In an age shrouded in deepening darkness, what do true repentance and fasting really mean? Through Pastor David Jang’s sermon on Isaiah 58, we reflect deeply on the calling to rebuild collapsed foundations and become “repairers” who help heal a wounded era.
Among
Michelangelo’s masterpieces on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is the figure
of the prophet Jeremiah. Seated with his chin resting on his hand, sunk in deep
anguish, he looks as though he is watching Jerusalem’s descent into ruin and
feeling a pain that penetrates to the bone. The grief for the age, and the
frailty of humanity standing before God’s judgment, seem to press through the
canvas itself. Our present reality does not appear so different from the weight
carried in that image. Passing through the long tunnel of the pandemic, we hear
news from around the world of churches closing and sanctuary lamps going dark.
Statistics coldly forecast that countless churches will vanish within eighteen
months, and a spiritual stagnation—like darkness covering the land—bears down
on our hearts. In such a time of crisis, what, then, must we hold fast to?
An
Altar of Contrition That Tears the Heart, Not the Garment
In
this grave season, Pastor David Jang (Olivet University), through the prophetic
proclamation of Isaiah 58, places before us a piercing question: repentance and
fasting. Yet the fasting spoken of here is not a mere act of ascetic
discipline—simply abstaining from food. The prophet Isaiah rebukes the people
of Israel for their duplicity: outwardly they fasted and pretended to seek God,
while inwardly they pursued their own pleasures, quarreled, and oppressed the
weak. It resembles the prayer of the Pharisee in Luke 18: “I fast twice a
week,” he boasted, parading his righteousness—yet within him there was no
broken spirit.
What
we need today is not a dazzling religious performance. As the prophet Joel
cried, “Do not tear your garments, but tear your hearts,” we must come before
God with a desperate self-denial that spills out our fundamental sinfulness.
Through his sermon, Pastor David Jang voices God’s heart—a God who even found
the burning smell of offerings repulsive—and calls us to a restoration that is
not trapped in formality but returns to the essence. If our worship and prayers
are not to become empty echoes, then our fasting must be a holy struggle:
emptying ourselves of desire and filling the hollowed-out space with God’s
mercy.
A
Loving Solidarity That Loosens the Bonds of Wickedness
Then
what kind of fasting truly pleases God? It is social practice that goes beyond
ritual—namely, the concrete embodiment of love. To loosen the bonds of
wickedness, to undo the straps of the yoke, to share bread with the hungry—this
is true godliness. At this point, Pastor David Jang offers a theological
insight that penetrates to the heart of the Christian gospel. Fasting does not
end with afflicting oneself; rather, through that sharpened sensitivity to
pain, it resonates with the suffering of one’s neighbor.
Our
age is filled with those who groan under economic poverty, illness, and
isolation. While the church raises its walls to protect its own comfort, people
outside those walls tremble in cold and hunger. God desires not so much that we
skip meals, but that we do not ignore our neighbor’s hunger. Perhaps the reason
our prayers do not ascend to heaven is that we still swing a “wicked fist,”
condemning one another, and oppressing others to satisfy our own cravings. True
fasting is holy sharing—emptying my bowl to fill another’s bowl. This is the
spirit of the cross.
The
Calling of a Repairer Who Rebuilds the Ruins
When
we move toward such true fasting and repentance, Scripture promises a
remarkable restoration: “Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and
your healing shall spring up speedily…” This word is God’s radiant hope spoken
into our despair. As highlighted in the key verse Pastor David Jang cited, we
are called to be “repairers of broken walls.” Even if the church seems to be
collapsing and the world appears desolate, the holy seed that remains—like a
stump—will sprout again.
Rebuilding
the ancient foundations need not look glamorous or grand. It may be the hidden
work of filling the gaps of ruined walls with our tears and prayers—without
name, without spotlight. It is the labor of restoring paths so that people may
dwell again. Pastor David Jang’s message does more than comfort believers
walking through a dark tunnel; it breathes into them a sense of mission. Even
if we now stand in pitch-black darkness, if we loosen one another’s yokes and
come forward in repentance that tears the heart, then our darkness will become
like midday. We long for grace to overflow once more—like a watered garden,
like a spring whose waters do not fail—upon the churches of this land and the
lives of the saints. And we pray earnestly that today, our prayer might become
a single brick in that holy work of rebuilding what has fallen.
www.davidjang.org
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