Sermon: "Ready or Not" (Isaiah 6:1-8)

Everyone on the left → repeat after me: “Holy Holy Holy is the Lord of hosts!” (You know, the scripture says that when the winged creatures shouted this, the pivots on the thresholds shook at the sound… the doorframes shook, it was so loud!)

Everyone on the right ← say: “Holy Holy Holy is the Lord of hosts!”

Everyone on the right ← say: “The whole earth is full of God’s glory!”

Everyone on the left → say: “The whole earth is full of God’s glory!”

Isaiah heard this from the winged creatures, the sound echoing back and forth inside the temple. The temple was filled with smoke swirling around (I guess I should have brought in some fog machines…)

And, in the center, was the Lord, sitting on a throne, high and lofty, the edges of his robe filling the entire temple.

Everyone together this time: “Holy holy holy is the Lord of hosts! …

“The whole earth is full of God’s glory.”

Can you imagine what it was like for Isaiah to witness this? What an incredible experience! What an awesome encounter with God!

Stories like this used to terrify me. When I was a child, and I’d read Bible stories like this, they didn’t exactly make good bedtime stories for me. I’d wonder what it would be like if God suddenly appeared to me in such a dramatic way.

Thinking about this kept me awake at night, as I lay in bed, in the dark. This is what made me pull the covers over my eyes.

And in my prayers I would say something like, “God, I do want you in my life… but not like that.”

I guess God pretty much answered those prayers, because I’ve mostly heard God and sensed God’s presence in silence.

Since then, I’ve learned that Biblical writers often took artistic license in describing things. Scripture is often more like a painting by an artist than it is like an unaltered photograph. The photograph shows what a scene literally looks like, but a painting often conveys a greater truth, even though it can involve a great deal of artistic license.

Have you ever tried to take a picture of the moon? I have. And never has one of my photographs of the moon been able to come close to what it actually felt like to stand in the moonlight, to see my moonshadow, to see the moonglow bathe the landscape in a soft blue light. A more skilled photographer than I, with better equipment, might come closer, but it still wouldn’t compare to actually being there, standing in the moonlight.

That’s why a painting is a better way to convey what it’s like to stand in the moonlight. That’s why poetry is a better way to explain love. In many ways, art captures more truth than a simple presentation of the facts.

That’s why Jesus told parables. Parables are not literal accounts of actual events, but stories told to illustrate a deeper truth.

The scene Isaiah saw in the temple: did it actually happen like that? If you could travel back in time, would it look just like this?

It might have. But Isaiah was a poet, so who knows...

What I do know is that, for Isaiah, the experience was very real. God appeared to Isaiah in a very real and dramatic way.

And whatever happened in the temple that day, however it happened, Isaiah freaked out. Just as I would have if it was me. However it happened, it was big and dramatic. Life-changing.

This experience wasn’t something Isaiah had asked for. He didn’t know why he was chosen. He wished that God had chosen someone else, someone more worthy.

“Woe is me!” he said. “I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!”

Sometimes we all feel the same way. We feel unworthy. We feel insecure. We feel like we’re the only ones who haven’t yet figured things out.

When we were children, we thought that being an adult meant you had everything all figured out. Then when we became adults and we didn’t have everything all figured out, we wondered what was wrong with us. Right?

But being a mature adult doesn’t mean you have everything all figured out. If anything, being a mature adult means that you realize, and accept, that neither you nor anyone else has everything all figured out, that the process of figuring things out never ends, but is a lifelong journey of growth and discovery.

Isaiah didn’t have things all figured out. He felt that he wasn’t yet a fully mature, whole, complete human being. He was incomplete. Imperfect. He was not yet the person he wanted to be. He was not yet the person he felt he could and should be. And so, in his mind, he was not yet a person ready or worthy to be chosen and called by God.

Yet God called Isaiah anyway. God chose Isaiah. God used Isaiah.

Which means that being an incomplete, not-yet-whole person does not disqualify you from being called and chosen by God. Indeed, God only ever calls incomplete, not-yet-whole people, because everyone is, in some way, still in the process of becoming whole.

