The New Song (Isaiah 42:10-17)
Isaiah 42 begins quietly.
The Servant will not cry aloud. He will not break the bruised reed. He will not quench the faintly burning wick. Justice will come, but not with spectacle. Not yet.
Then, suddenly, the tone shifts.
“Sing to the Lord a new song.”
The command in Isaiah 42:10 does not float free from its context. It rises directly out of verse 9: “Behold, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare.” The new song is demanded because God is doing a new thing. Praise is summoned because history is about to turn.
In Scripture, a “new song” is never about musical creativity. It is about redemptive intervention. When the Psalms call for a new song, it is because the Lord has acted. “He has done marvelous things” (Psalm 98). “He put a new song in my mouth” (Psalm 40). Creation itself evokes it (Psalm 33). Deliverance produces it. Kingship requires it. Judgment summons it.
A new song is the sound that follows salvation.
But in Isaiah 42, something larger is unfolding. The scope expands outward: the sea and its coastlands, the wilderness and its cities, Kedar in the desert, Sela in the mountains. The ends of the earth are summoned. The Servant’s mission in the earlier verses was to bring justice to the nations. Now the nations are called to sing.
The geography matters. This is not Israel celebrating a local victory. This is the world being summoned to worship because of an act of God that alters the structure of reality itself.
The imagery that follows makes this clear.
The Lord goes out like a mighty warrior. He cries out like a man of war. Yet in the next breath, He speaks as a woman in labor: “Now I will cry out like a woman in labor; I will gasp and pant.” For a long time He has kept silent. Now restraint ends.
Judgment and birth happen at the same time.
Mountains are laid waste. Rivers become islands. The terrain is reshaped. The language is creation language. It echoes Genesis. The God who once separated waters and formed dry land now announces another world-shaping act.
And then comes the promise: “I will lead the blind in a way that they do not know.” Darkness will become light. Crooked places straight.
This is not incremental reform. It is re-creation.
The Servant of Isaiah 42 is not merely a moral teacher or national deliverer. He inaugurates a new order. He opens blind eyes. He establishes justice. He becomes a light for the nations. The new song anticipates a work as decisive as creation itself.
The New Testament identifies this Servant with Jesus. In Him, the blind see. In Him, justice is proclaimed to the Gentiles. But it is at the cross and resurrection that the full force of Isaiah’s language becomes clear.
The warrior conquers by being slain.
The labor pains culminate in Golgotha.
For centuries God had “kept silent.” Empires rose and fell. Prophets spoke and were ignored. The exile lingered in the bones of Israel even after return. Then, in the incarnation, divine silence broke. In the crucifixion, divine restraint ended. At the resurrection, a new creation began.
The cross is both battlefield and delivery room.
This is why the final and fullest “new song” in Scripture appears in Revelation 5. The heavenly hosts sing to the Lamb:
“Worthy are you… for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation.” The global horizon of Isaiah 42 has arrived. The desert tribes and distant coastlands are now named as redeemed peoples from every nation.
The new song there is not anticipation. It is fulfillment.
Only the redeemed can learn it. That detail is striking. The new song is not aesthetic preference. It is experiential knowledge. It belongs to those who have been ransomed. Just as Psalm 40 says, “He put a new song in my mouth,” so Revelation shows a redeemed people singing what only redemption can teach.
Isaiah 42 stands at the hinge of history, announcing that such a song is coming.
The new song, then, is the sound of new creation. It marks redemptive epochs. It accompanies exodus, return, kingship, and finally the cross. Each time God acts in a way that decisively alters the condition of His people and reveals His kingship afresh, the only fitting response is a new song.
In Jesus, God has done something wholly new. Not new in the sense of unprecedented in intention, for it was promised from the beginning. But new in accomplishment. The Servant has come. The blind are led. The darkness is pierced. The nations are summoned. Idols are put to shame.
And so the church sings.
When we gather and praise Christ, we are not merely repeating ancient liturgy. We are participating in the song Isaiah foresaw and John heard. We are joining the anthem of a world remade through a crucified and risen Servant. The new song is not about novelty. It is about reality. It is the music of the new world breaking in.
