I don’t like surprises. Generally, I feel uncomfortable when things happen that are unexpected. Yes, I can cope, but I don’t like it. Maybe that’s why I feel comfortable with a church which is, at the very heart of it, liturgical – that is, there are fixed words, things happen in a particular order, and I know what is going to happen and when it is going to happen. There are no real surprises. And that suits me.
The danger is that the words and the actions can lose their meaning; that I can (and sometimes do!) say those beautiful, laden-with-meaning words with my mouth and then discover I have for example, said the Creed, while wondering what time I need to put the chicken in the oven so that it will be ready at the same time as the roast potatoes… I can come to a service at Christ Church, I can participate in a service, taking communion, and I can go home again, still feeling comfortable, and unchallenged, because I have not really engaged in the service in any meaningful way.
I wonder if it was the same for Isaiah. I wonder if the services that he went to were also liturgically based, with the comforting pattern of words and actions that were repeated each time. I wonder if he went along to the Temple that day, with no expectations besides an hour or so spent in the incense-laden air, saying words – which, like me, he no doubt meant on a superficial level, without thinking too deeply about the demands that were there in the words he spoke.
But it didn’t quite work out that way, did it? Because on this particular day, he truly met God and understood what this meant.
It strikes me that the experience that is recounted in the reading from Isaiah perhaps follows the pattern of our Eucharist service and is perhaps what we should come to church expecting to happen. Not a comfortable service, where we go away from the table feeling satisfied, but rather where we go from the table feeling challenged, energised, and yes, maybe a little overwhelmed.
Isaiah came to the Temple, and he was faced with a vision of God. A vision that was terrifying, yet beautiful at the same time. A vision that caused Isaiah to understand more about God, and his relationship with God. And as we enter into our Eucharistic services here in Church, we are blessed with reading from scripture and a homily that helps us (or should help us) to see God a little more clearly, to understand more about our relationship with God and with humanity.
And with that understanding comes the realisation, as it did with Isaiah, that we are not worthy. We are not worthy to stand in God’s presence, we are not worthy of God’s love, we are undeserving of anything, because – even if we do not intend to be - we are implicit in the evil of the world, in the destruction of creation, in the oppression of the weak, and in the injustice and imbalance of power.
Isaiah saw all this in a flash as he was faced with the Seraphs singing praises to the Lord, as he heard of the holiness of God, And it certainly wasn’t a comfortable experience. It was something that shook him to the core, like an express train rattling through him, taking his breath away and exposing his sinfulness. I fear that very rarely, if ever, do I have that response to the readings from the Bible, and the homilies given. But if we come to church open and willing to be moved, to be challenged, to be shaken, then perhaps it would happen more often…
But even if we have only seen a very faint glimmer of the glory of God in the readings and homily, rather than the full Seraph-filled vision of Isaiah, we still have some understanding of our unworthiness, of our need for God’s forgiveness, God’s grace. Isaiah spoke the words "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!" We say the words “Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbours as ourselves.” Not quite so dramatic, I will admit, but if we say these words and mean them, they are as honest and true as Isaiah’s cry of anguish and realisation of the distance between humanity and the Divine.
And for Isaiah forgiveness and grace comes in the form of a hot coal touching his lips, and the words "Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed, and your sin is blotted out." And for us? For us we are privileged to have the touch of bread and wine on our lips, as a symbol that Christ gave himself for us, so that our sins are blotted out, and that we can receive God’s grace in its fullness and beauty.
The Australian preacher, Nathan Nettleton writes: Part of the reason we follow this pattern of worship each Sunday, is that it doesn’t ignore our fear, but leads us by the hand through this experience of grace. We gather and praise God’s generous love. We confess our unworthiness and hear the promise of gracious forgiveness. We hear God speak to us and we pray that God’s grace might heal the world, including us. We receive God’s gracious self-offering placed into our hands, and feed on gifts we could never earn or deserve. Gifts vibrant with life and love. Gifts of sheer grace. Gifts that have the power to unmask us and open before us the destiny for which we were created.