And being called by God is a part of that process.

This past Monday, our scout troop - Troop 29 - held an election. The scouts voted, as they do twice a year, and chose one of their own to be their next senior patrol leader.

The senior patrol leader is the scout who runs the troop, runs the meeting, keeps the scouts organized and on task.

It’s a big job.

And every time the scouts elect a new senior patrol leader, I think to myself: oh, no. That kid is just not ready. He’s not ready, yet, to have the responsibility of leading the whole troop!

Every time, I think that.

And every time, I am surprised at how each scout grows into the role. They are not fully ready, yet being elected to that position makes them ready. And in the process of leading and learning how to lead, they become the leaders that they were chosen to be.

Isn’t that true for just about every person called by God, who we read about in the Bible?

What about Esther? She went from a quiet life to life in the palace, where she played a pivotal role in saving her people. When she needed convincing that she was, in fact, the right person for the job, she was told that perhaps God had placed her in that position for such a time as this.

What about the disciples? I mentioned last week how they were, at the time of their calling, untrained, uneducated, men… Yet they were the ones called and chosen by Jesus. The only thing that really set them apart was their willingness; their willingness to follow Jesus.

I said that we all feel that way, that we haven’t yet figured everything out, and I feel that way as a pastor. By now I know how to do what I’ve been doing, but I also know that God is calling me and calling us to take the next step, to do something new, to grow, to transform. God is always calling us to grow and transform.

Am I ready for that? Are we ready for that? Am I ready to be the leader that leads us through that?

Not really. But maybe, we can all trust God that, as we go about the work of transformation, and becoming something new, that God will work in us and through us to make us ready, to help us grow, to guide us into becoming the people and the church that we need to become…

As Brian McLaren says: we make the road by walking.

Isaiah wasn’t ready. Isaiah wasn’t prepared. God knew that. God doesn’t call perfect, wholly-formed people. God calls imperfect, not-yet-wholly-formed people. And God makes them whole...

One of the seraphs flew to Isaiah, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. The seraph touched Isaiah’s mouth with it and said: ‘Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.’

And in that instant, Isaiah was changed.

We talk a lot about change. About the need for change, about the need to make change.

Isaiah didn’t make change. Isaiah didn’t initiate change. Isaiah didn’t seek change.

Change came to Isaiah.

The change was not a result of his own effort - God made the change in him. But Isaiah worked with God by being open to change, by allowing God to change him, to make him worthy.

Last Sunday, on Pentecost, we talked about the disciples receiving the Holy Spirit. They didn’t go out and pursue the Spirit; the Spirit came to them.

And they allowed the Spirit to fill them and use them. They allowed the Spirit to change them.

The same thing is happening here with Isaiah. Isaiah was connected to the royal household; some think he might have been a cousin, or a distant cousin, of the king. I don’t know how often he went to the temple. He wasn’t a priest or anything like that.

Maybe he went all the time. Maybe it was routine for him. Maybe it was part of his duty.

But on that particular day, Isaiah had an encounter like he never had before. And for him, everything changed.

The Bible, in case you haven’t noticed, is all about change. Repentance, conversion, transformation, healing - all of those words are about change.

God changed Isaiah. God cleansed him and made him whole. This is symbolized by the seraph touching Isaiah’s mouth with the hot coal.

God changes us. This is symbolized by the waters of baptism. We submit to the water, and allow God’s grace to wash over us, transform us, make us into something new.

And, like Isaiah, once we are changed, we see the world in a new way. We see the world through God’s eyes.

Everything beautiful is suddenly ten times as beautiful as it was before.

And every injustice is suddenly ten times worse than we thought it was before.

Which is why we praise God for what is good, and why we allow the spirit to use us to fix what is broken.

Because whether we were ready or not, by God’s grace we have been changed. Transformed. Made new.

Selling Ourselves Short (Jeremiah 1:1-10)

About three years ago, a friend of mine came to me with what sounded to me like a crazy idea.  Her name is Leah Dewey, and she said, “I have a dream of holding a music festival at Loch Leven, and I want you to help me plan it.”

