Isaiah 6:1-13 In the year that king Uzziah died I saw also the LORD sitting on a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple.… There are turning-points in life which give a meaning to the whole of its after-course. A light may be given to the 'mind at such moments by which it may have to steer its course for years. In moments of despondency the man of God will fall back on memory, and encourage himself by the recollection that, having once received and followed Divine guidance, that guidance will not desert him in the future. Such was this moment in the history of Isaiah. Life stood before him like a crowded picture; he foresaw the difficulties with which he would have to contend, yet that picture did not dismay him. "Like Christ from the first beginning of his Messianic labors, he thought of the end, nor did he shrink flora the image of death, so that the fact as it came nearer only confirmed what had Dot seemed strange from the beginning" (Ewald). It is the sense, not of our own faithfulness, nor of our own means, but of a Divine destiny working in and through us that must be our support in weak and lonely hours. To feel that we are moving against the course of the sun, even in the midst of external comfort or popular applause, is to be weak and unnerved; while a stern yet sweet joy fills the soul in the prospect of duty and danger, in which, though we seem to fail, we must be victors forever. Every true man has his hours of prophetic revelation; and well for him whose will is strong, and who abides by the truth of that revelation through good and through evil report, unswervingly to the end. I. THE VISION OF THE DIVINE MAJESTY. 1. Its date is fixed in memory. "The year that King Uzziah died." Dates are the resting-places of memory and fancy, around which accumulates the lore of our years. The accessions and the deaths of kings, battles, peaces, revolutions, acts of parliament that wrought weal for the people, - such are the dates of nations. And every soul has its epochs - birth, youthful events of pleasure, love, struggle, defeat, success; and for each there must be more to him than the events recorded in the calendar. The most "uneventful" year, as we speak, is eventful for the hidden sphere of many a spirit. How hint and poor are our public memorials of history compared with those private recollections which are written in the invisible ink of memory! Let us own that history means, first and foremost to every one of us, the history of our own spirit. By a Divine providence the fragment of an Isaiah's, a Jeremiah's, an Ezekiel's autobiography is preserved through the ages, to remind us that the inner life, the contact of God with the soul, is our real concern, our deepest interest. Between the two dates on the tombstone that will mark our entrance into the world, our passage from it, what a record must lie, stored in the archives of eternity - of visions beheld, of voices heard, whether obeyed or disregarded! "In the year that King Uzziah died." 2. It is a vision of the sublimity of God. Seated on a high, exalted throne, God in this image is conceived under the analogy of the Ruler. Father and Ruler - such is the Bible view of God; his rule based upon his fatherhood, his fatherhood imparting benignancy and tenderness to the sterner character of the Lawgiver of the universe. But here the Father seems for the moment absorbed in the awful Sovereign, whose throne is in the heights of heaven, his footstool earth. It is only his skirts that are visible to the awe-struck gaze of the prophet. Amidst the most magnificent scenes of external nature, the Alps or the Andes, we may gain a passing soul-expanding vision of the Highest - still only part revealed, but much more hidden. The verdure bejeweled with flowers, the forests glancing with the luster of dazzling birds of plumage, - these may represent the vesture of the great King, hinting an unutterable beauty on which none can look and live. And so in the inward or moral world. In the history of a people or of a man there are moments when God, in the still more impressive might of his holiness, sweeps by, an awakening and a purifying Spirit. Or in higher moments of devotion we may gain a momentary glimpse of that pure love, so full of terror yet so full of blessing, which burns at the core of things, and whose light is reflected in the light of every human conscience. Yet these are partial revelations, like that to the prophet; glimpses of the skirts of Jehovah's majesty, tastes of a "burning bliss" which in its fullness could not be endured. It is this sense that there is a beauty all around us, ready at any moment to break into glowing manifestation, were not our mortal eyes too dim to look upon it; an eternal music from which this "muddy vesture of decay grossly closing us in" protects us, which otherwise might paralyze by its thunderous tones; - it is this sense which does, or which should, impress an habitual reverence upon the mind. We should all be able to look back upon moments of our history when we have seen in the inner chamber of the mind something of what Isaiah saw, and to cherish the recollection as a lore never to be forgotten. For if we have never known a time when we were reduced into insignificance in the presence of God, and felt that he was all and we were naught, and that the best tradition about God must be hushed into silence before what we personally know of God, we have missed an elementary lesson which, when once obtained, adds weight and worth to all our after-experience. 