Isaiah 40:21–31 & Hebrews 12:1–2

The Christian life is not a sprint, a casual walk, or a spectator sport—it is a race. The writer of Hebrews tells us plainly in Epistle to the Hebrews 12:1–2 to lay aside every weight, lay aside sin, run with endurance, and look to Jesus. And when you turn to Book of Isaiah 40, you find weary runners. Israel is exhausted in exile, discouraged, and tempted to believe God has forgotten them: “My way is hidden from the Lord” (Isaiah 40:27). Into that weariness, God speaks a simple but life-changing command: “Lift up your eyes.” Before He tells them how to run, He tells them where to look. Hebrews begins the same way—“looking unto Jesus.” If you want endurance, you must correct your vision.

Isaiah first calls us to see the greatness of the One we are running toward. “Do you not know? Have you not heard?” God sits above the circle of the earth. Nations are like grasshoppers before Him. Rulers rise and fall at His command. Israel felt dominated by Babylon, but God reminds them that Babylon is dominated by Him. Hebrews calls Jesus “the author and finisher of our faith.” He is not merely watching the race; He designed it, marked the course, and stands at the finish line. As Charles Spurgeon once said, “The sovereignty of God is the pillow upon which the child of God rests his head.” You cannot endure if you believe history is out of control. Endurance grows when you see who is on the throne.

Isaiah then lifts our eyes higher: “Lift up your eyes on high and see who has created these things.” He calls the stars by name, and not one is missing. If He numbers stars, He has not misplaced you. Our problem in endurance is often misplaced vision. We stare at obstacles, fatigue, and opposition instead of fixing our gaze on Christ. Hebrews 12:2 carries the idea of looking away from everything else and fastening your eyes upon Him. Endurance is born in sight. When Peter looked at the waves, he sank. When he looked at Christ, he walked.

And we do not merely see His greatness—we see His suffering love. “Who for the joy set before Him endured the cross.” He endured first. The race we run, He has already run. The suffering we fear, He has already faced. The cross we dread, He has already carried. John Owen wrote, “A sight of the glory of Christ is the spring and cause of our perseverance.” You will not endure by staring at your endurance. You endure by staring at Jesus.

But Isaiah does not leave us gazing upward; he brings us inward. We must understand our weakness. “My way is hidden from the Lord” is the cry of exhaustion. When runners grow tired, they question everything: Is it worth it? Does anyone see? Does God care? Weariness itself is not sin, but believing God has forgotten you is. Even youths faint and grow weary. Natural strength is not enough. The strongest runner still tires. The most disciplined saint still feels frailty. As A. W. Tozer observed, the Christian’s strength rises and falls with how closely he cultivates the knowledge of God. Weakness is not the enemy of endurance—self-sufficiency is. God allows fatigue to expose our dependence.

Hebrews also tells us to lay aside every weight and sin. Some things are not sinful; they are simply heavy—expectations, comparisons, pride, unnecessary burdens God never asked us to carry. Endurance requires humility. You cannot run well while gripping what God told you to release.

Then comes the promise: “But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength.” Waiting is not passive resignation; it is active trust. It carries the idea of binding yourself to the Lord in hopeful expectation. God does not remove the race; He refreshes the runner. He renews strength—like exchanging worn-out garments. He sustains what He starts. Waiting produces perspective: “They shall mount up with wings like eagles.” Eagles do not survive storms by flapping harder but by catching wind currents. Waiting teaches us to catch divine currents instead of exhausting ourselves in human panic. As J. I. Packer noted, trust is a habit—the more you exercise it, the stronger it grows.

Isaiah’s order is striking: soar, walk, run. Sometimes God lifts you above the storm. Sometimes He sustains you quietly step by step. Sometimes He simply strengthens your stride. Endurance is rarely dramatic; it is deeply faithful. Hebrews says to run with endurance the race set before us—not someone else’s race, not an imagined race, but ours.

So how do we run? We correct our vision daily by looking to Christ before we look at news, problems, or pressures. We admit our weakness quickly instead of hiding exhaustion. We practice waiting intentionally through prayer, stillness, Scripture meditation, and trust in delay. Waiting is not wasted time; it is training time.

And remember this: the finish line is a Person. “Looking unto Jesus.” The finish line is not success, relief, or retirement—it is Christ. He endured the cross, despised the shame, and sat down at the right hand of God. One day we will finish our race and see Him face to face. Until then, see Him. Know your weakness. Wait on Him. Run with endurance.

Some of you are tired. Some are doubting. Some are barely walking. But the everlasting God does not faint nor grow weary. Your strength is limited; His is not. Your endurance fluctuates; His faithfulness does not. So fix your eyes. Lay aside the weight. Wait on the Lord. And run—because the One at the finish line is the One who runs with you.