A few weeks later, there were three of us: Leah, Doc Rogers, and myself.  Leah said, “I want to put on a music festival at Loch Leven, to support the camp.” 

Doc said, “It’s going to be just like Spirit West Coast,” which is a multiple-day Christian music festival that draws 20,000 people.

I just looked at them like they were nuts.  And I said, “You want to do THAT at Loch Leven?”

And the answer I got was, “Yeah.  More or less.”

My next thought was, “What can I possibly do to help make this a reality?”  I looked at the two people sitting across from me, and there was some hint that maybe they knew a little about what they were proposing – Doc in particular, with his music experience – but come on!  We were just three people, and we were talking about a music festival that would draw, well, maybe not 20,000 people, but certainly more people than had ever been on the grounds of Loch Leven at one time. 

But still; what could I possibly contribute to this, I who knew nothing about putting on any kind of a concert, much less an all-day music festival?

Have you ever been called to a task that you felt you just weren’t up to?  Did you ever feel asked to do something, and think that, just maybe, the one asking you had chosen the wrong person?

It’s a common experience.  Especially when we’re asked to do something by God.

Consider the case of Jeremiah.  God spoke to Jeremiah, saying: “I know all about you.  I’ve been watching you, I’ve been with you, and I have chosen you to be a prophet to people of all different ethnic groups and walks of life.”

Jeremiah’s response?  “Whoa, whoa, whoa; back the truck up.  A prophet?  You mean, one who speaks for you? You want me to act as your mouthpiece to people from different nations?

“But I’m just a boy.  I’ve never done anything like that.  I’ve never so much as taught a Bible study at my local synagogue…. Besides, it’s just not­–  well, it’s just not cool to go around talking about God and religion when you’re a teenager… no offense.”

Jeremiah’s not alone.  Isaiah experienced something similar when God called him to be a prophet.

Isaiah was there, minding his own business, when all of a sudden he had this vision of God sitting on a throne in the temple.  There were seraphs all around God, strange creatures with six wings: a pair of wings covering their faces, a pair of wings covering their, um, private parts (apparently they were both naked and shy, these seraphs), and a pair which they used to fly.

And the place shook and was filled with smoke, and Isaiah knew that this was something major, something significant, something involving him, and he said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!  There’s got to be some mistake!  I’m a person of unclean lips.  I said two cuss words just last night when I banged my head on the top of the doorway.  I really wish doorways weren’t so low… Anyway, this can’t be all for me, you must have the wrong guy…”

Then there is Gideon.  You’ve heard of Gideon, right?  His Bibles are in every hotel room in the country.

When Gideon was a young man, Israel was suffering through a difficult time.  God came to Gideon and said, “Gideon, I want you to use your might to save Israel.”

And Gideon said, “What might? My family is the weakest clan in the land, and I’m the weakest member of my family.  I’m the one everyone else always picks on... And you want me to use my might?  What might?”

How often do you feel weak?  Inadequate?  Lacking in power? 

How often do you feel like Gideon?

And then there is Moses.  Once upon a time, Moses had exercised some leadership in Egypt, but when that responsibility got to be too much for him, he fled into the wilderness and became a shepherd.  And he thought to himself, “Yes, spending time alone with the sheep suits my abilities better than trying to be a leader.”

I think maybe Moses was an introvert.

But then God called to Moses; and God said, “Moses, I’m sending you back to Egypt.  You are going to march into Pharaoh’s palace, go right to Pharaoh himself, to bring my people out of Egypt and out of slavery.”

And Moses presented God with not one, but four, objections.

Objection number one:  “Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh?”

Objection number two: “I don’t know what to say.  What do I say when Pharaoh asks who has sent me?”

Objection number three:  “What if no one believes me?”

Objection number four:  “I’m a terrible speaker.  I’m not eloquent.  I failed public speaking in college, and I have terrible stage fright.”

Well, apparently, after enough complaints and objections and whining, even God can lose patience.  God said to Moses:  “Come on!  Who gave humans their speech?  Who makes them mute or deaf, seeing or blind?  Is it not I, the Lord?  Now go on, get out of here.  I’ll give you the words to speak.  Just go!”

