Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] February 6, 2022 “Holy Moly” Isaiah 6: 1-8 - New Revised Standard Version In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. 2 Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. 3 And one called to another and said: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.” 4 The pivots[a] on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke. 5 And I said: “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!” 6 Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. 7 The seraph[b] touched my mouth with it and said: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” 8 Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!” Verse 5 from Isaiah 6 is very different depending on the translation you use. We heard, “Woe is me. I am lost.” But of the dozens of translations out there, relatively few use the phrase “I am lost.” Several others, including The King James, says “Woe is me. I am undone.” Many more translate, “I am ruined” or “doomed.” What an odd response. Isaiah has just had the most incredible, magnificent experience of God. A glorious “holy moly” epiphany. Intense. Imagine: Isaiah had a vision of God seated on a throne wearing a robe so big it filled the room. He saw six-winged seraphs flying around God in circles. I had to look up seraphs. Encyclopedia Britannica defines them as “angelic beings, regarded in traditional Christian angelology as belonging to the highest order of the nine-fold celestial hierarchy.” I’ve never heard of angelology (and didn’t know we had a “traditional” form of it). And I don’t know what the nine-fold celestial hierarchy is. I can only assume that the highest of that would indeed be magnificent, glorious, and splendiferous. So, why is Isaiah’s response to all of this majesty to express woe and say he is lost or undone or ruined? To have had such an ecstatic experience, why didn’t he express gratitude? Or, more likely, awe or fear… He could have legitimately said, I am terrified! But again, depending on the translation, he said, “I am lost,” or “I am undone,” or “I am ruined.” Those three words are not synonymous, so what do they all have in common? What can’t the translators all seem to agree on? What does Isaiah really mean? To get to that question, I think we first have to consider how we think of or speak of God. In particular, these two ways: immanent and transcendent. To speak of God’s immanence is to recognize the closeness of God, the God within. To say God is immanent means that God is not some unmovable being in the sky, or a deity that started creation and has kept their hands off ever since. Rather, God is present, personal, alongside us, who comforts the mourning, binds up the brokenhearted. But if God is only that, then our God is too small. And with a small God, we might keep the focus on ourselves. One writer suggested that keeping God small helps us keep things the way we want them to be. Manageable. Or worse, status quo. Another writer said, if God is too small, then God is rather a like a bouncer we call upon to move things and people out of way, or a heavenly butler, always on call to get the things we need or want. Or God is like a great hotel concierge who can mysteriously get tickets for even the best sold-out show – a miracle if there’s ever been one. But to say God is transcendent is to experience mystery, to recognize how beyond our human understanding God really is. Instead of God within, a transcendent God is wholly other. Like a being on a throne with six winged seraphs flying around. The problem with being wholly other is a God who is wholly unrelatable. But sometimes when we are too focused on ourselves, we need a transcendent God to remember that we are not the center of the universe so that we can connect with the vastness of the cosmos. There’s a story that Saint Augustine was walking along the beach one day, puzzling over the complicated doctrine of the Trinity. He wasn’t paying attention and almost stumbled over a little boy with a bucket. The boy was running back and forth to the ocean to pour water into a little hole he had dug in the sand. I think I’ve seen that at least once every time I’ve gone to the beach. In fact, yesterday I saw an abandoned attempt at the beach in Del Mar. Augustine asked, “What are you doing?” The boy said, “I’m putting the ocean into this hole.” Augustine laughed to himself and realized that’s what he was doing too. He had an epiphany. He had been trying to put an infinite God into his finite mind. But the ocean will not fit into a hole we dig. And neither will complete understanding of God fit into our mind. And so, sometimes we make God too small. And here’s the kicker: a small God will never ask too much of us. But when we make God too big, a big God won’t even notice us, so we can shrink into the crowd and never be called upon. But God is both immanent and transcendent, like one of my favorite communion prayers: “God is as close to us as our breathing, and as distant as the farthest star.” Clearly, Isaiah has just had a transcendent experience, one that brought him very close to home because in response he said, “Woe is me. I am lost. I am undone. I am ruined.” Again, those words are not synonymous, so what do they all have in common? Maybe what they have in common is the word “I.” Maybe Isaiah had an epiphany that Isaiah is not the center of the universe. And therefore, he responded, “I am ruined.” An experience of God changes us and therefore, in fact, “I” am undone. It’s hard for the ego to realize “I” am not the most important thing in the world. And in that way, “I” am lost is not wandering aimlessly but released. Do you see what I’m trying to say? To experience the transcendence of God means we can’t help but realize: Oh my God, this is no longer about “me.” To experience that kind of transcendent God makes us care more for our world and less about our own small place in it. And once the “me” is out of the way, watch out what “we” can do. That "we" is our unity with God and consequently, our unity with each other and all creation. That oneness brings us close with all creation. It transcends our self-created limitations. It’s rare. And also frightening, because as Isaiah discovered, we find ourselves surrendering our will. And when that happens, when I am ruined, we can finally hear, we finally discover, this calling to things that are audacious and impossible. But no longer are they things that I want for me, but what God desires for us that is required of me. Isaiah might not have wanted to do what was asked of him. Maybe he hoped God wouldn’t even notice him. Maybe he was intimidated by God or thought he had a good excuse to get out of it but God moved those obstacles right out of the way. And once Isaiah's “self” was out of the way, he could freely surrender to his calling, saying “Here I am.” An "I" now focused on "we." Our Lunch and Lectionary group on Thursday concluded that Isaiah had two epiphanies. First, he experienced the magnificent splendiference of God. And humbled by it, he realized he could do what God needed him to do. And God would be with him, right alongside. Great things grow out of humility, don’t they? We can only say “Here I am” after we have humbly asked, what does God desire for us that is required of me?
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