asked. Isaiah skipped all of it and volunteered.

What God Said Before Saying Yes

The midrash in Vayikra Rabbah, attributed to Rabbi Azarya in the name of Rabbi Yehuda bar Simon, presses into the question behind the question. Why had God put the call out at all? Why the open question, as if candidates were being solicited? Other prophets had already served. Their reports were in.

Micah had gone and been struck on the cheek for it. Amos had gone and been mocked, his name turned into a slur based on its sound in Hebrew. The people called him heavy-tongued and did not listen. The track record for prophetic missions to Israel was not encouraging.

God's question was not a search for enthusiasm. It was a disclosure. Anyone who said yes was agreeing to be demeaned, rejected, and struck. The open call was the contract printed in small type, offered before the signature.

Isaiah said yes before reading the contract. So God read it to him directly: My children are troublesome and insubordinate. If you accept upon yourself to be demeaned and to be stricken by them, you may go on My mission. If not, do not go.

The History of Prophets Who Went First

The midrash insists on the historical context. God's hesitation was not about Isaiah's qualifications. It was about what happened to prophets. Micah 4:14 contains a verse about the judge of Israel being struck on the cheek that the rabbis read as a biographical note about Micah's reception. The people he was sent to rebuked him physically. He went, he was hit, he kept going.

Amos faced a different humiliation. His name, which in Hebrew shares consonants with a word suggesting dullness or difficulty of speech, became the material for mockery. The people of Israel told him to go back where he came from. They questioned his pedigree. They implied that a man with a name like his could not speak for God.

Both prophets had gone anyway. Both had delivered their messages. Both had suffered for it. Neither had converted the people they were sent to. Isaiah was being shown what he was entering.

The Consolation That Made the Rebuke Bearable

Vayikra Rabbah draws a distinction between Isaiah and other prophets based on how they structured their message. Some prophets rebuked without consoling: they announced judgment and stopped there. The model in Vayikra Rabbah that appears alongside Isaiah's calling describes the prophets who understood that rebuke divorced from consolation was incomplete prophecy.

Isaiah is the exemplar of the pattern that works: rebuke first, then console. His book opens with the fiercest condemnations in prophetic literature and ends with the most sweeping visions of restoration. Comfort, comfort My people is not a contradiction of the opening chapters. It is the place the opening chapters were always pointing toward.

The tradition says that Isaiah understood this before he went. He had heard the seraphim's song, had felt the coal against his lips, had stood in the presence of the one he was being sent to represent. He knew that rebuke was not the end of the sentence. He accepted the demeaning and the striking because he also knew what he was eventually going to be permitted to say.

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From the tradition

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Vayikra Rabbah 10:2Vayikra Rabbah

The familiar picture has them as these larger-than-life figures, effortlessly delivering divine messages. But what if it wasn't that simple? What if accepting the role of prophet meant accepting hardship, even abuse?

The ancient collection of rabbinic sermons known as Vayikra Rabbah, in its tenth section, gives us a glimpse into just that. It tells a story, attributed to Rabbi Azarya in the name of Rabbi Yehuda bar Simon, that reimagines the moment the prophet Isaiah received his calling.

It all starts with Isaiah in his study hall, minding his own business, when he overhears God's call: "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" (Isaiah 6:8). God, according to this midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), or interpretation, had already sent other prophets. Micah, for example, was sent, and what did the people do? They struck him on the cheek! As it says, "With a rod they strike on the cheek" (Micah 4:14). Then there was Amos. Rabbi Pinḥas tells us that his name, Amos, is related to the Hebrew word amus, meaning "cumbrous," because he was considered slow of speech.

So, God asks again, "Whom shall I send and who will go for us?" And Isaiah, bless his heart, steps up. "Here I am, send me" (Isaiah 6:8).

But here's where it gets interesting. God doesn't just say, "Great, pack your bags!" Instead, God lays out the terms: "Isaiah, My children, they are troublesome and insubordinate. If you accept upon yourself to be demeaned and to be stricken by My children, you will go on My mission, but if not, you will not go on My mission."

In other words, are you willing to be rejected, scorned, even physically harmed by the very people you're trying to help?

Isaiah, incredibly, agrees. He says, "I am willing to accept this condition; 'I gave my body to those who smite and my cheeks to those who pluck' (Isaiah 50:6). But I am not worthy to go on a mission to Your children.”

It's a powerful moment of humility. Isaiah is willing to endure suffering, but he still feels unworthy.

God responds with reassurance: "Isaiah, 'you love righteousness,' you love to vindicate My children; 'and detest wickedness,' you detest condemning them. 'Therefore, God your God, has anointed you.'"