3. The seraphs and their song. "Seraphs stood high around [or, 'above'] him." It is impossible to gain a true notion of the seraphic figures without consulting works of art. Like the cherubim and the griffins and the sphinxes, their origin is in the remotest fore-time. All these were, in fact, among man's earliest efforts to represent to himself in visible art the Divine power which he felt to be working in and through nature; in the flash of the lightning, the thunder's roar, the might of the blast, and all those mysterious sounds and sights which usher in the changes of the year. As this is the only place where the seraphim are named, their character must remain for the most part speculative. Similar winged figures are, however, found in Oriental sculpture (such as those in the British Museum) as attributes of a sovereign. And we can hardly be wrong in considering them as appropriate signs of Jehovah's sovereignty over nature in the vision of Isaiah. Wings in art-figures generally denote the wind. If, then, we compare the passages in the Old Testament whence Jehovah's power is described as revealed in storm and wind, e.g. Psalm 18:10 ("He rode upon a cherub, and did fly: yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind") or Psalm 104:3, 4 ("Who walketh upon the wings of the wind; who maketh his messengers spirits, his ministers a flaming fire"), we may gain a fair understanding of what is meant. The stormy winds at the turning-points of the year reveal force - the force of the omnipotent Creator. And at the same time, the Creator is concealed behind, as well as revealed in, these expressions of his might. And so the seraphic figures are seen by the prophet doubly veiled by their own wings - in face and feet. For we can neither look upon the face of God nor follow the viewless track of his footsteps. As the noble verse of Cowper aptly expresses it - "God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm." We shall not be far wrong if we find this truth symbolically set forth by the six-winged seraphic figures of the prophet's vision. But the wind is full of music as well as of might, and the seraphs give utterance to a solemn song, which falls into two members, sung antiphonally by these celestial choristers. "One called to the other," just as the priests in the temple-music below. Profound and weighty is the burden of this alternate chant - "Holy, holy, holy, is Jehovah of hosts! The fullness of the whole earth is his glory!" How shall we think of the holiness of Jehovah? As height, like that in which the seraphs sing - a nature and a life so "far above" our base and groveling ways? Alas for us, if we do not ever recollect in our worship that, high as yonder empyrean above this "dim spot that men call earth," distinct as the clouds in fleeciest white from the stagnant and foul spots below, are the thoughts of Jehovah above our thoughts, and his ways above our ways! Shall we think of holiness as separation? Woe to us if we know not that purity, which, like the flame, retirees to wed with ought that is alien to itself; which, like the light, divides and discriminates the evil from the good wheresoever it comes! The thrice-holy God is none other than the supremely pure Intelligence, the perfect chastity of Love. But the infinite glory as well as the holiness of Jehovah is celebrated. It is the "fullness of the earth," teeming with life, throbbing with mysterious forces, covered with a rich robe of rare embroidery, holding rich treasures in her keeping; which embodies to our thought the nature of God in its vast extent, just as the pure sky represents the intensity of that nature as a principle of holiness. Silent and inaccessible as sun and stars, he is yet near to us in the throbbing of great nature's heart - nay, of our own. "Speak to him, then! for he hears, and spirit with spirit may meet; Closer is he than thy breathing, nearer than hands and feet." God in all - this was the thought of Paul the apostle, as of Isaiah the prophet. Incarnate in the flower and in the stem, vocal in the "sound of many waters," or in the tinkling of brook or murmur of zephyr; there is nothing in the world in which he is not revealed. "Thou art, O God, the Life and Light Of all this wondrous world we see! Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from thee: Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine." 4. The yoke of God. A loud cry is heard even above the hymn of the seraphim, and it causes the thresholds to tremble. The thunder was among all ancient nations listened to as the voice of God. It is the natural expression of supreme and irresistible power, before which man, in the last height of his own intelligence and power, must bow. Instantly the smoke soars from the altar, and the temple is filled with smoke. Worship is man's answer to God's voice - the answerer his conscience, the answer of his heart. Nor can we truly worship without the sense of being face to face with unutterable mystery. For behind the most glorious visions remains he "whom no man hath at any time seen, nor can see;" at the heart of the thunder is that Divine emotion which must slay us were it fully discharged into our souls. The rising smoke may fitly typify that sacred silence, the "offspring of the deeper heart," in which our worship should begin and end. II. THE PROPHET'S CONSECRATION. 