A sermon by Associate Minister Elsa A. Peters, June 7, 2009
Isaiah 6:1-8
275 years. 50 years. 30 years. (Sheepishly raises hand.) Elder and um, younger. Last week, when Cyndi Alden returned from her vacation, she remarked that she had the opportunity to reconnect with an old friend – someone she has called a friend for 30 years. Wow, I said. Kathy Sahrbeck, characteristically, guffawed saying, “You must have no idea what that’s like. 30 years is your lifetime.”
Isaiah’s words fall upon my lips: Woe is me! I am lost. My awkwardness is not unclean lips or even the sight of the Lord seated upon a throne. It’s just that I’m young. I am a 30 year-old clergywoman who humbly witnesses to the 275-year history of this family of faith. Trust me, I feel young on moments like these where we celebrate 50 year members and install elders in the church while their many gifts and talents are proclaimed.
Woe is me! I am lost, Isaiah says. And I think understand. I think I know what he’s feeling in this moment before God seated upon a throne in the “inner sanctum of the Jerusalem Temple. In a later period, and perhaps in Isaiah’s time, access to this area would have been restricted to priests,” which may mean that Isaiah was a priest but there’s no conclusive evidence. We only know that he was a prophet. It was his task to deliver the message to the Northern Kingdom that their God wasn’t big enough. Bad things were happening. People were fighting and big change was coming. Isaiah’s task was to prepare the people of Judah religiously for change. It took him 40 years starting right here in the “year that King Uzziah died.”
Then, he starts this prophetic career by saying: Woe is me! I am lost. He starts blabbering. Nervously, I think. Right there, in front of God, high and lofty with six-winged singing seraphim floating around, Isaiah starts blabbering. Oh Gosh. I can’t be seeing this. Not me. This can’t be happening. I have no idea what to say. Here I am before God. Oh man, my lips are unclean. I think I know how that feels. It doesn’t say how old Isaiah was. His gifts and talents are not proclaimed in front of a congregation – or even in front of God, but I think I understand why Isaiah begins his story here with this awkward blabbering. I think I understand why Isaiah shares his vision of God here. As fantastically strange as this is, Isaiah is simply saying that God is big. For Isaiah, God is really, really, really big. The throne, the seraphim, the smoke – all of this illustrates that God is big because for Isaiah, that’s what God is. “God, for Isaiah, embodies the element in human life and human history which is beyond human control or manipulation. [God] is an unseen yet benevolent and powerful presence; [God] represents… the accumulation of Israel’s experience as a people.” God is out of Isaiah’s control. God is the whole of human history. God is really, really, really big.
I think I understand this. It’s really hard to explain but I think I get it. I need a metaphor. The throne doesn’t work for me. That’s not how I see God. I need another metaphor that I can see, touch and feel mostly because I can’t wait forever for some deity to appear on a throne before me. I need something else –like the ocean. Last week, I drove down to Ogunguit with some friends to walk on the beach. I don’t know why we had to go that far but I’m glad we did. It gave me enough distance to feel like I was escaping. It gave me enough pause so that when I walked down the ramp onto the sand, I could feel everything shift. I don’t know how to explain it exactly but something in me clicks when I’m near the ocean. It evokes memories of places far from Ogunguit and connects me to people who have left this world. I can’t control it but in that moment, I know that my God is big enough for all that I’m feeling.
So, I think I know how Isaiah feels. I think I understand how he envisions the God he needs to empower the people of Judah to imagine their own God. I imagine the God of Sand and Surf that allows me enough pause to catch my breath in wonder. Just as Isaiah does in the beginning of his prophetic career, I see God. Isaiah sees the God that will allow him to stop stammering and protesting to answer God’s request: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” This is the question that trips us over. We can glaze over Isaiah’s vision of God. It fits with the rest of the Biblical story well enough, but this question alarms us. It’s not just a question just for Isaiah, but for each of us. “And I said,” the text says. “And I said,” as if you or I could be the one answering the question. “And I said,” as if you or I could be the one stammering and protesting. “And I said,” as if you or I could be challenged to find the strength to say…
We don’t though. We stammer. We make excuses about our age or our merits mostly because we have no idea where we are going. “Whom shall I send” is terrifying enough. But “who will go for us,” demands the question of where we are going. What is our prophetic task? What is my prophetic task? What is your prophetic task? How can we ever answer this question if we don’t fully understand what’s being asked of us?
And yet, we do. Today, we honor three women that have done just that. They may not claim prophetic vision. In fact, if you watched them receive this honor at our Annual Meeting last week, you probably heard them embody Isaiah’s stammering: Oh Gosh. I can’t be seeing this. Not me. This can’t be happening. I have no idea what to say. Here I am before God. Oh man, my lips are unclean. We didn’t touch their mouth with a hot coal to calm them. We did what we know how to do best. We clapped our hands in our appreciation for all they have done for this church over the years of their membership, but this is not an ending. Not for the elder or the younger. Not for the 50 year members or those that have been here 5 months. The sea hasn’t dried up. Another wave crashes to remind us this is not an ending, but a beginning to how we answer God’s request: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?”
“And I said,” the text tells us. It’s not about what you’ve done to serve the church. “And I said” means that you don’t have to be a prophet or a preacher. It doesn’t matter how old you are. The text answers the question for us. “And I said” means that we each have an answer to God’s request. We each have something to offer so that our God is “the accumulation of [all of our] experience as a people.” It might be a metaphor or a bit of wisdom. Whatever it may be, it might not strike us like seeing God sitting on a throne surrounded by seraphim and the smoke, but it’s there. We all have the opportunity to imagine where God is sending us simply by saying…