From Woe is Me to Abba Father
- Michael Blitz
- May 30
- 5 min read
Isaiah’s cry of “Woe is me” becomes the Christian’s cry of “Abba, Father” through the saving work of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
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Good Morning. There are moments when we suddenly become aware we’re completely out of place like when you walk into a room of experts talking about things know nothing about, and within 30 seconds you know you are in over your head. I felt that way my freshman year at seminary, when I was the only one straight out of college and 20 years younger than my classmates.
Sometimes it happens in moments of danger or tragedy, when you see trained experts at work and realize how small and frail we are as human beings. But none of those moments compare to what happens to Isaiah in our Old Testament lesson.
Isaiah, the Prince of Prophets, is suddenly brought before the throne of the living God. Not an idea about God or a religious feeling about God, but the living God Himself. And the first thing he realizes is, he doesn’t belong there.
In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up.
The temple shakes. Smoke fills the house. Seraphim cover their faces before Him. And they cry out continually:
Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory.
Notice that the angels are not crying “love, love, love,” or “Grace, grace, grace” even though God is love and gracious. They cry “Holy.” Holy doesn’t mean ‘nice’ or even ‘loving’ first. It means God is utterly other—perfect in majesty, purity, and righteousness. They cry “Holy,” because before you can understand God’s love, you must first feel the weight of His holiness.
And standing before that holiness, Isaiah sees himself clearly as if for the first time. Woe is me, for I am lost.
Not, I made some mistakes in my life and really should have done better, but I am lost, literally I wish I was unmade. Even as a prophet, even as a religious man, he sees that he cannot stand before perfect holiness.
And that’s one of the hardest things for modern people to hear.
We live in a time when many people are uncomfortable talking about sin at all. Even churches sometimes avoid the subject. This isn’t to throw stones here. People come to church with burdens and anxieties. And there can be a fear that talking too much about sin will simply drive hurting people away.
But there’s an even greater danger in never speaking honestly about sin, and the pain it causes our souls. Because if we don’t understand sin, then we no longer understand the Gospel and why grace matters. Like many things in life, Isaiah’s healing begins with something quite painful.
If our problem was merely stress, then Jesus could be encouragement.
If our problem was merely unhappiness, then Jesus could be a life coach.
But Isaiah shows us that the problem we have goes deeper. The problem is that sinners can’t stand before the holiness of God. But this terrifying moment begins Isaiah’s healing process. One angel takes a burning coal from the altar and touches Isaiah’s lips. Your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.
Notice Isaiah does not cleanse himself. God provides the cleansing.
That’s the beginning of the Gospel. I can’t do it. And that brings us directly to Nicodemus in John chapter 3. Nicodemus comes to Jesus at night.
He is educated, respected, religious, and sincere. By outward appearances, he is exactly the kind of person who should be close to the kingdom of God. But if Isaiah needed his lips cleansed to stand before God, Nicodemus needed a total transformation of his heart to understand who was standing before him. Jesus immediately tells him:
Unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.
Nicodemus is confused because he thinks Jesus is speaking about physical birth. But Jesus is speaking about something far deeper.
He is telling Nicodemus that religion isn’t enough.
Morality isn’t enough. Learning isn’t enough.
Trying harder isn’t enough.
A sinner doesn’t merely need improvement.
A sinner needs new life, new birth. And just like our first birth, it’s not something we can cause ourselves. Jesus says:
The wind blows where it wishes.
You can’t control the wind. You can hear it and see its effects, but it comes from outside of you. That’s how it is with the Holy Spirit. This is why Christianity is not ultimately about self-help or self-construction. It is about receiving a life that comes from above, from outside of you.
Trinity Sunday can sometimes feel abstract, like a theology lecture. But the doctrine of the Trinity is not distant. It is intensely personal.
It tells us who saves us: The Father sends the Son into the world.
The Son is lifted up on the cross for sinners, just as the bronze serpent was lifted up in the wilderness.
The Holy Spirit moves like the wind, giving new birth to dead hearts. And the goal of it all is not merely forgiveness, but adoption.
In Romans 8 Paul tells us:
You have received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, Abba, Father.
God does not merely tolerate forgiven sinners. He brings them into His family. From beginning to end, your salvation is the work of the Triune God drawing sinners into His own life and love. Our sins are truly forgiven because Christ truly died for them.
But God does not stop there. He doesn’t just forgive criminals and send them away. He adopts them. He gives them a new name, a new inheritance, a new identity, and a new relation to Himself. That is why Paul says we no longer approach God in slavery and terror, but as children crying out, “Father.”
Yes, forgiven sinners still bow before God as “Holy, Holy, Holy.” But now we come with confidence because the One seated on the throne is also our Father. And we come in the Son, by the Spirit. That is the miracle of the Gospel. The God before whom Isaiah cried, “Woe is me,” is the same God who now invites you to pray, “Abba, Father.”
Trembling sinners can draw near with confidence, not because we have made ourselves worthy, but because the Father adopts us, the Son redeems us, and the Spirit seals us. The God before whom Isaiah cried, “Woe is me,” is the same God who now invites you to pray, “Abba, Father.”
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