THE WAY: PART VII
Quite some time ago now, we began a sermon series based upon John 14:6. There Jesus says to his disciples, “I am the way and the truth and the life.” From that simple statement, theologian Eugene Peterson derived the following theory: “The Jesus way wedded to the Jesus truth brings about the Jesus life.” While countless battles – and even wars – have been fought over the Jesus truth, very seldom do we invest much energy in discerning the Jesus way. Well that is precisely what we are attempting to do in this series of sermons. The question thus becomes, “What is the Jesus way…and how do we go about following it?”
As we noted initially, the Jesus truth – in and of itself – is not enough to bring about the Jesus life. Jesus calls us to follow the Jesus way as well. Then we noted that the Jesus way is not a list of rules and regulations. The Jesus way cannot be codified, or simplified, or summarized. The Jesus way is meant to be lived.
When we examined the life of Abraham, we discovered that the Jesus way involves testing and sacrifice. God has a way of sifting people when he wants to use them to accomplish great things for his kingdom. When we examined the life of Moses, we discovered that God has a unique purpose for our lives. What’s more, that purpose is subject to change from time to time, and we have the responsibility of continuing to seek out God’s purpose for our lives in spite of whatever changes might take place. When we examined the life of David, we discovered that living a godly life in spite of all our imperfections is part and parcel to walking the Jesus way. There are times when we have to throw ourselves upon the mercy of God and sincerely strive to do better in the future. And finally, when we examined the life of the prophet Elijah we discovered that the Jesus way involves making choices. We are called to choose between God and culture. The question at the heart of the matter is this: Do we possess an insatiable desire to get our own needs fulfilled, or are we willing to simply be present to God?
Today we come to Part VII in our sermon series on The Way. In our journey through the Old Testament we have examined the lives of Abraham, Moses, David and Elijah. Today we will be examining the life of the prophet Isaiah. Thus, if I were to come up with a subtitle for the sermon today it might be called: The Way of Isaiah, or…The Way of Holiness. In any case, I invite you to come along with me as we seek to discern The Jesus Way.
The characteristic name for God throughout the book of Isaiah is “The Holy.” Thus, if God is known as “The Holy,” then what does it mean for us to be holy? Eugene Peterson defines it this way. “When the ways and means by which God works…interpenetrate the ways and means by which we work, we have a name for it. We call it holy.”
“Holy” may be the best word we have for the all-encompassing providence of God that transforms us into a uniquely formed and set-apart people. Yet to be holy is never something that can be understood apart from the bodies we inhabit or apart from the neighborhoods in which we live or apart from the God whom we worship and serve. Holy is something that we live. It is the life of God breathed into our own lives. A theologian might call this “sanctification.”
Unfortunately, the culture in which we live tends to look down upon sanctification or holiness. Holiness is often reduced to banality. We call it boring or dull or uneventful. Ellen Glasgow has a telling statement along those lines in her autobiography. Of her father – a Presbyterian elder who was pious and rigid – she wrote, “He was entirely unselfish, and in his long life, he never committed a pleasure.” How’s that for boring, dull and uneventful?
Twenty years ago, I was teaching a confirmation class at my church in Luverne, Minnesota. As is typical of confirmation classes, some are there because they want to learn and they want to become active members of the church. Others are there because their parents force them to go, and there are a million other places they’d much rather be. Such was the case in this particular class some twenty years ago. Sarah was there because she wanted to be there, while Tim was there because his parents made him go.
Sarah was a model child. She worked hard in school, she attended church regularly, and she truly aimed to please. Tim was not a model child. He was frequently in trouble at school and he usually sought attention in negative ways. Tim always wore a hat to confirmation class that had thumbtacks on the bill – some stuck up and some stuck down. When I asked him why the tacks were there he said, “To keep people from stealing my hat!” If someone tried to grab his hat, they would invariably get pricked by one of the tacks.