But that is not the end. Because Isaiah realises that, having been a recipient of God’s grace and mercy, he is incumbent to share this with others. And he says: "Here am I; send me!" And this should be our response too, every Sunday, to the meal we have shared with Christ and with our fellow Christians. “Here I am. Send me” And we do say that – although maybe we don’t always mean it – as we pray “Send us now into the world in peace, and grant us strength and courage to love and serve you with gladness and singleness of heart;”
But where? Where are we being sent? Well, I was given a choice in the Lectionary. We could have stopped after Isaiah’s words of commitment; but I felt it was important to read the next part too:
Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand.'
Make the mind of this people dull, and stop their ears, and shut their eyes,
so that they may not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and comprehend with their minds, and turn and be healed."
Like Isaiah, we are being sent into a world where people do not listen; they do not listen to the cries of anguish, the voices of the persecuted; where they do not see the ugliness of war and the fear in the eyes of a broken child; where they choose to turn away, rather than become involved. And we have that choice too. And I will admit before you that too often, I have turned away, or done the bare minimum, because I want to stay comfortable. I don’t want to face the unexpected. But if I am truly involved in the Eucharistic service, the bread and wine should burn my lips so that I too am ready to say, “Here I am. Send me”.
In one of the Eucharistic prayers in the Book of Common Prayer, there are the words Open our eyes to see your hand at work in the world about us. Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength, for pardon only, and not for renewal. Let the grace of this Holy Communion make us one body, one spirit in Christ, that we may worthily serve the world in his name.
We should not take the bread and wine to simply feel warm and fuzzy because God loves us. That is good. That is a part of what it is all about. But there is more to it. We should also feel challenged and strengthened to go into an indifferent, uncaring world and to make a difference through love.
Nathan Nettleton continues with these words: On the one hand, grace is just sheer gift, extravagant and gratuitous, and asks absolutely nothing in return. But on the other hand, it asks everything of us. It demands nothing, but it confronts us with the possibility that we could live our lives on the basis of grace. It is an in-your-face question about whether life should be an endless cycle of debt and repayment, earning and being paid in kind, or whether we can turn our backs on that and live free in God’s economy where everything that matters is given gratuitously and nothing is ever owed or paid. And while that doesn’t ask of us any payment for the gifts of grace, it invites us to become people of grace, to give everything we are, just as generously and extravagantly as we have received. It challenges us to give ourselves wholeheartedly to Jesus, to follow him, to join his community, and to be part of his body pouring ourselves out for the life of the world. It calls us to offer, “Here am I, Lord, send me.”
Of course, it would be ideal if this homily was taking place in the context of a Eucharistic service. But it is not. Today we have a “Morning Worship” service. But our service today is more than a worship service – Richard Rohr said: Worship of Jesus is rather harmless and risk-free; actually following Jesus changes everything. I don’t believe that God wants us to stay in our comfortable, risk-free bubble. We meet here for strength to go out into the world and follow Jesus’ example of love, sacrifice and grace.
This is what Peter was faced with, when he met Jesus on the shore of Lake Galilee. Like Isaiah before him, he saw the Divine in Jesus – whether it was through the miraculous catch of fish, or through something in the Man himself – and he too understood his unworthiness in the face of God. He said to Jesus "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" And in the same way as God took Isaiah and changed his focus, so Jesus changed the focus of Peter – from fish to people. From the comfortable life he knew so well, to challenge, and unexpectedness, and surprise.
Actually following Jesus changes everything. Actually following Jesus changes us. It challenges us to give ourselves wholeheartedly to Jesus, to follow him, to join his community, and to be part of his body pouring ourselves out for the life of the world. It will not be easy. It isn’t easy. It will make us uncomfortable, challenge us and be full of surprises. But it will also be wonderful, and life affirming and full of God’s grace.
Will you do it? Will I do it? Will we say: Here I am. Send me?
***
Lord God, You know how much we like to be comfortable, how much we like our lives risk-free. But you challenge us to truly follow Jesus’ example in the world. Give us the strength and courage to say Yes. To keep fighting for the good, to keep showing up for those in need. To keep loving, to keep being kind, to keep being brave. Give us the heart full of love to keep caring, to keep showing and receiving grace.
Here we are Lord. Send us
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