Epiphany

Isaiah 6:1-8, Luke 5:1-11

February 4, 2007

Rochelle A. Stackhouse

Epiphany: the experience of being in the presence of God.

It begins with awe and wonder. Do you remember the first time you really knew, really experienced that there is a God? It may have been as stereotypical as the sunset over a beach, or being present at a moment of birth, or death. Perhaps it came in a dream, in the midst of sickness or grief or blazing joy. It may be been very quiet for you, no flashy fireworks, just a certainty in your heart, or it may have been full of noise and miracle. It may even have happened here, as I’ve heard from some of you, that clarity that speaks “God is.” For some of you it may not have happened yet. For most it happens more than once in life, a gift and a blessing.

For Isaiah it came in a vision of the temple made pure and holy by the very presence of God in human form with six-winged angels and incense and a song so glorious that Isaiah felt he should never sing again.

For Simon Peter it came as he strained his muscles and dripped with sweat and lake water to haul in nets filled with fish that shouldn’t have been there—couldn’t have been there—and yet were. It was the culmination of understanding, coming after he watched Jesus heal his mother-in-law and then heard Jesus preach from the prow of his fish-less boat. Suddenly the fog cleared and he knew. This wasn’t just another carpenter from Nazareth or desert preacher. The holy surrounded him, and Simon Peter knew it to the core of his being.

In response, he fell to his knees in shame. Someone this holy, he knew, could see right through his bluster, his tough hide, see right through to the broken places in him and the ways he had broken the lives of others. He couldn’t bear that one so tainted as he should be anywhere near someone so holy.

That’s just how Isaiah felt. “Woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” It’s like looking at our naked bodies in front of a full-length mirror under the brightest of lights. We see every flaw, every imperfection. But in the presence of the holy, that one who knows us fully and sees us clearly, we see our weak spirits, replay our mistakes, see our attitudes, hear those words that escaped our unclean lips that we would do anything to call back again and do over. We see before us what is so perfectly holy and wholly perfect and we despair, because it is hopeless. We cannot undo what has been done, and we lose heart that we can ever get it right.

Like Isaiah, like Simon Peter, we might fall on our knees and tell God to go away, for we are not worthy.

Then, a word from the holy, a touch, an act of grace.

“I am not worthy to receive this holy meal, but only say the word, and I shall be healed.”

Jesus speaks, “Don’t be afraid.”

The seraph brings a burning coal to cleanse the unclean lips and says, “Don’t wallow in guilt; your sin is erased.”

Jesus says, “Does no one condemn you? Nor do I. Only go and sin no more.”

Is it really that simple? Don’t I need to do some complex act of restitution? Some long and tedious ritual perhaps? Some heavenly detention? Some great deed of sacrifice to prove myself?

Well, sacrifice may eventually come, but not to make right was has been wrong, not as a punishment for sin.

You see, there really isn’t time and energy to waste on all that. “We need someone to speak a message for us; who could it be?” says God. “I need someone with me who can learn how to bring in something greater than this load of fish,” says Jesus.

The message is not “go away from me you filthy scum.” Not to any of us. The message is, “Don’t be afraid.” Because when we put away the guilt, the fear that we are unworthy, when we unload all that baggage from our shoulders that weighs us down so heavily, then we find the energy, the will, the hope, the desire, the expectation that, like Isaiah and Simon Peter, God might just have something important for us to do.

God says the word, and we are healed. We are not healed, however, just to walk out and feel better about ourselves. We are healed to be prophets, evangelists, teachers, healers, bringers of grace and truth to our particular portion of the world. Like Isaiah. Like Simon Peter.

Like countless others who have approached this table for two millennia.

Epiphany: knowing we are in the presence of God.

Wonder, then woe. Honest confession then healing word. Encouraged to joy then called to serve.

Over and over and over again for all of us.

It begins, then, with wonder. “This is my body. This is my blood, given for you—for you—for you—and for me.

I am a woman of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips. I am not worthy to receive this holy meal, let alone serve it, but only say the word and I shall be healed.

Don’t be afraid.

Who shall I send and who will go for us?

Amen.