God, it seems, has an answer to every one of our objections.

When Gideon complained that he was too weak, God simply said, “But I will be with you.”  That’s an assurance God makes to every person God calls.  And how weak are you, really, when God is with you?  Your weakness only serves to show God’s strength and glory all that much more.

And in response to Isaiah’s objections that he was a man of unclean lips, one of the seraphs flew to Isaiah and touched his mouth with a live coal from the altar, and said, “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” 

And then the voice of the Lord said, “Whom shall I send?  Who will go for us?”

Isaiah looked around and didn’t see anyone else.  Was this a rhetorical question? 

Apparently God really was calling him, despite his imperfections.

And in response to Jeremiah’s objections, God said:  “Don’t say, ‘I am just a boy.’  There is no ‘just.’  I have consecrated and appointed you.  I will give you the words to speak.  Your imperfection and lack of experience is just what I need; it will allow my words and my glory to be seen in you.”

At the General Assembly, in one of the workshops I attended, folks were invited to introduce themselves.  Now there are a lot of pastors at General Assembly, and as we went around the room, it became clear that about half of our group were ordained ministers.  And the others, when they introduced themselves, would say, “I’m just a layperson.”

There is no just.  Ordained ministers like myself are called to a specific role in the church, but so is everyone else.  Every person has a ministry, and every ministry is significant.  Every person is called. 

There is no just.

God called Jeremiah, and said, “Now I have put my words in your mouth.  I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant.”

All those who are called by God are given great power, but too few realize it or are willing to exercise it.

It won’t be long now until we start looking to 2014 and filling the various leadership roles we have here at Bixby Knolls Christian Church.  Those who are asked to fill various leadership roles are asked because the congregation believes that God is calling them to that particular role.

Sometimes they respond by saying yes and accepting the call.  Other times they say no and decline the call.

Sometimes the reasons they say no are good and valid.  They may be going through a difficult time personally.  They may feel overcommitted already.  Those are good reasons to decline the call.

But sometimes they say they don’t feel qualified.  They feel that their faith isn’t strong enough.  They say they feel as though they’re still figuring out this whole faith thing, that they have more questions than answers and don’t feel that their faith is strong enough for the role to which they’ve been called.

Perhaps they recall others who have held that position, and it seemed to them that they were men and women of great faith: strong, confident, with gifts of leadership and influence.

They don’t think they measure up to other leaders they’ve seen, and when they are called, they end up selling themselves short, insisting that they just aren’t qualified.

But God never calls those who are qualified.  God qualifies those who are called.

If the examples presented today don’t convince you, just look at the disciples.  A more motley crew of bumbling misfits, one couldn’t find anywhere. 

What qualified them for the task was their willingness.  Their willingness to say, “Yes, here I am.”  Their willingness to learn.  Their willingness to make mistakes.  Their willingness to stumble, stand back up, brush the dust off, and keep going.

Rock the Loch is one month away.  It’s our third year.  All of our music acts so far have been musicians and bands that have volunteered their time and talent; people who believed in Rock the Loch enough that they agreed to perform for free.  However, this year, for the first time, we are able fly out to California a professional singer/songwriter from Nashville to be our headline act.  Her name is Andra Moran, and many of the songs we sing here in worship were written by her.

Also, this year, for the first time, we have several food trucks that will be present.  Food trucks aren’t going to drive all the way to some place like Loch Leven unless they can be assured that there will be a crowd.  Because of the success of Rock the Loch over the past two years, we were able to assure them that we’d have a crowd for them.

There is a lot of buzz surrounding this year’s Rock the Loch.  It will certainly be the biggest one yet, and the biggest event Loch Leven has ever hosted. 

And as a member of the planning team, I have found that there are ways for me to contribute to the success of this event, even though I still feel that I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. 

But I’m glad I said yes.

More Than a Magic Feather (Isaiah 6:1-8)

Talking about God – and prayer – even with family and close friends, is difficult. Have you noticed that?


