God Himself Is Present

Jesu Juva

Isaiah 6:1-8                                                                   

December 14, 2022

Advent Midweek 3                       

Dear saints of our Savior~

          In the iconic movie The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy and her newfound friends set off on a mission.  They’re off to see the wizard—the wonderful Wizard of Oz.  This wonderful Wizard is the only one who can help Dorothy get home to Kansas—because there’s no place like home.  When they eventually stand before the great and mighty Wizard of Oz, they encounter fiery, smoky special effects and a thundering, foreboding voice.  But that scene of grandeur and glory quickly fizzles when (spoiler alert) the so-called wizard is discovered to be a weak, impotent, little man, standing behind a curtain, pulling levers, pretending to be something he is not.

          Tonight we hear of that time when the Prophet Isaiah beheld a scene of great glory—except that the majesty Isaiah beheld was the real deal—not make-believe, not pretend, not a fictional façade of special effects—no, Isaiah saw and heard the Lord.  We don’t know what brought Isaiah to the temple that day.  But he had likely been there many times before.  He knew that the temple was the Lord’s dwelling place on earth.  He knew it was “God’s house.”  He would have been intimately familiar with the temple’s well-worn patterns and routines of worship—of sacrifice and sacrament.  Psalms and songs, liturgies and litanies—it was all so beautiful and comforting.

          But nothing could have prepared Isaiah for the surprising sights and sounds he relates in tonight’s text:  In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple.  Above him stood the seraphim.  Each had six wings.  And one called to another and said:  “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!”  And the foundations . . . shook at the voice of him who called, and the house was filled with smoke.  Let that sink in.  As that grand and glorious temple shook and swayed—as Isaiah’s eyes and nose burned with smoke—as angels flew and seraphim sang—Isaiah reported what no other living man could claim:  I saw the Lord.

          But on this Advent evening, as you treasure up all these things and ponder them in your heart, here’s a question to consider:  Did the Lord simply make a “special appearance” in the temple on that day for the sake of Isaiah?  Or, on that day, was Isaiah allowed to see the Lord who was always present in His temple?  Did the Lord just pop in that day to give Isaiah a glimpse of glory?  Or, was Isaiah given to see the unseen, ongoing reality—to behold what was always the case—that the Lord was actually there all along?

          Ten nights from now we will gather to celebrate the birth of Jesus, the Son of God.  At Christmas, the God of the temple . . . becomes the God of the manger.  The Lord who was always there—begotten, not made, being of one substance of the Father—who for us men and for our salvation came down from heaven—is

born of the Virgin Mary.  The Word becomes flesh and makes His dwelling among us.  The God of tabernacle and temple—who was always with His people in unseen ways—He comes at Christmas as the God of the crib and of the cross—to be with His people in a new and wonderful way.  Not hidden, but wrapped in swaddling clothes.  Not invisible, but nursing at His mother’s breast—stunning shepherds and bringing wise men to their knees.

          That same Savior also brings us to our knees—here in His holy house, and especially here around His holy altar.  Like Isaiah, we’re quite familiar with the well-worn patterns and routines of worship—of sacrifice and sacrament—Psalms and songs, liturgies and litanies.  It’s beautiful and comforting.  But behind that beauty and comfort, we (like Isaiah) behold an awesome, astounding truth:  God Himself is present.  There’s no quaking, no shaking, no smoke.  We cannot see the Lord.  But as His Words are proclaimed—in the bread that is His body, and in the wine that is His blood—He comes among us in this sacred space.  Neither can we see His holy angels.  But those angels and archangels and all the company of heaven join with us in worship.

          By nature we don’t see this or believe it.  Our sinful nature leads us to think of all this as pious pretending or make-believe—or that we’re simply re-enacting something that happened centuries ago.  But so that we might know and believe the awesome reality of our Lord’s presence among His people—so that we might have every reason for reverence and rejoicing right here—the liturgy places on our lips the song of the Seraphim:  Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of Sabaoth.  Heaven and earth are full of Thy glory.  We sing what they sang, because we behold by faith what they beheld:  God Himself is present.   

          And the Lord’s holy presence here places us squarely in the shoes of Isaiah:  We should be both terrified and comforted, lost and found, intensely reverent and overjoyed.  That’s not exaggeration.  For consider Isaiah who, in less than sixty seconds, went from “WOE IS ME!” to “SEND ME!”  Standing in the brightness of God’s holiness, all the dark impurity of our hearts is laid bare.  All of our sin and shame is exposed, like cockroaches that scurry away when the light gets turned on.  But the Lord God comes among us not to kill, condemn or punish, but to purify His people.  What is taken from the altar touches your lips.  Your guilt is taken away.  Your sin is atoned for.  You are forgiven.

          How can this be?  How can sinners stand in the presence of the living God?  Again, the liturgy teaches us.  For in the Sanctus we sing not only Holy, Holy, Holy.  To that song of the Seraphim the early church added something significant—added the acclamations of Palm Sunday:  Blessed is He.  Blessed is He.  Blessed is He that cometh in the Name of the + Lord.  Hosanna, hosanna, hosanna in the highest.  With those words we welcome Jesus Christ into our midst.  We implore Him to save us as we exhale our “hosannas.”  We stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Palm Sunday pilgrims who welcomed Jesus as He rode onward and upward the place of His death—even death upon a cross. 

          And that cross is why.  That cross with the Christ is why.  It’s why your guilt is taken away.  Your sin is atoned for.  Your unclean lips are purified.  You are loved and honored by the Lord of Hosts.  You are justified in Jesus.  Sanctified and ready for the sending.

          Sending?!  Now that sounds serious.  To where do you think the Lord might send you?  To Kansas?  No, we’re definitely not in Kansas anymore.  The Lord will send you to those who need you—who need your sacrifice and your service.  It will probably be much closer than Kansas.  But the movie gets one thing right.  There’s no place like home.  That’s where you’re headed:  Home where you will sing with the seraphim eternally, with purified hearts and minds—where you will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.  

          In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.