1. The effect of the revelation on his mind. First, there is the sense of utter weakness. When the true glory of the spiritual world bursts upon us, it seems as if we must die. Every difficulty conquered brings us a new sense of strength; every human being we have fairly faced in the consciousness of our own manhood we may reduce to our own level; for one man is virtually the peer of every other, the world over. But who can look and live in the presence of the white intense light of the pure and burning Spirit of God? Already, like Abraham (Genesis 18.), the man feels himself as if reduced to "dust and ashes;" or, like Moses, that he cannot see the Eternal and live, but must shelter himself in a cleft of the rock, and hide behind the hand of God (Exodus 33.); or, like Manoah, forebodes a deathful doom as he gazes into the mystic altar-flame (Judges 13.). In Greek and other Gentile legends we read of children receiving a nightly birth of fire as the condition of immortality, the meaning of which was that none but those destined to divinity could endure the fiery ordeal Profound enigma of our nature! That we to whom has been imparted the longing for life eternal, the dim consciousness of an undying destiny, should yet know moments when we seem on the verge of "dusty death." But the man whom God calls to be mighty in word and deed must pass through the whole gamut and scale of human emotion, from the lowest mood of self-distrust to that of loftiest confidence in God. No note must be left unstruck in our own heart, if we are to make it sound in the conscience of others. There is, besides, the consciousness inefficiency. The very calling which already glimmers before Isaiah's mind as his is that for which he finds himself unfit, lie is to be a nabi, a prophet; that is, a man of fluent lips and pure, through which the streams of Divine eloquence are to flow. Alas! how can this be? For he is a "man of unclean lips," and will not the truth be muddied passing through them, and so cease to be truth? All this is a typical experience. The man who has never felt unfit will never be fit for any great thing. Jeremiah, at his call, felt that he was "a child;" and Moses that he was "slow of speech and slow of tongue" (Exodus 4:10); and John fell at the feet of the Son of man "as one dead," brain and hand paralyzed, before he took up the pen that glowed with apocalyptic fire. Who is the fit man for God's ends? The self-confident man? It depends on what we mean by "self-confidence." Appearances deceive; the show of strength is not the same thing with strength itself, nor the demeanor of weakness a certain index of inefficiency. To read our own hearts is our business. And heart-experience may teach us that absolute confidence in our resources bodes humiliation, while trembling self-distrust may hint that something is to be done by God through us. "Do the very thing you are afraid to do," is in certain moments the voice of conscience and of God. So it proved in this instance. 2. Purification and pardon. One of the burning beings flies to the prophet's side, bearing a herded stone (for such seems to be the meaning of the word ritzpah) forming part of the altar, and detached without difficulty from it. With this he touches the lips of the trembling seer, saying, "Lo! this hath touched thy lips, and so will thy guilt depart, and thy sin may be atoned for." More meaning can be condensed into a symbolic action than into any mere words. Fire is the enemy of all impurity; and the idea of a fire-baptism as the means of cleansing is deeply rooted in the lore of olden time. In this respect it seems nearly allied to the sprinkling of blood. And just as when Moses sprinkled all the people with the sacrificial blood, or the priests sprinkled the altar and other sacred objects, one drop seemed sufficient to diffuse ceremonial cleanness on the object on which it fell, so the mere touch of the hot coal or stone is enough to signify the completeness of the purification. It is not the quantity of the fiery element, but the quality, which does the work. A small spark may kindle a mass of fuel, or, falling on the hand, spread a keen pain through all the nervous network of the body; so a glimpse of God, a touch from his hand, may change the mood of our being for a lifetime. It may set up a glow which shall not die down till all that is selfish, sensual, base, in us shall lie in ashes. The sense of guilt lies deep in the mind; and never is it so clear and keen as in moments of bodily sickness or mental depression. The moment when we are tempted to say, "I cannot help it," there rises up the thought that there is help in God, and therefore that we are not helpless. No sooner does the cry of weakness, the complaint concerning the unclean lips, escape Isaiah, than the eternal evangel, in all its supernatural strength to heal, comes homo to his heart. For this is the eternal gospel' in its essence, whether borne by lips of seraph, prophet, or Son of God: "Thy guilt will depart, thy sin may he atoned for." And in those blessed moments when we grasp this message in its fullest meaning, and believe it in its inmost truth, the heart is set free, and, despite present fetters and prisons in which fact or fancy holds us bound, we know that it will not ever be thus. Then, indeed, the yoke of duty becomes easy, the burden of toil, for the sake of the love which pardons and emancipates, light. 3. The call to service. Again the august and dominant voice of the Eternal is heard: "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" A ready answer, full of devotion, full of self-abandonment, comes from that lately overwhelmed heart: "Here am I; send me." Out of weakness Isaiah has been made strong, and there is no hesitation now. There is "triumph lingering in his eyes, wide as of some swimmer's who descries help from above in his extreme despair." The foolish imprudence which cries, "Here am I; send me," without having calculated the cost of the enterprise and the extent of the resources, is not that of Isaiah. Still less is the unfaithful trifling with one's powers and opportunities under the excuse of modesty, or the delight in dreams of action rather than in action itself, seen in him. We see some men rashly staking their future on the cast of a die, impetuously crossing a Rubicon; others lingering on the brink, or moving superstitiously in a fancied circle, beyond which seems to lie the frowning impossible. And we see a third class who have learned the Divine magic of the word "obey," and who alone move safely and with high heart to ends greater than their