I think for me, the reason is that words never do justice, and can hardly convey, what I really think about God, and what it’s really like, for me, to experience God’s presence.

My relationship with God often takes place without words. But communicating with people almost always involves words, at least to some extent. How do you convey, in words, something that takes place without words? How do you describe the indescribable?

Maybe there are times when a friend or family member is going through a difficult time. You want to pray with them, but aren’t sure how to do that. Just asking, “Do you want to pray about it?” sounds almost too simplistic. It sounds childish, even, as if praying is nothing more than a simple ritual that will make it all better. Prayer becomes a band-aid placed on the boo-boo that doesn’t really need a band-aid. It becomes the magic feather that Dumbo didn’t really need in order to fly.

I don’t know if this is true for you, but I have found that, in certain circumstances, I’m afraid that anything I say will sound like I’m talking about a magic feather; this can make it hard to talk about God or faith or prayer. Especially prayer.

How do you describe something like prayer? How do you tell someone who asks what it’s like to pray?

What is prayer? Ray Buckley, a spiritual storyteller who I’ve had the pleasure of meeting several times, wrote a story about a man who said this: “I believe,” he said, “that when I gather food, it is a prayer. I believe that when I smile at someone I see, it is a prayer. I believe that when I touch a child, or feed my horse, or go to work, it is a prayer. When I do anything that brings joy to the Creator, it is a prayer.”

What is prayer? Rabbi Harold Kushner said, “prayer is not ‘talking to God’ so much as it is using words and music to come into the presence of God in the hope that we will be changed by doing so.”

What is prayer? Brother Roger of the Taizé community said, “God understands all our human languages. God understands our words, and our silences, too. Silence is sometimes all there is to prayer.”

What is prayer? The apostle Paul said, “I do not know how to pray.” Paul also said, prayer involves the Spirit, interceding on our behalf, with sighs too deep for words.

How do you talk about such a thing? How do you explain to someone – with words – what it’s like to experience the Spirit interceding on your behalf, with sighs too deep for words?

My own private prayer is often me sitting in quiet awareness of God: sitting still, listening, wondering, cultivating mindfulness.

It doesn’t usually happen when I’m running around, trying to do too many things at once. It doesn’t happen when I’m sitting in front of a computer or TV screen.

It usually happens when I’m sitting still, resting in my own thoughts… or sometimes, when I’m walking or hiking; my body is in motion, but my mind is still, my mind is free from distractions, and fully present. Times when I can hear myself think, hear my own thoughts, rather than having a steady stream of radio announcers and advertisers the latest “news” from yahoo flowing through my brain.

It takes effort to find moments like that. Jesus sought them in the wilderness. Peter went up to the rooftop. Moses went up a mountain. You just gotta get away from it all once in awhile, in order to hear God, in order to experience an awareness of God’s presence.

And when that awareness comes… When that awareness comes, I can feel it! I feel it in my heart. Not just emotionally, but physically. I think that probably there is a rush of endorphins involved. And I want to start writing about what I’m feeling, hoping that by God’s grace the words I wrote don’t sound like I’m talking about a magic feather.

Or I want to get up and do something. The Spirit does have a way of making us want to get up and do something…

I want to get up and do something, something for God, something that concretely displays this hope and excitement that is within me, something that will allow others to experience the same wonder, the same holy awareness, that has come to me.

I think that’s what happened to Isaiah.

Isaiah had a deeply profound experience of God, an overwhelming encounter with the mysterious presence of the Holy One. I might be inclined to describe it as an intense awareness or mindfulness of God’s presence.

Isaiah calls it a vision.

Did he (I wonder) really see… and by “see” I mean, did he really witness something that anyone with eyes could have seen if they were there, something that could have been captured on video and put on youtube?

Did Isaiah really see God sitting on a throne, with the hem of God’s robe filling the entire temple? Did he really see seraphs – six-winged, griffin-like creatures – floating in the air above God? Did he really hear the seraphs call out, “Holy! Holy! Holy! Is the Lord of hosts!” Did he really feel the ground shake at the sound of their voices, like last week’s 4.0 earthquake?

