Commentary on Isaiah 58:1-9a [9b-12]

Though the context is postexilic, the voice of First Isaiah (1–39) still resounds through the prophecies of Third Isaiah (56–66). Their resonance is largely due to a ruling class that continually demands prophetic critique. While the conquering violence of the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian Empires upended the leadership of Israel and Judah, the old habits of injustice soon resurfaced after the return from exile. 

At issue here is when elite power and a self-serving value system converge to produce a leadership praxis of oppression, exploitation, and subjugation. It is this recurring social environment that summons prophetic critique—the kind voiced in the divine command “Shout out; do not hold back!” (58:1).

A prophetic critique of privilege

In this passage, the prophetic critique of oppressive power attends not to a ruling individual but to an elite group. These are privileged people whose position is sustained by the hard labor of others (58:3). They have access to food and own houses. Ultimately, they hold the power to liberate “the oppressed” (verse 6) and to feed “the hungry,” house “the poor,” and clothe “the naked” (verse 7). Such a focus brings into view a consensus of thought, a dominant belief system, a collective way of being. 

To linger here as a preacher of this text invites reflection on current elite groups that perpetuate their privilege by oppressing others. For the privileged group in this passage, fasting functions as a sacralizing cover to their unjust treatment of the poor.

To abstain from eating food as a religious practice imposes a physical hardship intended to lessen the devotee’s superiority mindset. In this way, fasting is self-inflicted oppression—what the prophet calls “to humble oneself” (ʿannôt; verse 5). The irony is that their self-oppression serves only to render themselves holy and righteous (verse 2). 

As the prophet’s critique reveals, how is it that their humbling through fasting does not yield empathy for those humbled by oppressive practices? Moreover, what kind of religion demands a humbling of oneself yet ignores the oppression of workers, the poor, the hungry, and the naked? To God, there is a moral disconnect here between their daily worship and their social dealings. In the words of the prophet, “You fast only to quarrel and to fight and to strike with a wicked fist. Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high” (verse 4).

The fast God chooses

What is called into question in the prophet’s critique still holds true in our time: “Why do we fast, but you do not see? Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?” (verse 3). Any worship practice rooted in Scripture risks irrelevance when it fails to produce empathy for the hurting people of the world. Such is the enduring dilemma of US Christianity—a faith that has, at various times, sanctified slavery, genocide, and now, mass deportation. If the prophet’s critique still speaks today, any faith system that cultivates worshipers who, in society, oppress workers and perpetuate the bondage of the poor, the hungry, and the naked is not a faith “heard on high” (verse 4).

The lectionary reading ends with a piercing response to the elite group’s worship practices. Rather than a form of fasting that leaves them void of empathy for the oppressed, God chooses a different fast. The expression of divine intention in verse 6 is worthy of the preacher’s pause. Whereas the worship intentions of those with power are self-centered, the divine choice reveals a form of worship that translates into material liberation for the hurting and the vulnerable. Indeed, to seek, to know, and to draw near to the God intent on liberating should yield a people of faith who do the same within society.

Embodied worship and liberation

If fasting is a form of worship, then an “acceptable” fast (verse 5) is not food deprivation for piety’s sake but rather “to loose the bonds of injustice” and “to let the oppressed go free” (verse 6). In contrast, a fast that is self-serving produces a people of faith without moral or spiritual awareness—those who “do not see” and “do not notice” (verse 3) the suffering in their midst. Such a self-centered religion reduces divine intention to the pursuit of personal holiness, turning the worship of God into an exercise in self-exaltation.

The fast God chooses cultivates a way of being that manifests itself through tangible acts of liberation. These acts are outward-facing, performed in public and directed toward those who are actually hurting. They include the sharing of food with those who are starving. Accompanying this act of sharing is a way of seeing—not the self, but the hunger of others. In seeing the hungry, sharing becomes an act of awareness, a recognition of the injustices that cause hunger and a step toward lifting those injustices.

The fast that is acceptable shelters the poor who wander without housing; it liberates by providing refuge. Rather than living only for oneself, where abundance exists for private enjoyment, the question becomes: How might a portion of our abundance be shared with the hungry and the poor? Fasting, then, becomes a voluntary deprivation—a redistribution of life-giving resources so that others may live.

This liberation begins with awareness: awareness of the poverty in our midst and of how we contribute to it by withholding what we have. Overspending on clothing leaves others naked; overconsuming food leaves others hungry; overbuilding homes leaves others without shelter. For as the prophet declares:

If you offer your food to the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
then your light shall rise in the darkness,
and your gloom be like the noonday (verse 10).