When I graduated seminary, my mother gifted me this quilt. Each block represents a different Bible story. The rivers at creation. The doves at the end of the flood–though doves show up so many places, Job’s tears in the midst of his suffering. Quilts often tell stories.
The Isaiah Quilt
“You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.”
— Pirkei Avot 2:16
Imagine a quilt that has been in the family for three generations. It’s known affectionately as Grandma’s Quilt. Grandma worked on it all her life, sewing each square by hand from leftover scraps. The patterns were traditional, but the colors and symbols told the story of her life and faith. When she died, the quilt was draped over her rocking chair—unfinished, with one square dangling.
Her daughter took up the work. She used a sewing machine and new fabrics, adding her own creativity while honoring what came before. Her squares reflected her experiences and beliefs. When she passed, the quilt again lay unfinished, one square dangling.
Then the granddaughter began her part. She drew on new tools and technologies, mixing old traditions with fresh designs—rectangles, circles, stars that flowed into each other. When she was done, she too left one square dangling, hoping that future generations would continue the work.
This quilt, built across generations, is a powerful image for the Book of Isaiah—a multigenerational work of prophecy, faith, and hope. Though it bears one name, it is really the labor of three prophetic voices, each speaking to their own time while stitching new meaning into the fabric of what came before. Reading Isaiah is like studying a square of a vast quilt: to appreciate it, we must see how it connects to the rest.
The Advisor (8th Century BCE)
The first quilter, Isaiah son of Amoz, lived during the rise of the Assyrian Empire—a time of fear and uncertainty for Judah. As royal advisor to four kings, he faced a difficult question: Should Judah submit to Assyria, ally with Egypt, or trust in God alone?
His first square shows God as King—the Lord high and exalted, the train of his robe filling the Temple. For the Advisor, God’s presence in Jerusalem was Judah’s true security. He was Immanuel—God with us. If the people trusted their divine King, no empire could destroy them.
The next square shows a vineyard, representing God’s people. In his “Song of the Vineyard,” Isaiah tells how God lovingly tended his vineyard—Israel—only to find it producing bad fruit: injustice and bloodshed. Like the vineyard owner, God would destroy what bore only corruption. The warning was clear: Judah must bear good fruit, or face the same fate.
The third square depicts a dawn—the rise of a new day under King Hezekiah, a ruler who trusted God and brought reform. Isaiah saw this as the birth of peace: “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.” It was a time of renewal, a vision of hope that war’s bloodied robes would be burned, and the Lord’s anointed would reign as Prince of Peace.
Yet the Advisor’s quilt ends with uncertainty. Would Judah remain faithful? Would the light endure? One square was left dangling.
The Comforter (6th Century BCE)
Two hundred years later, a new prophet picked up the Isaiah Quilt. Judah had fallen. The Temple lay in ruins. The people were exiled in Babylon, believing God had abandoned them. Into this despair, the Comforter spoke words of tender hope: “Comfort, comfort my people.”
The Comforter’s first square shows God enthroned above the circle of the earth, looking down on humanity’s fleeting empires. For him, God was not just Judah’s king but the one and only God—creator of all, who could hear his people even in exile. This was a radical monotheism born in suffering: no idol could see or save, but their God could.
His next square shows a lamb, wounded and bleeding. The lamb represents the people—broken, yet chosen. Through the image of the suffering servant, the Comforter taught that Israel’s pain would become a source of healing: “By his wounds we are healed.” Their punishment was over; God had forgiven them.
His final square is a river in the desert—a vision of renewal and homecoming. God would lead his people through the wilderness once more, as in the days of Moses. Every valley would rise, every mountain fall, and streams would flow in dry places. The earth itself would sing: “The trees of the field will clap their hands.”
The Comforter’s words overflow with hope, but his work too ends unfinished. Would the exiles return? Would they learn from suffering and live as witnesses of the one true God? One square still dangled, waiting for the next hand.
The Anointed (5th Century BCE)
A century later, the people had returned to Judah, but the world had changed. They were a small province of the Persian Empire—no king, no glory, just ordinary lives. Into this spiritual fatigue came the Anointed, a prophet-priest urging them to rebuild their faith and their city.
The Anointed’s first square shows God as a Father. When the people felt God’s absence, the prophet cried, “O that you would rend the heavens and come down!” Yet he reminded them: “You, Lord, are our Father; we are the clay, you are the potter.” God’s presence would return—not through kings or miracles, but through their faithful living.
His next square is a ram’s horn, proclaiming the year of the Lord’s favor. The Anointed calls the people to become “a nation of priests,” bringing good news to the poor, binding the brokenhearted, freeing the captives. God’s people were to be a blessing to all nations—a light of justice and mercy in the world.
The final square shines with a city on a hill—Jerusalem reborn as a place of peace and joy. The Anointed dreams of a new heaven and new earth, where life flourishes, sorrow ceases, and creation is renewed. Wolves and lambs feed together; the sound of weeping is no more. Hope itself becomes the fabric of the world.
And yet—even here—one square is left dangling.
The Quilt of Hope
Imagine, again, Grandma’s Quilt. Centuries later, someone finds it in a chest. They assume Grandma made the whole thing herself—a lone genius, timeless in style. It’s a lovely but incomplete understanding.
Yet something important would be lost by failing to recognize the contributions of the mother and daughter. Their stories would be erased. More importantly, every time the family members walk by the one square dangling down, they will fail to see its profound 19 invitation to them: to take up scissors and fabric, needle and thread, and begin anew the work of faithfully, scrap by scrap, and stitch by stitch, adding their own squares.
This, I believe, is the invitation of the Isaiah Quilt to us. Each of us is invited to add our own square to the unfolding story of what God is doing. Each of us in our own time and place must decide how we will communicate who God is, what it means to be God’s people, and put forth a vision of a hopeful future. This is the work of theology. Faithfully, stitch by stitch, and scrap by scrap, each generation adds its row, always leaving one square dangling. That is, until that day when the horn shall sound, and the One who is seated at the right hand of the Father, above the circle of the earth, shall return. Then he will once again rule amongst his people, leading them from the wilderness of sin and death to a good and fruitful land. There, on the Holy mountain, there will be a bright eternal dawn of a new unending day, for the Lamb will be their light. Only then will that last square, too beautiful and ambitious to imagine, be stitched into the quilt of hope.