I don’t know. If a friend came to me and said he experienced something like this, I would maybe wonder if the shaking wasn’t the result of a nervous condition, or a heart palpitation. And creatures with six wings? That’s a lot of magic feathers!

But something wonderful did happen to Isaiah. Of that, I have no doubt. Something mystical. Something beyond words, I think. And when he had to put his experience into words, this is what he came up with.

And, I have to admit: it’s pretty good.

You know about the amazing encounter Paul had with God. In several places in scripture, this encounter is described.

Paul was walking to Damascus with some companions. Suddenly a bright light appeared, and a voice was heard.

One account says that Paul’s companions heard a voice, but saw nothing. Another account says that they didn’t hear a thing, but that they did see the light.

A third account says that Paul and his companions – all of them – were knocked to the ground by this encounter.

All three of those accounts are from Acts. Paul himself describes what happens in the book of Galatians, but all he says is “God was pleased to reveal his son to me.” That’s it. He doesn’t mention a blinding light or a loud voice.

What, exactly, happened? Some people get really caught up in asking questions like that. Was there a voice, or not? Was there a blinding light, or not? If there was a voice, or if there was a light, how did Paul see & hear them, but his companions, standing right next to him, did not?

One could spend a whole lifetime asking such questions.

For me, it’s enough to know that something wonderful happened, something mysterious, something that was, I suspect, beyond words.

And so when it came time to describe Paul’s experience in words, this is what we get.

And, I have to admit, it’s pretty good.

Back to Isaiah. Isaiah had this amazing experience, this wonderful, glorious, awesome encounter with the presence of God. And it overwhelmed him.

Isaiah described it the best he could, with seraphs and voices and ground-shaking and hot coals. And maybe there really were seraphs and voices and ground-shaking and hot coals; who am I to say otherwise?

But I’m not going to concern myself with such things. Instead, I’m going to simply give thanks that Isaiah was able to take time to notice God, to be mindful of God, to clear his mind of distractions and clutter and allow God to enter.

Because if he hadn’t… If Isaiah hadn’t noticed God calling to him… If he hadn’t heard the voice, whether it came from within or without… If he hadn’t seen God, whether or not God was seen with the eye or with the mind…

If Isaiah had never experienced God and written of his experience,… then we wouldn’t have “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.” That’s Isaiah.

And we wouldn’t have a wolf living with the lamb, with a little child leading them.

And we wouldn’t have, “For unto us a child is born, and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

And we wouldn’t have people beating their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks, learning war no more.

And we wouldn’t have the description of a shoot coming out from the stump of Jesse.

And we wouldn’t have heard of a foundation stone laid in Zion, a tested stone, a precious cornerstone, a sure foundation.

All these images and descriptions – all these words – are Isaiah’s. He took a rest, he stopped to catch his breath, he paused and cleared his mind, and became aware of the awesome presence of God. And then, using words that inspire us still, he described as best he could his experience of God and of God’s vision for humanity and the world.

I know that, so often, when we talk about hearing God’s voice or experiencing God’s presence, it sounds like we’re talking about magic feathers. It especially sounds that way to our own ears. I think that’s why we mainline, progressive, rational Christians don’t really talk about God all that much. It’s why we try to hide our religion from others. It’s why many of our friends and co-workers aren’t even aware that we go to church, or that we have any kind of a spiritual life.

And maybe, we’re even afraid to have our own mystical, intense, spiritual experiences. If we actually took the time to listen for God’s voice and to notice God’s presence…, we might hear God telling us how much we’re loved. For some people, it’s not easy to hear how much they’re loved. They’re not used to it. It takes some getting used to.

Then we might also hear God calling us to do something that we don’t want to do … like change our life. And then we’d have to ask ourselves: is that really something we want to experience?

"Sent" (Isaiah 6:1-8)

What are your expectations when you come to church? Do you ever come, expecting something marvelous? Perhaps an overwhelming, life-changing encounter with God?

Probably you come expecting to see old friends, your brothers and sisters in Christ. Perhaps you come expecting to sing some old hymns, and maybe a new one or two. It may be that you come expecting to hear an old, familiar story, and possibly a way to apply that story’s meaning to your life.