One time in class I asked a question – I don’t remember now what it was – and Sarah quickly answered it. From the back of the class Tim blurted, “Sarah’s such a goody-goody!” Sarah shot back, “I’m not a goody-goody!” It was as if she was embarrassed about choosing to be good. I said, “What’s wrong with being good? The problem these days is that those who choose not to do well are always putting down those who do. And all we end up doing is lowering our standards. Why must we perpetually sink to the lowest common denominator?” I suspect there’s a teacher or two here today who could relate.
Of course, my lecture did no good at all. And in the end, I let them both join the church. Sarah continued to be active in the church, while I never saw Tim again. Holiness is often reduced to banality. We call it boring or dull or uneventful. Yet holiness is meant to be an interior fire. It is designed to be an all-consuming passion for living for God. And truth be told, there’s nothing boring or dull or uneventful about that at all.
Isaiah saw holiness as an all-consuming passion for living for God. That’s why we find him in the sixth chapter of the book of Isaiah – sitting in the Temple waiting on God. But before we get to that, there’s one thing we have to consider first. Verse 1 of chapter 6 begins with these words: “In the year that King Uzziah died.” Before the story of The Holy is told, a warning is posted in bold letters. The warning is the name of Uzziah. Everyone in Isaiah’s world would have known what that name meant. It meant, “Caution. Danger Ahead. Watch Your Step.”
Uzziah was king in Jerusalem for 52 years. By all accounts, he was a good king. He subdued the Philistines, he built a strong army, he developed the country economically, and he learned of the Lord in the Temple. As it says of him in the second book of Chronicles, “His fame spread far and wide, for he was marvelously helped (by God)…until he became strong.”
Once Uzziah became strong, the power went to his head. He arrogantly walked into the Temple and took it over. He told the priests to get lost. He was trying to create a religion of his own choosing. He was trying to create God in his own image. No more of this taking God for who he was and for what he had to say. He was looking for a God he could control. And what happened to Uzziah in the end? He was struck with leprosy. He spent the rest of his life in isolation – not only from the Temple, but also from the community. As Eugene Peterson puts it himself, “The holy is never something of God that we can take as if we owned and use for our own purposes.”
In the year that King Uzziah died, Isaiah went to the Temple to listen for God. He never intended to use the holy for his own purposes. He was there merely to be present to God. It was there that he saw a vision. He saw the Lord sitting on a throne and the hem of his robe filled the Temple. Heavenly beings flew into the room and cried, “Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.” The foundations of the Temple shook and the house filled with smoke. Isaiah dropped to his knees and cried, “Woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips!”
Do you understand what Isaiah was doing here? Isaiah was making a confession of sin. He recognized the fact that he was unworthy to be in the presence of God. He understood that his life was full of sin. So he dropped to his knees and he made his confession. Ladies and gentlemen, that is the always the first step to holiness. It all begins…with confession.
Have you ever noticed the way our worship services are set up? There are four basic parts. They are: We Gather Around God’s Word, God’s Word Is Spoken to Us, God Moves Us to Respond, and God Sends Us Forth to Serve. Our worship is not set up that way by accident. Now I’m not going to go into a long explanation about all the parts of our worship service, so let me just say this. Consider how the part entitled, “We Gather Around God’s Word” is set up. We begin with a Call to Worship, usually based upon one of the Psalms. Then we say a Prayer of Adoration. We sing a hymn, then we hear a Call to Confession. We confess our sin corporately, and then – ideally – we confess our sin individually as well. After that, of course, we hear an Assurance of Pardon. But do you understand the preparation that goes into every worship service before we come to hear God’s Word? We are not prepared to encounter God’s Word until we have first confessed our sin. We are not prepared to encounter the holy until we have first sought forgiveness for our mistakes.
And we do make mistakes, do we not? Close your eyes for a moment, and reflect upon your life. That’s something we very seldom do. We surround ourselves with so much noise and activity that we never have the opportunity to reflect upon our deeds…or misdeeds. What mistakes have you made in your life? Where have you fallen short of the holiness God desires of you? And remember, there are sins of commission and there are sins of omission. Sins of commission are those things we ought not to have done but have done anyway. Sins of omission are those things we ought to have done but didn’t. Close your eyes and take a quick inventory. If we’re honest with ourselves, our hearts should be breaking and our eyes should be filling with tears.
