Scripture can be found here…
These two scripture passages are so filled with sights, sounds, smells, and physical experiences, they jump off the page, they overwhelm the senses, even of our imaginations.
The first passage describes something none of us has seen or will ever see: the inner sanctum of Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem. There are strange creatures flying about and singing at the top of their lungs the same words which we will pray together in just a little while. They are flying and singing because they are in the presence of the Lord, whose magnificence and enormity cannot be contained, even by the temple—all Isaiah sees is the hem of God’s garment, until even that is obscured by the smoke from the altar.
The second passage describes something a bit more familiar, perhaps—a lake, a crowd, fishermen, boats… all things we may have experienced, though—not exactly like this. Again, vivid description makes the scene come sharply into focus. The crowd pressing in on Jesus, the boats empty of their fishermen following a long night, Jesus hopping into one of the boats—Simon’s boat, he who will be known as Simon Peter, and then, Peter—Jesus asking Simon to put out a bit from the shore. A sermon preached from a vessel bobbing on the sparkling blue water to a crowd riveted on the sand, that water of Lake Gennesaret acting as a natural amplifier. The sermon finished, Jesus urges Simon to go out into deeper water, and to let down his nets. Simon resists—we know what we’re doing, it’s not going to happen today, but… whatever, rabbi. And then—a surge of fish into the net that strains it to its limits, a yell to the friends in the other boat, get over here, help! And a catch of fish that threatens to sink both boats, the catch of a lifetime.
Here's where the stories pivot towards one another.
Woe is me! I am lost, I am a man of unclean lips, just like all my people!
Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!
Whether we are talking about God almighty in the smoky temple, or the man Jesus who seems very clearly to have just bent nature to his will, the Lord has called to each of these children of God. Isaiah, come, be my prophet. Simon, come, follow me.
And each man’s gut reaction is No.
No. I am not worthy.
No. I am sinful, with unclean lips.
No. I am afraid.
No. How could I possibly do that?
I don’t know how many of you have already heard my personal call story—some of you could probably recite it yourselves. I was in my late 20’s, already a mom, and I was working on a Master’s degree in Pastoral Ministry—initially, with the idea of becoming a Jungian psychotherapist, but now pivoting more towards something like chaplaincy, something a woman in the church of my childhood could do.
I was driving down Route 128 towards the South Shore of Boston, for an interview for a field placement. More significantly, I was about to lay eyes on an ordained Protestant woman for the first time. I was listening to Amy Grant, and she was singing, “Lead Me On.”
And then it hit me, like a bolt of lightning to the chest. That was what I wanted, or that was what God wanted of me, or something like that: ordination. To be a minister, to be a pastor. And I was so elated that I threw my arms up into the air—and then I quickly returned them to the steering wheel because, as I have mentioned, I was driving down Route 128.
I don’t know whether I have told you this next part, though. As quickly as the elation came, it was replaced with a kind of resignation bordering on despair, because I did not see a path.
No. Not me.
No. I am afraid.
No. It’s impossible.
Maybe that’s what was going on with Isaiah and Simon. Maybe they just did not see a path from who they were to the people God was calling them to be. Maybe they didn’t understand that they already were the people God was calling them to be, but they didn’t yet trust that God knew what God was doing.
What happens to Isaiah next is WILD. Remembering that this is a vision Isaiah is having, still, the image of a seraph grabbing the tongs and procuring a hot coal for the purpose of purifying those unclean lips? My kids would say, that’s pretty metal. But the point, I think, is that God removes the impediment. Don’t feel worthy, Isaiah? BAM. There you go.
Jesus removes Simon’s impediment, too, but more like a friendly life coach. The one who has shown mastery over nature simply says, “Don’t be afraid.”
Don’t be afraid. You are already the one I want. That is what God says, in different ways, to every one of us, because we are all called by God…in these stories, and in our own lives. Yesterday I attended the live-streamed funeral of an old friend from my Boston College days. The preacher was an old friend, too, a Jesuit who taught Buddhism, whose hair is now snow-capped in his retirement. His name is Frank. Near the end of his meditation, Frank said something which I believe with my whole heart, but which I’d never heard articulated exactly the way he put it. He said, “These are not stories that happened to other people long ago. These are our stories, these are the stories of our lives, here and now.” These are our stories. We are in the temple, gazing up in awe and wonder. We are in the boats, on our knees as the water comes rushing in. God is calling us. Sometimes we hear it as good news, and sometimes we think… oh no. I just can’t. How could I possibly? These are our stories.
But God is always working to get us to “Yes”. God is always waiting, like a high schooler who hopes the girl will say “Yes” to the invitation to homecoming. God is always holding the divine breath, waiting for us to say it: Here I am, Lord. Send me. Music to God’s ears. The gift of a lifetime. Thanks be to God. Amen.