Certainly, you come to offer your praise to God, and to seek guidance as you follow the way of Jesus.

But do you ever come, expecting to have an amazing, life-changing encounter with God?

I wonder what expectations Isaiah, the son of Amoz, had when he went to worship in the temple. Some who read the book of Isaiah think that he may have been a priest, which means that going to the temple was a regular occurrence for him. It was his routine, to go to the temple, to hear the old stories, stories about God’s interactions with Abraham and Moses and David.

But did Isaiah ever go, expecting to have an amazing, life-changing encounter with God?

One day, Isaiah entered the temple, and behold: there was the Lord sitting on a throne! Around him were a bunch of six-winged seraphs (or seraphim), unnatural serpent-like flying creatures. Creatures that could talk.

Encountering God like that is an awesome and overwhelming experience, I’m sure. Even the seraphim were covering their faces in God’s presence. They called out to one another: “Holy, holy, holy, is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of God’s glory.” The sound of their chant shook the temple, and the whole building filled with smoke.

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Most people go through life trying to do the best they can. Pretty much everyone wants to be known as a good person, a good man, a good woman.

And yet, no one is perfect. We go through life, meeting people, developing relationships, and within each relationship, we decide how much of our selves we want to reveal. As relationships grow, as we become more intimate, we make the decision to reveal more and more of ourselves. As trust develops, we become willing to risk sharing; we allow ourselves to become more vulnerable.

All the while, we wonder: If I reveal everything, will I still be loved? Could anyone still love me if they knew every thought, every desire that dwells within? Would they still love me if I confessed to them every fear, every insecurity, every jealousy?

We want to be known—known for who we are—but we also fear the judgment that comes with being known… and so, usually, something is held back. Some part of who we are is kept hidden.

When Isaiah encountered God in the temple, Isaiah was overcome with the knowledge that there was no hiding from God. God is acquainted with all our ways, as the psalmist said. God searches us and knows us. After all, it was God who created us, who knit us together in our mother’s womb. God knows when we sit down and when we rise up; and even from far away, God discerns our thoughts.

Isaiah was well aware of his own imperfections, his own sins; standing there in the presence of the One who is perfect, Isaiah feared the judgment which he believed was sure to come. How could his own imperfections exist side-by-side with the perfection of God?

He cried out: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!”

The secret was out; all had been revealed. Isaiah thought for sure that he was a goner.

But then, one of the seraphim flew over to Isaiah, touched his lips with a hot coal from the altar, and said: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed. Your sin is blotted out.” Apparently, God knew what was in Isaiah’s heart, and in Isaiah’s mind; and God decided that it didn’t matter. God had heard Isaiah’s confession, and yet, God withheld judgment. God still wanted to be in relationship with Isaiah.

If you’ve ever had a dark, secret part of yourself revealed to someone else—whether you intended for it to be revealed or not—and that person continued to love and accept you, then you know how wonderful that is. Isaiah discovered just how wonderful God’s love is. Nothing can separate us from that love.

Then Isaiah heard the voice of the Lord. God’s voice, the same voice that created the universe simply by saying the word, now spoke to Isaiah: “Whom shall I send? Who will go?
And Isaiah said: “Here I am! Send me!”

That’s where the lectionary ends the scripture reading; and the message is clear: When you know God’s love, you want to live for God. That’s what happened to Isaiah: He received God’s mercy and forgiveness, and he answered the call to be a prophet to God’s people.

A pretty amazing, life-changing encounter with God. In fact, it’s sort of like … a graduation. Isaiah had been studying and worshiping in the temple for most, if not all, his life. Then, in this little ceremony, in which God himself was the speaker, Isaiah entered a new stage in his life, a stage in which everything had changed.

The lectionary ends this reading at verse eight, but God still had one more word to say; literally, one more word. It comes at the beginning of verse nine…. In verse eight, Isaiah said, “Here I am; send me!” and in verse nine, God said: “Go.”

Go! Do the work that you’ve been called to do! Go! Speak my word to my people! Go! Go! Go!