And it began, as Isaiah said it would, when God finally broke His silence.
The Servant will not cry aloud. He will not break the bruised reed. He will not quench the faintly burning wick. Justice will come, but not with spectacle. Not yet.
Then, suddenly, the tone shifts.
“Sing to the Lord a new song.”
The command in Isaiah 42:10 does not float free from its context. It rises directly out of verse 9: “Behold, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare.” The new song is demanded because God is doing a new thing. Praise is summoned because history is about to turn.
In Scripture, a “new song” is never about musical creativity. It is about redemptive intervention. When the Psalms call for a new song, it is because the Lord has acted. “He has done marvelous things” (Psalm 98). “He put a new song in my mouth” (Psalm 40). Creation itself evokes it (Psalm 33). Deliverance produces it. Kingship requires it. Judgment summons it.
A new song is the sound that follows salvation.
But in Isaiah 42, something larger is unfolding. The scope expands outward: the sea and its coastlands, the wilderness and its cities, Kedar in the desert, Sela in the mountains. The ends of the earth are summoned. The Servant’s mission in the earlier verses was to bring justice to the nations. Now the nations are called to sing.
The geography matters. This is not Israel celebrating a local victory. This is the world being summoned to worship because of an act of God that alters the structure of reality itself.
The imagery that follows makes this clear.
The Lord goes out like a mighty warrior. He cries out like a man of war. Yet in the next breath, He speaks as a woman in labor: “Now I will cry out like a woman in labor; I will gasp and pant.” For a long time He has kept silent. Now restraint ends.
Judgment and birth happen at the same time.
Mountains are laid waste. Rivers become islands. The terrain is reshaped. The language is creation language. It echoes Genesis. The God who once separated waters and formed dry land now announces another world-shaping act.
And then comes the promise: “I will lead the blind in a way that they do not know.” Darkness will become light. Crooked places straight.
This is not incremental reform. It is re-creation.
The Servant of Isaiah 42 is not merely a moral teacher or national deliverer. He inaugurates a new order. He opens blind eyes. He establishes justice. He becomes a light for the nations. The new song anticipates a work as decisive as creation itself.
The New Testament identifies this Servant with Jesus. In Him, the blind see. In Him, justice is proclaimed to the Gentiles. But it is at the cross and resurrection that the full force of Isaiah’s language becomes clear.
The warrior conquers by being slain.
The labor pains culminate in Golgotha.
For centuries God had “kept silent.” Empires rose and fell. Prophets spoke and were ignored. The exile lingered in the bones of Israel even after return. Then, in the incarnation, divine silence broke. In the crucifixion, divine restraint ended. At the resurrection, a new creation began.
The cross is both battlefield and delivery room.
This is why the final and fullest “new song” in Scripture appears in Revelation 5. The heavenly hosts sing to the Lamb:
“Worthy are you… for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation.” The global horizon of Isaiah 42 has arrived. The desert tribes and distant coastlands are now named as redeemed peoples from every nation.
The new song there is not anticipation. It is fulfillment.
Only the redeemed can learn it. That detail is striking. The new song is not aesthetic preference. It is experiential knowledge. It belongs to those who have been ransomed. Just as Psalm 40 says, “He put a new song in my mouth,” so Revelation shows a redeemed people singing what only redemption can teach.
Isaiah 42 stands at the hinge of history, announcing that such a song is coming.
The new song, then, is the sound of new creation. It marks redemptive epochs. It accompanies exodus, return, kingship, and finally the cross. Each time God acts in a way that decisively alters the condition of His people and reveals His kingship afresh, the only fitting response is a new song.
In Jesus, God has done something wholly new. Not new in the sense of unprecedented in intention, for it was promised from the beginning. But new in accomplishment. The Servant has come. The blind are led. The darkness is pierced. The nations are summoned. Idols are put to shame.
And so the church sings.
When we gather and praise Christ, we are not merely repeating ancient liturgy. We are participating in the song Isaiah foresaw and John heard. We are joining the anthem of a world remade through a crucified and risen Servant. The new song is not about novelty. It is about reality. It is the music of the new world breaking in.
And it began, as Isaiah said it would, when God finally broke His silence.
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