That explanation is given in four clauses which fall into two pairs.
They remarkably revert to the thought of the Servant's sufferings, but
in how different a tone these are now spoken of, when they are no
longer regarded as the results of man's blind failure to see His
beauty, or as inflicted by the mysterious 'pleasure of Jehovah,' but as
the causes of His triumph! Echoes of both the two first clauses are
heard from the lips of Jesus. As He passed beneath the tremulous shadow
of the olives of Gethsemane, He appealed for the companionship of the
three, by an all but solitary revelation of His weakness and sorrow,
'My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death; abide ye here and
watch with Me.' And even more distinctly did He lay His hand on this
prophecy when He ended all His words in the upper room with 'This which
is written must be fulfilled in Me, And He was reckoned with
"transgressors."' May we not claim Jesus as endorsing the Messianic
interpretation of this prophecy? He gazed on the portrait painted ages
before that night of sorrow, and saw in it His own likeness, and said,
That is meant for Me. Some of us feel that, _kenosis_ or no _kenosis_,
He is the best judge of who is the original of the prophet's portrait.
The two final clauses are separated from the preceding by the emphatic
introduction of the pronominal nominative, and cohere closely as
gathering up for the last time all the description of the Servant, and
as laying broad and firm the basis of His dominion, in the two great
facts which sum up His office and between them stretch over the past
and the future. 'He bare the sin of many, and maketh intercession for
the transgressors.' The former of these two clauses brings up the
pathetic picture of the scapegoat who 'bore upon him all their
iniquities into a solitary land.' The Servant conquers hearts because
He bears upon Him the grim burden which a mightier hand than Aaron's
has made to meet on His head, and because He bears it away. The ancient
ceremony, and the prophet's transference of the words describing it to
his picture of the Servant who was to be King, floated before John the
Baptist, when he pointed his brown, thin finger at Jesus and cried:
'Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.' The
goat had borne the sins of one nation; the prophet had extended the
Servant's ministry indefinitely, so as to include unnumbered 'many';
John spoke the universal word, 'the world.' So the circles widened.
But it is not enough to bear away sins. We need continuous help in the
present. Our daily struggles, our ever-felt weakness, all the ills that
flesh is heir to, cry aloud for a mightier than we to be at our sides.
So on the Servant's bearing the sins of the many there follows a
continuous act of priestly intercession, in which, not merely by
prayer, but by meritorious and prevailing intervention, He makes His
own the cause of the many whose sins He has borne.
On these two acts His dominion rests. Sacrifice and Intercession are
the foundations of His throne.
The empire of men's hearts falls to Him because of what He has done and
is doing for them. He who is to possess us absolutely must give Himself
to us utterly. The empire falls to Him who supplies men's deepest need.
He who can take away men's sins rules. He who can effectually undertake
men's cause will be their King.
If Jesus is or does anything less or else, He will not rule men for
ever. If He is but a Teacher and a Guide, oblivion, which shrouds all,
will sooner or later wrap Him in its misty folds. That His name should
so long have resisted its influence is due altogether to men having
believed Him to be something else. He will exercise an everlasting
dominion only if He have brought in an everlasting righteousness. He
will sit King for ever, if and only if He is a priest for ever. All
other rule is transient.
A remarkable characteristic of this entire prophecy is the frequent
repetition of expressions conveying the idea of sufferings borne for
others. In one form or another that thought occurs, as we reckon,
eleven times, and it is especially frequent in the last verses of the
chapter. Why this perpetual harking back to that one aspect? It is to
be further noticed that throughout there is no hint of any other kind
of work which this Servant had to do. He fulfils His service to God and
man by being bruised for men's iniquities. He came not to be ministered
unto but to minister, and the chief form of His ministry was that He
gave His life a ransom for the many. He came not to preach a gospel,
but to die that there might be a gospel to preach. The Cross is the
centre of His work, and by it He becomes the Centre of the world.
Look once more at the sorrowful, august figure that rose before the
prophet's eye--with its strange blending of sinlessness and sorrow,
God's approval and God's chastisement, rejection and rule, death and
life, abject humiliation and absolute dominion. Listen to the last
echoes of the prophet's voice as it dies on our ear--'He bore the sins
of the many.' And then hearken how eight hundred years after another
voice takes up the echoes--but instead of pointing away down the
centuries, points to One at his side, and cries, 'Behold the Lamb of
God, which taketh away the sin of the world.' Look at that life, that
death, that grave, that resurrection, that growing dominion, that
inexhaustible intercession--and say, 'Of whom speaketh the prophet
this?'
May we all be able to answer with clear confidence, 'These things saith
Esaias when he saw _His_ glory and spake of _Him_.' May we all take up
the ancient confession: 'Surely He hath borne our griefs and carried
our sorrows.... He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised
for our iniquities, the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and
with His stripes we are healed.'