Holy Trinity B2018
Isaiah 6:1-8
by Pastor Sarah Stadler
In a vision, Isaiah comes before God, holy and mighty, glorious and majestic, who is sitting on a throne.
So large is God that only the hem of God’s robe fills the temple. Seraphs—heavenly, six-winged, and otherwise difficult-to-define beings—attend God and call out: Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of God’s glory. A vision of glory. A vision of majesty. A vision of mystery.
Into this vision comes Isaiah, a man of unclean lips, a lost man, a man living among unclean people. One of the seraphs holds a live coal to Isaiah’s lips and declares: Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.
And then God, seeking a prophet, asks: Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Isaiah calls out: Here am I; send me!
“You are worthy of God’s call.”
The striking juxtaposition of the story is found in the next verse, a verse we didn’t read. God, instead of scoffing, instead of saying: Yeah, right, sinner!, instead of calling into question this unclean man among unclean people, immediately assigns Isaiah his first godly task. God immediately puts Isaiah to work despite his admission of guilt. In the vision, Isaiah’s uncleanliness is easily burned away with the live coal placed to his lips—the forgiveness coming not as the result of sacrifice but simple declaration by the heavenly being. Isaiah is worthy of the task of proclaiming God’s message to God’s people. God who is holy and mighty, glorious and majestic. God so large that only the hem of God’s robe fills the temple. In the face of this God, Isaiah is worthy.
On this Holy Trinity Sunday when we stand in awe of God’s mystery, of God’s majesty, I am struck by the seeming juxtaposition of the holiness of God and the unholiness of Isaiah which, in reading the passage, is actually not a juxtaposition at all.
In our western twenty-first century culture, we find dichotomies so very alluring. A dichotomy is a division or contrast between two things that are opposed or entirely different. In making sense of the world, we often, not always but often, see ourselves, others, and events around us as either liberal or conservative, young or old, gay or straight, good or bad, moral or immoral. Likewise, in the church, we are prone to think of humanity and God in two categories that directly contradict each other. Right down the line, we are prone to thinking that humanity is sinful, broken, and impure—and God good, gracious, and holy. Humanity and God, totally different, completely opposite. Perhaps you don’t think this way, but Christians definitely trend this way, especially among Lutherans whose heritage lies in Martin Luther who spoke of humanity as “rot gut sinners.” We may very well be rot gut sinners, but that’s not all we are. And Isaiah’s call story, the vision I just described, is just one way that we know we are more. Indeed, we are worthy of God’s call. As it turns out, humanity and divinity are not opposites. God is not Other with a capital O.
God is good, yes. And so are we.
God is gracious, yes. And so are we.
God is holy, yes. And so are we.
Good and gracious and holy is not all of who we are, but it is some of who we are, we who were created in God’s image and called “good.” We, along with Isaiah, are worthy of God’s call—even faced with the immense glory and majesty of God.
My first year of college, a friend of mine, a senior, asked me: Have you ever thought about being a Bible camp counselor? Ah, no. I hate camping, and I hate kids, I said. A couple weeks later, he tried again: You should think about being a Bible camp counselor. You’re very funny, I said. In the back of mind, I was intrigued but also convinced that I was not up to the task. One day a couple months later, Peter said: “There’s a camp fair today in the Union; come and meet my camp director.” When I walked through the Union that day—because let’s be honest, I was intrigued, Peter walked me over to his camp director and said: “Loren, this is Sarah. She wants to work at camp.” And Loren immediately said: “Well, why don’t I interview you? I have an opening right now. Sit down.” Aghast and shy and unexperienced in such situations, I could not refuse, but the thought in my head was: how could I possibly be a camp counselor? I’m shy. I’m not cool. (Camp counselors are cool.) I hate camping. I hate kids. I don’t know enough about God. I’ve never led a Bible study. The kids won’t listen to me. But lo and behold, I got the job. And I did the job. Imperfectly. Tentatively. Badly, even. Still, I was worthy of God’s call to that ministry.
This has taken me a long time to figure out. God did not create us to do things perfectly. God did not create us to avoid mistakes. God created us with a capacity to fail and screw up and go our own ways. God also created us with a capacity to love and be gracious, to forgive and show compassion—along with a variety of spiritual gifts. We are not either—or. We are not simply good or simply bad. We are not just loving or just mean. Within us is the capacity for both, and whether we’re having a good day or a bad one, we are worthy of God’s call. You are worthy of God’s call.
God’s call may be to a particular job.
God’s call may be to a particular ministry here at Grace, maybe heat respite or Vacation Bible School.
God’s call may be to a service opportunity in the community.
God’s call may be to a particular relationship—maybe to mentor a child or care for an elderly neighbor.
Just because you haven’t done something before doesn’t mean you aren’t called to it. Just because you won’t do it perfectly doesn’t mean you can’t try. We aren’t God. We won’t be perfect, no matter how hard we try. We aren’t God, but we are good. And we are worthy.
Every Holy Trinity Sunday, we celebrate the mystery and the majesty of God, but this year, I also celebrate the mystery and the majesty inherent in humanity, the mystery of the love we share here in the midst of a divided and angry world, the majesty of God at work in each one of us. Like Isaiah, we are worthy of God’s call.