Isaiah 21:10-17: a reflection

10You are my threshing, and the grain of my floor!” That which I have heard from the LORD of Armies, the God of Israel, I have declared to you. 11The burden of Dumah. One calls to me out of Seir, “Watchman, what of the night? Watchman, what of the night?” 12The watchman said, “The morning comes, and also the night. If you will inquire, inquire. Come back again.” 13The burden on Arabia. You will lodge in the thickets in Arabia, you caravans of Dedanites. 14They brought water to him who was thirsty. The inhabitants of the land of Tema met the fugitives with their bread. 15For they fled away from the swords, from the drawn sword, from the bent bow, and from the heat of battle. 16For the Lord said to me, “Within a year, as a worker bound by contract would count it, all the glory of Kedar will fail, 17and the residue of the number of the archers, the mighty men of the children of Kedar, will be few; for the LORD, the God of Israel, has spoken it.”

In the midst of Isaiah's oracles comes a haunting little exchange. A voice calls out of the darkness to the watchman on the wall: Watchman, what of the night? Watchman, what of the night? It is the cry of those in darkness, longing to know how much of the night remains, when the dawn will come. And the watchman answers, cryptically: The morning comes, and also the night. If you will inquire, inquire; come back again. Morning is coming, he says; but the night is not yet over.

Notice the mingled hope and endurance in the watchman's answer. Morning comes, he assures the questioner; the dawn is on its way, the darkness will not last forever. But also the night; the darkness is not yet finished, and there is more waiting to do before the morning fully arrives. It is an honest answer, holding together the certainty of coming dawn and the reality of present darkness, the hope of morning and the endurance of the night not yet past.

That exchange speaks to seasons of darkness and waiting in our own lives. Like the questioner, we cry out in our dark times, longing to know when the dawn will come, how much of the night remains. And the honest answer is often the watchman's: morning is coming, but the night is not yet over. There is real hope, the dawn is certain, and also real waiting, the darkness not yet past. When you are in a long night, hold both truths. The morning comes; the dawn is sure, and the darkness will not last forever. But you may need to endure the night a while longer. Keep watching for the morning, and keep enduring the night, trusting that the dawn the watchman promised is surely on its way.

Lord, out of the darkness came the cry, watchman, what of the night? and the answer, the morning comes, and also the night. When I am in a long season of darkness and waiting, longing to know when the dawn will come, meet me with that honest word. The morning comes; the dawn is certain, and my darkness will not last forever. But help me also endure the night that is not yet over, the waiting that remains. Hold both truths before me: the sure hope of coming morning, and the endurance the present night requires. Keep me watching for the dawn, and keep me faithful through the night, trusting that the morning you have promised is surely on its way. Bring the dawn, Lord, in your time; and sustain me until it comes.