Hearing Ourselves in Scripture
Isaiah 6:1-8
In the year that Barack Obama was elected president, I found myself standing in a soaring, neo-Gothic sanctuary on 46th Street in Manhattan. The sheer volume of the organ seemed to shake the solid stone and marble. At a majestic high altar, figures in flowing, brightly colored robes moved gracefully through the thick, fragrant smoke that filled the cavernous space. Their chanting echoed off the walls, before drifting upward to meet the angelic voices of the choir, who sang from high above the words:
Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and might, heaven and earth are full of your glory.
It was Christian worship like I had never experienced it before, and from that day forward there was nothing more exciting to me. I had come in with questions, and even some resistance, but all of it melted away in that feast for the senses. Here was all the proof I needed that God existed—for how could a liturgy that powerful, that transcendent, be inspired by anything less than a living God, one who lived there, among mere humans, in that exalted environment?
After the service, still a little dazed, I was met at the door by one of the priests. He smiled beautifully, reached out his hand, and introduced himself. And in that moment, something happened I never in a million years could have expected. I clearly felt the feeling of being called—called not just back to the faith I had been baptized into, but called to serve in the same role as the person who was now welcoming me. Called to proclaim through word and sacrament a gospel of salvation through selfless love for all people. And although it took several more years of careful discernment—and some very painful soul-searching—before I was ordained, I always returned to that moment as the genesis of my priestly vocation.
I was reminded of my own call story while reading and meditating on today’s passage from Isaiah. The Prophet experienced his call in the Jerusalem Temple sometime in the 730s BCE. How do we know that? Because historical records place the death of Uzziah, one of the Kings of Judah, around then. Isaiah’s vision of God involves an unimaginably massive presence, a being so vast that his garment alone fills the great temple. Fiery winged creatures guard his throne—real Biblical angels are not cute little babies with harps—and they sing out their song of praise at ear-splitting volume: Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory. Yes, the very same words I would hear almost 3000 years later, a daily Jewish prayer preserved by the Church in the form of the Sanctus.
Witnessing this overwhelming spectacle, confronted with the terrifying righteousness of God, Isaiah confesses his own unworthiness: he is a sinful person living in a sinful society; the type of person you wouldn’t expect God to associate with, much less appear to. Yet here he is. And before Isaiah can make much sense of it, an angel takes a live coal from the altar and touches his lips, burning away all his imperfections, making him righteous before God. Now purified, Isaiah hears God’s voice issuing an invitation. Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? God calls out. And perhaps unexpectedly, Isaiah hears himself reply: Here am I; send me! And with that, Isaiah is commissioned as God’s newest prophet.
Of course the similar shape of these two “call” stories—mine and Isaiah’s—is not just a happy coincidence. Part of our formation as Christians is learning how to locate and interpret our own experiences within the Biblical story. What I hear from lots of modern people is the complaint that the Bible isn’t relevant to their lives. But with all due respect, they have it exactly backward. If you really want to hear what the Bible has to tell us, you have to ask the opposite question: how is my life relevant to the Bible?
In coming to terms with what I encountered at church that morning in 2008—which by the way, was at St. Mary the Virgin in Times Square—I discovered that Scripture could make sense of it in a way that nothing else could. The divine encounter, the painful purification, the call to ministry—this cycle appears again and again in the Bible. And eventually I discovered many other images and episodes that illuminated my life in that same powerful and unique way; whether it was the story of brothers like Jacob and Esau, Peter’s journey of failure and forgiveness, and certainly the Prodigal Son’s return to faith. I found, and still find, my story and my deepest convictions reflected back to me—most uniquely—in Scripture, and in the Church’s liturgy, creeds and sacraments.
This practice of understanding ourselves and our experiences in the light of Scripture is exactly how the Church developed what might be the most notorious of its doctrines—the Holy Trinity. Did you know that, although it does speak of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, the Bible itself offers no explanation for how those three persons exist together as one being? So where did the idea come from? It came from the efforts of the early Christians to understand their experience of Jesus’ passion, death, and resurrection. They remembered and contemplated everything Jesus said and did; they read and re-read the Torah, Psalms and Prophets; and after centuries of prayer, study and debate they concluded that God was best understood in a radical new way—as three persons perfectly united in a loving relationship. God as divine community. God as Trinity.
In fact this very passage from Isaiah provided a few clues. The fact that the seraphim sing “Holy, holy, holy”—three times—and that God asks who will go for us—plural—led these first theologians to hear Trinitarian overtones in this Hebrew text. That’s why this reading was chosen for today, which the Church celebrates as Trinity Sunday.
What are the stories that illuminate your life? Are you in the habit of reading the Bible in order to make sense of your own experience? If not, I am so excited for you, because there is a truly transformative gift still awaiting you—the chance to see yourself reflected in the ancient story of God and God’s people; to join hands with generations of faithful seekers of truth and wisdom; to hear for yourself God’s call to compassion and selfless service; to enter, through the cross of Christ, into eternal life in the divine love that is the communion of Father, Son and Holy Spirit—blessed Trinity.
The Church of St. Mary the Virgin, Chappaqua, NY
Trinity Sunday, May 26th, 2024