Why are we here tonight? Why have we come to this place on a weekday… a workday? What do we expect to find? There are many of our friends and neighbors who are not here… who are not in church on this day… many for whom this Wednesday is just another weekday… another workday… among many others like it. There are many for whom this day will pass unmarked from their lives. Yet we who are here come seeking something that we long for… and something we find difficult to name… difficult to name because to name it would be to force us to face it… and call us to change it.
On Sunday, I spoke of “mountaintop experiences” in our faith journey. Those times… those mountaintop experiences… when we feel perfectly loved and accepted by God… when we feel whole… complete… are points on our journey that we remember with awe… with joy… with a longing to recapture the fleeting euphoria. But there are other points on our journey that are not so pleasant for us to remember… and yet those moments are part of our journey, too… moments we would prefer to forget. Have there been times in our lives when we did or said something that was less than a perfect reflection of our Savior… perhaps, when our anger or impatience ruled the day… when our jealousy or bitterness caused us to say or do something that we knew would hurt another person… or cause unnecessary turmoil or conflict? Have there been times when we failed to do something that we knew would have been Christ-like… when our personal desires or selfish pleasures shut out any cries for help… when we were too lazy to call someone… or too comfortable to offer to help them? Were there ever times when we returned to our homes and had the opportunity to reflect upon our day… and our thoughts were filled with “coulda… woulda… shoulda” but didn’t? Why did we do or say the things that we did? Why didn’t we do or say the things that we didn’t? Sometimes, the “coulda”… “woulda”… “shoulda”… plays over and over and over again in our minds for hours… days… weeks… months… or even years. And each time, the guilt washes over us in a torrent… leaving our stomachs in knots and the bitter taste of ashes in our mouths… and causing nights of restless wakefulness plagued by endless replays of awful moments that we would rather forget.
Guilt is a powerful motivator… an incredible force for change in our lives…and yet, there are times when even guilt doesn’t work. Guilt does not work when we feel justified in doing or saying what we did… when we are ready to defend our “unChrist-like” words or actions with elaborate rationalizations or even quotes from Old Testament pronouncements of judgment or duty. Guilt also does not work when we have done something unworthy or not done something worthy so many times that we believe our action… or inaction… is “normal.” Just as those who listen to loud music lose the ability to hear softer sounds… so those who lie lose the ability to tell the truth. Amazingly, research has shown that even those who commit horrendous crimes lose their aversion to committing them. Even murder can become “acceptable” if one does it often enough. In fact, murderers can often rationalize their actions with reasons why certain individuals “deserved to die.” It is research that explains how good and virtuous Germans could participate in the Holocaust… or how Christian Hutus could slaughter thousands of their brothers and sisters in Christ who were Tutsis. If Elijah had been a fan of rock concerts, I wonder whether he could have heard the still, small voice that spoke to him. The true danger of hearing loss is the inability to hear what is really important amid the cacophony that surrounds us.
You and I have never done anything so horrible… so callous… so damning as murder… and yet, we know we have done things that have grieved God… and some of those things, we have done over… and over… and over… and over again. Some of them we have done so often that we no longer think about it when we do them. Some things we have left undone so often that we don’t even notice that we are not doing them. Some of those things, we have pushed to the back of our minds so that we do not have to think of them. Yet, unwanted… untended… and ignored… they still spring up and choke us.
This chapter of the Book of Isaiah is one of the greatest in the entire Bible. The call story of Isaiah is certainly a favorite of seminary students and one that is often used in ordination services. In this marvelous passage, the description of the majesty of God is overwhelming… even though the only part of God that is described is train of God’s robe. We clearly understand that we, as humans, cannot tolerate greater exposure to God’s holiness than this very small part of God… and we definitely could not bear the full glory of God’s transcendent splendor. From our brief glimpse at this tiny part of God, Isaiah confronts the awesome holiness and the glorious majesty of God and contrasts it with the unbearable insignificance and putrid shame of his own existence. As the Psalmist said, “What is man that thou are mindful of him?” From this tiny glimpse into the “Holy of Holies”, Isaiah sees with crystal clarity that humankind cannot achieve even the smallest perfection… that even our best is never good enough. “Woe is me!” he cries. “I am lost and all mankind is lost. Without the refining fire of the Lord, we cannot be purified… we cannot be saved… from ourselves.
But when the voice of God asks who might be sent to represent the imperial court, Isaiah steps forward and responds, “Send me.” And most of us like to stop reading at that point… and sing a great mission hymn… and receive the blessing. But Isaiah hears, with awful clarity, the pronouncement of God regarding his prophetic commission. In a judgment that fully supports Calvin’s Doctrine of Predestination, God tells Isaiah to tell the children of Israel that they are condemned… that there will be no salvation… that fire of God’s wrath will destroy them… and that even the remnant that God usually saves will be burned again. To those who have been listening, but not hearing, God tells them to continue to listen without comprehension. The kings and judges who were anointed to lead the people have been ignored… and then they, too, turned away from God. Then, the prophets that God sent after them have preached… and preached… and preached… and, for their trouble, they have been persecuted and killed. In God’s eyes, the hearing loss of the children of Israel is now complete. They can no longer even hear God’s voice when it thunders because they have been listening to something… or someone… else for so long. God tells Isaiah to preach, but warns him that the people he is preaching to will not listen. They are doomed to destruction and God will no longer hear their pleas… no longer temper his wrath.
But this is a people that God created… created out of dust to love. This is a people whom God formed and shaped from the dust of the earth to be God’s people. They were nothing and God made them his own. He gave them the Promised Land… a land flowing with milk and honey. God cannot have turned against them completely. God cannot plan their total annihilation. “How long?” Isaiah asks… and then trembles at God’s answer. “Until the cities lie waste without inhabitant, and houses without people, and the land is utterly desolate. And, just in case Isaiah was harboring a tiny bit of hope, God says, “Even if a tenth part remain in it, it will be burned again.”
So, the question we must ask ourselves is: “Have we lost our hearing?” “Are we in danger of losing our God because we choose to ignore His voice?” I don’t know the answer to these questions, but they are questions that I will ponder during the Lenten season. Am I losing my hearing? How bad is my hearing loss? If God whispered to me today, could I even hear him? Isn’t it time for me to sit up and listen carefully again? I hope it is not too late. I hope that there is still a place in God’s heart for me. I hope there is still a place in God’s heart for you. Maybe together we can walk this road to the cross and discover the answers to these questions. Will you join me on that journey? Amen.
Isaiah 6:1-13