That’s the position in which Isaiah found himself when the Lord appeared to him. “I am a man of unclean lips,” he cried, “and I live among a people of unclean lips.” Then one of the heavenly beings touched Isaiah on the lips with a burning coal. He said, “Now your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” Isaiah confessed his sin before the Lord, and he found himself forgiven.
God’s primary work in us is not condemnation, rather, God’s primary work in us is forgiveness. As it says in John 3:17, “For God sent the Son into the world, not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.” We find acceptance rather than rejection. We find conversation rather than a tirade. We find that holiness is no longer outside of us, but rather, through the working of the Holy Spirit, it now dwells within us. Instead of focusing on what we have been, we are now freed to focus on what we can become. Again, instead of focusing on what we have been…we are now freed to focus on what we can become. And it all begins with an overwhelming sense of inadequacy – an overbearing feeling of unworthiness – and an over-arching awareness of sin. Yet like Isaiah, through our confession, what we find is God’s mercy and what we encounter is God’s grace. What does that mean? Listen to this.
Once upon a time, there was a peasant girl named Miriam who lived in a small village. Her widowed mother spent a great deal of time teaching her right from wrong. Yet when Miriam was 12 years old, her family became quite destitute. A severe drought had caused the family’s little garden plot to wilt and to die. There would be no vegetables to can for the cold winter months that lay ahead. Food had become quite difficult to find.
At first, Miriam missed the taste of fresh corn and carrots. Then she craved them. Each day Miriam had to venture further from home to find water for her family, and each day she desired even more what she had always taken for granted. Then the day came when Miriam discovered an artesian well. Cool, clean water gushed forth from deep underground.
She followed the stream as it flowed from the well and discovered a beautiful garden filled
with corn, potatoes, carrots and cabbage. She could almost taste the fresh pot of homemade soup her mother could make from it. And the longer she looked at the garden, the more she desired its contents. Miriam then quickly loaded her apron with as many vegetables as she could carry. As she made her way back home, she glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone had seen what she had done. She knew she had stolen. She knew that what she had done was wrong.
Suddenly a voice resounded out of nowhere: “Where did you get those vegetables?” Miriam was startled, and she replied, “I, uh…I found them.” “In the middle of a drought?” the man then asked. “I think not.”
Miriam wrestled with defiance, then anger, then a rather feeble attempt to justify her thievery. In the end, she could do no less than to admit to the man that she had stolen the vegetables. The man replied, “I knew you took my vegetables.” “Your vegetables?” Miriam asked. “Tis true,” the man replied. “I have worked hard all summer growing these crops and I had grand plans for them,” he added. “I am so sorry,” Miriam confessed, bowing her head in shame.
The man was warmed by Miriam’s act of contrition. Then he said, “I am willing to extend to you either mercy or grace. Which do you desire?” “Are they not the same thing, sir?” Miriam asked. “Indeed they are not. If I were to grant you mercy, you would be completely forgiven for taking my vegetables,” the man stated. Miriam quickly interrupted, “Then mercy is what I desire most.”
The man continued, “Perhaps that is true, but first you should hear of the matter of grace.
Should I extend grace, you would be invited to come and gather any vegetables from my garden that you like, at any time you like. It would be as if you were a member of my own family with all the rights of a daughter.”
Miriam marveled at the opportunity afforded to her. She knew that she did not deserve the man’s kindness, yet she longed in equal measure for both mercy and grace. “Sir,” she said, “I do not deserve either mercy or grace. For I deserve punishment and am in no way deserving of the rights of a family member. Still, I could not leave with a contented heart without an equal measure of both.”
The man smiled broadly and replied, “My dear child, you shall indeed have both – mercy and grace. For in my mercy I will not exact the punishment that is justly deserved, and in my grace I will give you that which you could never earn.”
Like I always say, confession is good for the soul. We avert the punishment we justly deserve, and we receive from God that which we could never earn. God’s primary work in us is not condemnation. God’s primary work in us is forgiveness. And in the end what we find are the roots of holiness. Amen.
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