Gee, maybe Andrew Lloyd Webber got it wrong; instead of “Go, go, go Joseph,” it should be “Go, go, go Isaiah!”

It’s important to not overlook that final word, “go.” Isaiah said, “Here I am; send me!” and God said, “Go.”

And of course, Isaiah went, and began a whole new life.

Do you think Isaiah was expecting that, when he came to the temple that day?

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I don’t know how many of you came to worship today expecting to have an experience similar to the one Isaiah had. I don’t know if you came, expecting to encounter God like Isaiah encountered God.

But I do know this: if you didn’t come with that expectation—you should have.

What we experience here in worship is a lot like what Isaiah experienced. We have times of praise, during which we ascribe holiness to God, through songs sung in unison. Then we hear God’s word, in the scripture that is read.

A part of Isaiah’s experience was his admission of guilt, and admittedly, one thing that worship in Disciples congregations lacks is a formal confession of sin; although, every week we do ask God to forgive our debts as we forgive our debtors. It’s not quite the same as Isaiah’s “Woe is me!” but it still does contain at least an implicit confession of our unworthiness.

Eventually, we come to the table. There, you and I taste not the hot coals, but the body and blood of Jesus.

At the table, you are welcomed into God’s presence by the One who does indeed know all about you. The One who knows every little thought, every desire, every jealousy and fear, says to you: “It’s okay; your guilt has departed. Your sin is blotted out.”

At the table, we have an amazing, marvelous encounter with God. The Spirit is present when bread is broken and shared. And the blood of Christ—we’re not talking about blood as in “creepy, gory horror”—we’re talking about life.

For me, being a blood donor has actually enriched my understanding of communion because it has given me a greater appreciation of blood as life. That’s God’s gift to us: life. New life. A new way of living, a way that is abundant and everlasting. Certainly, receiving such a gift is a life-changing encounter.

Having encountered God, Isaiah was sent out to speak difficult words in a troubled time. They were words that people didn’t always want to hear. It wasn’t easy, and yet, Isaiah felt blessed, because his life was lived in union with God.

What are we sent out to do? Well, that depends. I am called to be a pastor, a leader in the church. I am sent out to be the best pastor I can be. Some of you are called to be elders, deacons, committee members.

I have a friend in northern California whose job involves answering phones all day long, receiving customer’s questions and complaints. I suppose her calling is to treat each customer with kindness, the way Jesus would want her to. That middle part of our congregation’s mission statement—to “love kindness”—could in fact apply to almost any circumstance.

Having encountered God, and having been shown such love and mercy, surely we are called to show love and mercy and kindness ourselves.

And surely, we are called to respond to that one-word command: “Go!” I won’t speak for any of you, I’ll just speak for myself: When a call goes out for help, I will often eagerly respond, “Here I am! Send me!” But then I close my ears to the command, “Go.” “Yes, I’ll help out with that activity; yes, I’ll volunteer at school; yes, I’ll serve on that committee. You can count on me!” How quickly that turns into, “No, sorry, I can’t make it to that meeting; no, I’m busy that day; no, sorry.”

I just finished reading the book Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller, an excellent and easy to read bestseller that contains “nonreligious thoughts on Christian spirituality.” In the book, Miller says that “the greatest trick of the devil is not to get us into some sort of evil but rather have us wasting time.” In other words, to get us to say “Here I am! Send me!”… and then have us do nothing.

It really doesn’t make sense, that we could come here, week after week, experience amazing encounters with God, and then leave here and do nothing. I’m not saying that we do that 100 percent of the time; I know that many of you do go out of here and do good work, and show remarkable love and kindness to others, and that you do so because of your encounters with God.

But I also know that sometimes I get lazy, that sometimes I waste my time with unimportant stuff, and I suspect the same is true for you. When that happens, maybe it’s the devil at work in us. Or maybe, it’s just that we didn’t set our expectations high enough when we came to worship.

What are your expectations when you come to worship? And more importantly, how does what you experience here change you, motivate you, to go into the world, and do the work that God calls you to do?