dreams. The servant's readiness, his quickness of eye and ear, is what we need. Can we allege that we have never seen our vision, heard our call from the unmistakable voice? If the plea he sound, then our mistakes and aberrations cannot be charged against us. But can we maintain such plea so long as there is any meaning in the words" truth" and" duty?" Truth is ever beckoning to us, duty's low clear voice is ever sounding, though the paths to which they guide lie but dimly before. The call to act is for us all; the call to act greatly but for God's elected few. Let us not mistake our wishes for Divine commands, nor in vanity create a destiny which is only our own fiction. Still less let us treat impressions which have seized us and shaken us with awe, and against which reluctant flesh and blood have struggled, as dreams to be set aside and fancies to be overcome. If, after straining eye and ear, God seems to leave you through wide tracts of life's way to struggle with your ignorance and to work out your problems unaided, - be it so. This is your call. If otherwise you are the subject of strong and extraordinary impressions, reaching into the reality behind the shows of things, hearing with open ears where others know but confused sounds, - be it so. Your call is more direct. If only we will not indulge the blindness of those who will not see, the deafness of those who stop their ears, the proud weakness of those who hate to obey, all may be well. III. THE MISSION. 1. It will be thankless and disappointing. Isaiah is to go and waste, as it seems, his eloquence upon dull ears, upon intelligences sealed up, and hearts that are proof against religious feeling. The light of truth as it streams from him will encounter rocks that will not melt in the sun, natures that can neither be softened nor sweetened. It is the height of a preacher's joy when every word comes back to him a silent echo from the conscience of the people; and his day of mourning is when he feels himself to be speaking in a valley full of dry bones, or before beings who seem to have life and conscience, set are but as specters of men. In his best moments it seems that all the eloquence is in the people, and he is "gathering up in a mist" from them that which he is to "return upon them in a flood." In other moments of discouragement it seems that he is alone in the world, with a sublime cry upon his lips, now become meaningless, because there are none to whom it has a meaning. We know the legend of St. Antony preaching to the fishes; and, indeed, it seems better to talk with the dumb creatures whom we can win to silent sympathy, than to a people which "does not consider." The company of the ox or the ass seems better than that or men who have become as "stocks and stones, and worse than senseless filings." The preacher and teacher will know these trials, and let him recollect that it is pro uncommon experience. We find its pathos repeated in different ways in all the great prophets, in John the Baptist, the "voice in the desert," and in Christ himself. Ate we to cease crying when the echo ceases? Rather let us go on until we hear once more the truth coming back to us. Let us believe that what is true to us in our inmost heart will one day be true for all the world. One of our great countrymen said that he was wont to iterate the same statement again and again until he heard it on the tongue of common talk; and this was a statesman to whom the people owed the greatest material blessings. The test of truth is not the way in which it is received, but the immediate reflection of it in our own mind. 2. The gloom of the time will deepen. "How long, O Lord?" The answer describes a prophet shut in by clouds and mist, or overhung by some all-pervading pall of gloom. Sin is to go on working out its waste, until there be an empty and depopulated land., Things bad begun to make themselves strong by ill." And there are times when evil must be left to gather to a head and run its full course. It may even be the part of the prophet to hasten it on its way. But when we say, "Things are getting worse and worse," let us remember that beyond the worst remains the best, and after last returns the first; for God is the principle of an inexhaustible and unconquerable life. 3. The gleam of hope. There is now visible at the close a gleam on the dark horizon, denoting a coming dawn. A section, an elect few, a tenth, will survive these coming disasters. The fire of judgment and purification, of which the burning seraphs are symbolic, must wither the goodly branches of the national tree, and leave the stem all blackened and charred. Still the stump will remain with its root still fastened in the earth. "Just as the trunk of terebinth or oak, deeply and ineradicably sunk in the earth, bears constantly new shoots, an image of eternity and immortality, springing from an inward "rejuvenating power," so with the spiritual life of the nation and the individual. Here, then, we see how the deepest seriousness and sadness is yet compatible with undying hope. (1) The nation that hopes in the Eternal can never perish. That terebinth root lives on; all fresh developments of Christianity spring from its undying life. (2) The man who hopes in the Eternal shall be saved. He may, he must, pass through the fire of trial; but if he endure to the end, he shall be saved. Amidst his ashes he will discover fresh life; for there is hope of the tree, and hope of the man, that though felled, he shall rise again. (3) Holiness is the secret of life. It is health, it is the sanity of the mind which has made truth its portion, God its delight, and his service its eternal choice. - J. Parallel Verses KJV: In the year that king Uzziah died I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple. |
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