And then, God reveals something truly special. "What is 'over your counterparts'?" God asks. The answer? Unlike other prophets who received their prophetic inspiration from other prophets – think of Elijah and Elisha, where "The spirit of Elijah has rested upon Elisha" (II (Kings 2:1)5) – Isaiah will receive his directly from God. "The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed.." (Isaiah 61:1).

As the midrash continues, all the other prophets prophesy simple prophecies, but Isaiah will receive "compound prophecies of consolation." The text then strings together a series of comforting prophecies found in the Book of Isaiah itself: "Awaken, awaken," "Comfort, comfort My people" (Isaiah 40:1), and so on.

What does this all mean? It suggests that prophecy isn't just about delivering messages. It's about empathy, about being willing to suffer alongside those you're trying to reach. It's about loving righteousness and hating wickedness, even when it's difficult. It’s about a direct line to the Divine, unmediated and intensely personal. And sometimes, it's about offering comfort, even when the world seems bleak.

This passage from Vayikra Rabbah, based on interpretations from Isaiah, reminds us that true leadership, true service, often requires sacrifice. It forces us to ask ourselves: how far are we willing to go to make a difference, to bring a message of hope and healing to a world that desperately needs it?

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Sifrei Devarim 342:2Sifrei Devarim

The Sifrei Devarim, a collection of early rabbinic legal interpretations on the Book of Deuteronomy, points out this fascinating characteristic of the prophets. "And this is the blessing wherewith Moses blessed..." the text begins, suggesting that Moses, in his final blessing, sets a precedent that all subsequent prophets would follow. What is that precedent? They would first deliver harsh words to Israel, only to then offer words of consolation.

Why this two-step? Perhaps because true love requires both honesty and compassion. The prophets weren't just fortune-tellers; they were spiritual guides, tasked with holding the community accountable and leading them back to the right path. Sometimes, that meant delivering some uncomfortable truths.

The Sifrei Devarim continues, noting that no prophet's words were initially as harsh as those of Hoshea (Hosea). He begins with a devastating plea: "Give them, O L-rd, what You will give. Give them a bereaving womb and shriveled breasts" (Hoshea 9:14). Ouch. But then, Hoshea pivots, offering a vision of renewal: "His tender branches will go forth, and his glory will be like the olive tree… Those who dwell in His shade will return. They will revive like grain and blossom like the vine… I will heal their backsliding; I will love them freely… I will be like the dew to Israel; it will blossom like the rose…" (Hoshea 14:7-8, 5-6). From barrenness to blossoming – quite a transformation!

We see this pattern repeated with other prophets. Joel starts with a plague of locusts, a generational curse that devours everything in its path: "What remained from the maggot, the locust has devoured, and what remained from the locust, the cankerworm has devoured, and what remained from the cankerworm, the cricket has devoured" (Joel 1:2-4). A pretty grim inheritance. But then, he promises recompense: "And I shall requite for you the years which were devoured by the locust, the cankerworm, the cricket, and the maggot" (Joel 2:25). The damage can be repaired; the lost years can be restored.

Amos, a shepherd and fig-tree pruner turned prophet, rebukes the wealthy women of Samaria, calling them "cows of Bashan" who "oppress the poor" and "crush the destitute" (Amos 4:1). Strong words! Yet, he also offers a vision of hope, promising the restoration of David's fallen succah – booth or tabernacle (Amos 9:11). A symbol of enduring kingship and divine promise.

Micah laments, "Her wound is grievous" (Micah 1:9), acknowledging the deep pain and suffering of the people. But then, he proclaims a message of divine forgiveness: "Who is a G-d like You, who pardons iniquity and overlooks transgression for the remnant of His heritage? He does not maintain His wrath forever, for He desires lovingkindness. He will return and grant us mercy; He will suppress our iniquities. You will cast into the depths of the sea all of their sins. Grant truth to Jacob, lovingkindness to Abraham, as You swore to our forefathers in days of old" (Micah 7:18-20). A powerful reminder of God's unwavering compassion.

And finally, Jeremiah, the "weeping prophet," foretells the destruction of joy and celebration in Judah: "I will cut off from the cities of Judah and from the streets of Jerusalem the sound of joy and the sound of gladness, the sound of groom and the sound of bride; for the land will become a wasteland" (Jeremiah 7:34). A desolate image. But even Jeremiah offers solace, envisioning a future filled with dancing and rejoicing: "Then the maiden shall rejoice with dance, and young men and old men together" (Jeremiah 31:12).

So, what does this pattern teach us? Perhaps that true prophecy, true leadership, and even true friendship require a delicate balance. The courage to confront uncomfortable truths, coupled with the compassion to offer hope and a path toward healing. It's a challenging path, but one that, according to the Sifrei Devarim, defines the very essence of the prophetic voice. And maybe, just maybe, it's a path we can all strive to emulate in our own lives.

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