Text: Isaiah 6:1-13

Our text and story for today have inspired a lot of hymns, including the one we just sang. And many others. A few weeks ago I talked about how Mennonites don’t really build ‘temples’ the way other denominations do. But I do think we make a kind of temple of music. Our voices echo the angels. In this case, we’ve called each other into worship – inviting each other to praise the way the seraphim are calling out to each other.

In that same sermon about Solomon’s temple I talked about Mennonites gathering at conventions and singing together. The rush of 1000 voices lifted in song is a mighty connection with the divine. I wonder if that’s something akin to what Isaiah is feeling in this encounter. He’s been blown away. “Mourn for me; I’m ruined!” He is coming undone by awe and overwhelm at the enormity and majesty of God.

Like Solomon, Isaiah understands that the grandeur of the God of Israel cannot be contained. In fact I just love the image of the hem of God’s garment filling the whole temple. I love imagining the vastness of a garnet that covers the universe and extends into the space of the temple. Along with smoke and many-winged, flying seraphim and burning coals. What an experience!

It’s maybe no surprise, that being so overwhelmed with awe and joy in this encounter, that when God says to Isaiah, “Who will go for me? Who will we send?” that Isaiah is eager. He doesn’t even know what the calling is but he say immediate, “Me! Send me!” Maybe he thinks that whatever he says yes to will mean extending this experience with the Divine, will mean being able to return to the holy, holy, holy presence.

I think because of its beauty and because it’s inspired so many hymns of praise this first part of the text is quite familiar. But it almost always stops at the ‘send me’ part. Like a happily ever after at the end of a fairy tale. We never hear about what come after the end of the fairy tale.

In some ways, that’s just life. There’s always more story to come. None of us can know, when we make a commitment about something, what it is truly going to involve. You don’t know when you – or at least fully understand – when you say yes to ministry that it might mean fixing the toilet or cleaning out storm drains – as it has done for Pastor Ryan – or washing dishes, or getting yelled at by an angry neighbor, or having to call CPS. 

You don’t know – or maybe don’t really understand – when you say yes to marriage and make wedding vows, that a marriage might bring mental health crises, break downs in communication, extended illnesses and caregiving.

 We say yes to these callings because of the romance and the beauty that we’re experiencing at the moment and because of the love we have for a person or a people, or the calling itself. There in the temple, Isaiah is eager to say yes.  He’s so different from other prophets, who often follow a pattern of denial and needing to be convinced. Jonah, who we heard about last week, literally ran away from God’s call. Not once but three times! 

Isaiah’s ‘yes’ comes in a context. A political and cultural setting that’s given a time stamped right off the top. “In the year of King Uzziah’s death, I saw the Lord.” And maybe you won’t be surprised that the year of a king’s death means a lot of transition and upheaval for a kingdom. A people has lost their leader, is resetting to follow someone new, with new ideas about what leadership means. They are uncertain about the future.

And not only that. Uzziah had ruled for fifty years! That’s a really long time in any age, but perhaps especially then. He had ruled long and was well loved. People will grieve. Leadership is going to be tested. 

That kind of grief and chaos actually sounds kind of familiar. When I met with the Washington Pastors group recently, a pastor with many queer and trans members shared her fear on behalf of her members and herself. She has a child who is non-binary and a non-binary child in her community was recently assaulted because of their gender expression and identity. She is walking with a trans person in her congregation who is making plans to leave the country because they feel unsafe. While I am not in close relationship with anyone for whom this is true, I feel it deeply.

Meanwhile some folks are celebrating. Some folks are desperately hopeful that with a new administration there will be a change that will lead to more prosperity and well-being after struggling to pay for essential needs like housing and food. Some folks have been fearful that the economy would leave them behind and they want something new.

There’s a lot of fear going around. A lot of chaos. How are we called?

Isaiah is essentially called to proclaim to a people who are about to experience a period of judgment. To preach and they won’t hear or turn, they won’t understand and receive mercy.

And Isaiah laments: “How long, O Lord?” Which is both a literal question about logistics, but also like the Psalmist, a mournful cry. But his grief doesn’t make him turn away. He doesn’t say to God, “No, I can’t do it.” Or “Actually I take it back. Don’t send me after all.” He shares the word that has been given to him. He searches for the hope.

I think there are probably some of us who are feeling pretty mournful. We don’t know what to expect – although we’re starting to get a picture. We live in a country that’s almost evenly divided politically – and we share neighborhoods and even families with people who think differently. But I hear the fear of Pastor Rachael and I too am fearful. 

I am also resolute. This is the word that came to me on election day. When the artists at the Grunewald Guild gathered in the evening and we were led by a spiritual director there to call out words for what we were feeling. People named things like fear and anxiety and worry and frustration and grief. But I felt determined. Resolute.

I actually didn’t say mine out loud because it seemed to me there was an expectation of negative feelings. And I felt some of that but I was and am most primarily resolute. I am called! In the face of whatever chaos comes.

Pastor Rachael also share a quote with me from Rebecca Solnit. She posted this on Twitter after the election.

The Wobblies (labor union organizers in the early 20th C) used to say don’t mourn, organize, but you can do both at once and you don’t have to organize right away in this moment of furious mourning. You can be heartbroken or furious or both at once; you can scream in your car or on a cliff; you can also get up tomorrow and water the flowerpots and call someone who’s upset and check your equipment for going onward. A lot of us are going to come under direct attack, and a lot of us are going to resist by building solidarity and sanctuary. Gather up your resources, the metaphysical ones that are heart and soul and care, as well as the practical ones.

People kept the faith in the dictatorships of South America in the 1970s and 1980s, in the East Bloc countries and the USSR, women are protesting right now in Iran and people there are writing poetry. There is no alternative to persevering, and that does not require you to feel good. You can keep walking whether it’s sunny or raining

There is no alternative to persevering. 

There is also hope in persevering. And not only in persevering, but in doing it together. Solnit talked about the people writing poetry, about watering the flowers, about sanctuary. This beauty that is around and among us is the beautiful temple, the meeting with the Divine that till hold us in the chaos.

It will be hard. When Isaiah asked, “How long?” God said, “Until cities lie ruined with no one living in them, until there are houses without people and the land is left devastated.” Oof. There are faithful and righteous folks who remain. There are those who maintain relationship with God, but they won’t be exempt from the ruin. They will all experience it together. They too will get burned.

And we are called in this chaos to be in it together. To be in relationships and continue to love those who think differently and speak for those whose voices are muted or muffled, to stand with those pushed to the margins. It will be hard. It might be chaotic. But we are called. May we be faithful to the call. Amen.

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